by Ann Charles
I slowed as we entered the Deadwood city limits. “Cooper is not going to make me crack.”
“Right.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “He and I have done this circle and snarl dance several times.” I could count on only one hand the number of times the detective had actually been nice to me. “I know when to lunge and when to tuck tail.”
“I’d advise tucking tail as much as possible on this one. That man is positively stressed to the max.”
That made two of us. “Yeah, well you’d better focus on prepping for your next go around, because knowing the detective as well as I do, I can assure you that he’ll be back again. Next time, he’ll bring a bigger trap.”
“Please, we both know that I have a titanium lock on my lips when it comes to secrets. Remember back in ninth grade when you dragged Bobby Razinski into the boys’ locker room while he was waiting for his bitchy girlfriend to finish cheerleading practice and slipped him the tongue?”
“That wasn’t me, dodo. That was you. I was just there with you.”
“Oh, that’s right. But you were the one who bet I didn’t have the guts to do it.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I still can’t believe you stuck your tongue in his mouth. Bobby always had food in his braces and dragon’s breath.”
“It wasn’t the most pleasant of kisses, but I’ve had far worse since.”
“Now that’s just sad,” I said.
“I know. Beer makes you do dumb things. Anyway, my point is that I kept it a secret that you’d dared me to do it even when Bobby’s bitchy girlfriend came at me in the parking lot a couple days later.”
“Come on, you and I both know you’d been wanting to knock her off her pedestal ever since she stole Bobby’s older brother from you.”
“It’s just wrong to dump one brother while seducing the other. That girl needed a dose of her own medicine.”
I pulled up in front of Aunt Zoe’s place. “You coming over again tonight, oh Keeper of Great Secrets?”
“I’m not sure. I need to go out and check on my parents and then head down to Rapid to check on my Aunt Deborah’s place, make sure nobody has tried to break in or messed with anything. She’s decided to spend the winter down in Arizona.”
“You’re kidding. Claire’s mom is going to live in an RV Park all winter?” I had grown up in the house next to Deborah Morgan and her wild and crazy daughters, who also happened to be Natalie’s cousins. It was through the Morgan sisters that Natalie and I first had met back when playing hide and seek had been our favorite pastime. “Isn’t that a step down on the social ladder for your aunt?”
“According to Claire, Deborah has found herself a new man down there, and she’s going to shack up with him for the winter.”
“So the wild pigs have started to fly in Arizona?”
She opened her door. “They aren’t pigs. They’re javelinas.”
“Know it all.”
“Who’d have thought there was a man out there nutty enough to risk getting naked anywhere near my aunt?” She hopped down from the Picklemobile. “I’ll call you later.”
I waited until she’d stepped up into her pickup and started it before heading down to work.
My cellphone rang just as the Picklemobile was backfiring to a stop.
“Hello?” I said, dropping the keys in my purse.
“I NEED TO SPEAK WITH VIOLET PARKER!” bellowed a voice I hadn’t heard for almost a week.
I jerked the phone away, my ear drum ringing in complaint. “Cornelius,” I growled and switched the phone to my other ear. “I told you before to stop yelling at me when I answer the phone.”
While I appreciated that Cornelius Curion had bought a haunted hotel through me recently, and I was still jumping for joy about my portion of the money he had paid for said hotel (which was currently fattening my previously anorexic bank account), his eccentric phone etiquette often made me want to throw my phone at a tree … again.
Now that Cornelius and I were done partnering in the Realtor-client game, he wanted me to hook up with him on a new gig—playing a real-life version of Ghostbusters.
“Is this Violet?” Cornelius whispered, his volume level swinging to the opposite end of the scale.
“Of course it’s me.” I kept my voice normal. “You called my phone.”
“What’s the code word?”
What code word? Had we established a code word at some point, and I’d spaced it? Hold up. Why would we have a freaking code word?
It was probably best not to ask. I tried to think of something that a man who looked and dressed like Abe Lincoln, who swore he could converse with ghosts on a daily basis, and who demanded protein drinks for breakfast each morning, would pick for a code word.
“Paranormal?” I asked.
“Have you put much thought into that?”
“About five seconds’ worth.”
“It sounds like only three. How about I come up with a code word instead?”
How about what? “I thought you wanted me to give you the code word to receive whatever information it is you’re calling to tell me.”
Cornelius laughed. “Oh, Violet. In spite of your silliness, I remain firm in my belief that you’ll make an incredible slayer.”
My breath caught. How did he know about my killer family history? “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean what do I mean?”
“Why did you call me that?”
“Violet? I was under the impression it was your name. Would you prefer another flower name? We can do anything but Freesia. It would get too confusing if there were two of you.”
The Freesia he was referring to was Freesia Tender, the great-great niece of Big Jake Tender who’d built the Galena House, a beautiful old boarding house turned apartment building. Freesia now owned said building and wanted to sell it with my help. The upside of Freesia’s property was that it was well-built, and we were almost ready to put it on the market. The downside was that we were waiting for Detective Cooper to remove the police tape from the door of one of the apartments, which happened to be the site of multiple murders over the years.
Oh, and then there was that lovely little “Haunted” line in the disclaimer, too. But every other building and home in Deadwood and Lead were supposedly haunted, so I strived to remain optimistic about its sale potential.
“I’m perfectly fine with my name, Cornelius.”
“You sure? I’ve always been fond of the chlamydia flower.”
I nearly choked on my spit. “Chlamydia is not a flower,” I said when I could speak without coughing. “I think you mean clematis.”
“No. I once knew a girl named Chlamydia. She was an amazing medium, especially when it came to calling up Viking ghosts.”
“No shit?” Maybe that was where he had gotten his one-horned Viking hat he liked to wear during séances.
“Truly. I remember her well. She was sweet and very pretty, like a young Shirley MacLaine. I met her in college when she was modeling for a fine arts class.”
“Let me guess, she was naked at the time.”
“Impressive. Your channeling abilities are growing stronger by the day, Violet.”
“Here’s another guess—you asked her out after class.”
“I’m not sure I like it when you’re reading my mind. What am I thinking now?”
“Never mind that. Are you sure she didn’t say, ‘I have chlamydia,’ when you asked her out, but you were so enamored by her amazing nakedness that you heard, ‘I am Chlamydia,’ instead?”
“She did have an extremely perky set of—”
“No!” We were not going to go there. That was out of bounds for our level of friendship.
“Eyebrows,” he continued.
“She had perky eyebrows?”
“Yes. They were very round-shaped, just like both of her very round—”
“You know what? Let’s just stop this train before it crashes into the station.”
“Nostrils,” he finis
hed, ignoring my interruption.
I needed to get out of this quicksand and back onto solid ground. “You said I’d make an incredible slayer. Why did you call me a slayer?”
“I didn’t. I said you’d make an incredible sayer. As in soothsayer. You know, with your ability to open channels and see the future.”
“I think you called the wrong number, sir.”
“Is that another foretelling?”
“No, it’s a forewarning.”
“Ah, because your phone will be in the hands of someone from the past. I got it.”
Good, because I didn’t. In fact, I couldn’t even remember who had called whom at this point. Then it all came tumbling back like a dead cow caught in the surf. “Why did you call me, Cornelius?”
“I need you to arrange a verbal exchange with your associate.”
“Freesia?”
“No, the other one. The tall one who can meld with beings from the past.”
“You mean my boyfriend, Doc?”
“Yes, that one. Bring him to my suite. I need him to listen to something.”
Cornelius was living temporarily in one of the suites on the third floor of his hotel.
“If you’re going to propose another séance, I’m not sure he’ll be interested.”
“It’s not me that I want him to hear.”
He shushed someone in the background.
“Is someone there with you?” I didn’t want him to be mentioning Doc’s or my name in relation to the paranormal world in front of anyone else.
“No.”
“Then who were you shushing?”
“That is the exact reason why I need to talk to your tall associate. He needs to come to my suite and help me.”
“Help you with what?”
“With speaking to the people surrounding me.”
“I thought you said nobody was there.”
“I’m talking about the people in my walls, Violet.” He made a shushing sound again. “The dead ones.”
“Say what now?”
The phone went silent.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
“Cornelius?”
Still nothing.
The nincompoop had hung up on me.
Bahhh! I thought about banging my phone on the steering wheel, but since Doc bought it for me after my last one had ended up in a toilet in the Homestake Opera House, I settled for burying it in my purse.
Doc’s Camaro was not in the parking lot. He’d mentioned something last night about a trip over to Spearfish to meet a new client. He must still be busy impressing them with his big, money-savvy brain.
He and I were supposed to put our heads together soon to discuss what I could do with the money I had made off the hotel sale to Cornelius so that it wouldn’t burn a hole in my account and float away. Make that whatever money would be left after I bought myself a used set of wheels and could give Harvey back his aromatic Picklemobile.
I crossed the parking lot. Ben was the only one in the office. As I neared my desk, he smiled up from a book he was reading. Reading on the job? That was new. Usually Ben had his nose to the real estate grindstone while I surfed the Internet and daydreamed about the fancy dancing I’d do when I sold more houses in a month than Ray.
“Wow, Violet. You look very bohemian today.”
“Thanks, Ben.” I was tired of looking at the same boring clothes in my closet, so I’d raided Aunt Zoe’s.
“That top looks nice on you. What color is it?”
“Periwinkle.” I shoved my purse in my drawer. “Where is everyone?”
“Mona and Ray are both out with clients, and Jerry had to run down to Rapid to see about a business property someone wants him to sell personally.”
“What’s with the book?”
“Jerry wanted me to read it. You have one, too. Check your chair.”
I pulled out my chair and stared down at the book sitting on it. A Post-it note was stuck to the front. I picked up the book and read Jerry’s scrawl on the note: Violet, this will help you warm up for the camera.
I tore off Jerry’s note and read the title aloud. “Giving Good TV—How to Knock ‘Em Dead on Camera.” I dropped the book on my desk and then fell into my chair. “Is this crap for real?”
Ben shrugged. “It’s not that bad of a read. I’ve only fallen asleep twice since I started it.”
“How far in are you?”
“I just started the second chapter.”
I laughed in spite of the absurdity of our situation.
We eased into a companionable silence. Ben read while I finished up some paperwork on Freesia’s Galena House and worked on an ad I wanted to place for Cooper’s and Jeff Wymonds’ places on a vacation homes website.
Midway through the afternoon, I stepped out to grab a quick sandwich. When I returned, Doc’s car was still missing from the parking lot. I called his cellphone and got his voicemail, so I left a message filled with some heavy breathing, a few sexy moans, and a sultry “Call me, hot stuff,” request. That should give him a chuckle.
Everyone but Jerry cycled through during the rest of the afternoon. After sharing a few dirty looks with Ray, exchanging some jokes about starting a book club with Ben, and getting a few tips from Mona about the website ad, it was time to head home. Ray and Ben wasted no time hitting the road. Mona followed in their wake. Harvey had called earlier to tell me he’d picked up my kids from school. He’d agreed to hang out with them until six, but then he needed to go home and get Cooper’s dinner prepared, the lucky detective, so I took my time shutting down and packing up.
I was checking my cellphone one last time for any messages when someone knocked on the front window. I looked up to find Doc waving at me on the other side of the glass.
I smiled at him. It felt big and silly, very loose on my cheeks, but I couldn’t help it. Doc had a way of turning me into a loose woman all around.
He pointed at the door.
His wish was my command.
A breeze blew in with him, carrying a couple of leaves with it from the courthouse’s Silver Maple trees across the street. I locked the door behind him.
He took his time inspecting my outfit, his gaze darkening when he saw my choice in footwear. “I got your message, Boots.” He caught my hand, drawing me closer. “I like this uninhibited, gypsy look. It makes me want to do wicked things to you. Especially since you’re wearing my favorite cowboy boots.”
Doc smelled like the outdoors, all fresh and woodsy and cool. But his lips were hot, and his kiss was positively steaming.
“What kind of wicked things?” I asked when he took a break from making me burn from the inside out.
“The kind that make you moan and pant, like you did on my voicemail.”
I grinned. “I thought you might get a grin out of that.”
“I’m going to make it your ringtone on my phone.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Then again, I have enough trouble not thinking about you naked whenever you call.”
He kissed me again, slow and enticing, tantalizing me with his tongue and magic hands.
As tempting as it was to get all breathy and moan-filled for real in my empty office, I had kids waiting at home. Plus, those damned plate-glass windows offered a first rate peep show to anyone passing by. Public exhibitionism made my skin turn red. The one show Doc and I had performed for a pack of bikers needed no encore.
I pulled away from his heat. “Feel like walking me out to the Picklemobile?”
“Sure.” He followed me over to my desk. “What’s this?” He picked up the book Jerry had given to me and read the title. Disbelief creased his forehead when he finished. “No way.”
“Yes way. I have homework. Jerry gave a copy to both Ben and me.” I took the book from him and shoved it into my purse. “You want to come over for supper and a movie tonight?”
“What about your homework?”
“Here’s an idea: After the kids go to bed, you could r
ead it to me while I give you a relaxing rubdown.”
“That sounds more like a bribe.”
“They say studying with a partner is more fun.”
He frowned at the book sticking halfway out of my purse. “How fun and relaxing are we talking?”
“Very, very fun and super relaxing.”
His focus locked onto my lips. “Like that time in my shower with the chocolate and peanut butter flavored soap?”
I trailed my fingernails down along the buttons of his dark green shirt. “You’ll have to come over and find out, hot stuff.”
“Deal.” He caught my fingers, which were now toying with his belt buckle, and lifted them to his lips. “But this time, how about keeping your claws retracted.”
“Why? Did I hurt you last time?”
“Only in a good way.” He kissed my knuckles. “But your kids will be within hearing distance this time.”
True. We’d have to keep things PG tonight, darn it. “What if I promise to be gentle?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Come read to me and I’ll show you.”
He hesitated.
If he opted out of tonight, it was probably just as well. Earlier, while skimming the first chapter of Jerry’s book, I’d been considering broaching the subject with Doc of how I was carrying the DNA of a line of killers. I’d played the “what-if” game with several different endings to our conversations, none of them happily-ever-afters.
“You got yourself a deal, Boots.” He let go of my hand. “But first I need to take care of a few things in my office.”
On second thought, maybe I’d stick to erotic massage and leave the truth-telling for another day.
I hoisted my purse strap over my shoulder. “How did the meeting with your new client go?”
“She liked what I had to offer, had already checked with my references, and wanted to start right away, so I followed her back to her office and we got busy.”
“She?” Gotten busy doing what?
“A widow.”
“A widow as in a twenty-five-year-old stripper who married a rich, old dying oil tycoon, and now that he’s pushing up daisies she has tons of cash and is on the hunt for a hot and sexy boy toy?”
He chuckled. “More like a sixty-six-year-old successful entrepreneur who is ready to retire but afraid to stop working since her husband is gone.”
