by Ann Charles
“Nothing.” Cooper held his office door open for us. “I took care of it. They’re just writing up their side of the story in case assault charges are filed against any of them.” He shut the door behind us and leaned against it.
“So, if they’re good to go, what’s with the trip to the principal’s office?” I asked. One of those a week was plenty.
“I want to have the séance at Uncle Willis’ place on Friday night.”
I looked at his calendar on his desk. “No way, that’s the Day of the Dead.”
“I thought that was November 1st,” Cooper said.
“November 1st is the Day of the Innocents,” Doc clarified. “November 2nd is the Day of the Dead.”
“So? We don’t celebrate that up this way.”
“I know,” I said, “but don’t you think it’s creepy to have a séance on the Day of the Dead?” I looked to Doc. “Aren’t we asking for more trouble than usual? That has to be as bad an omen as having it tonight, I’d think.”
“What’s the big deal about tonight?” Cooper asked.
“All Hallows Eve is when the dead come back looking for bodies to possess. I think we should wait for a night when the dead are resting peacefully.”
Doc grinned at me. “When we’re together, cara mia,” he said in his Gomez voice, “every day is Halloween.”
I poked him in the side. “Cállate, smartass.”
“Tish, that’s …”
“Spanish,” Cooper filled in dryly.
“Close enough,” Doc winked at me, kissing my wrist.
“You two need to get a room.”
Yes, we did, preferably not in a haunted brothel this time. But Cooper was staying at Doc’s house, damn it, so we were limited to flirty glances and wall sex.
“Although your dress now has a rip that I don’t remember seeing earlier,” Cooper said, looking us over with that all-seeing squint. “And Gomez here seems to have misplaced his moustache.”
Doc chuckled. “Maybe I should file a missing moustache report.”
“Anyway, Detective,” I detoured the conversation, my cheeks warm. “How about Saturday night?”
“Nope, Friday is the one night I know Hawke will be down in Rapid. He’s not coming back up until Saturday afternoon. It has to be Friday. I don’t want to take any chances on getting caught.”
“What about next week?” I asked.
“I gave you the box of teeth, Parker. It’s your turn to pay up on our deal.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Friday night is the date. My uncle will be there with us.”
“Fine.”
Doc squeezed my hand, giving me a reassuring smile. “We’ll be there,” Doc said to Cooper.
“Good.” The detective reached for the doorknob, but then hesitated, hitting me with a hard stare. “When you show up, Parker, make sure you have my great grandfather’s sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun with you.”
“I don’t have it.” At least I didn’t think I did, unless Harvey had stashed it in the Picklemobile without telling me.
“Then you have two days to find it. Trust me, you don’t want me to talk Detective Hawke into getting a search warrant to come hunting for it. With your history, Lord only knows what else he might find.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Thursday, November 1st
Meanwhile, back at the grocery store …
“I think I’m allergic to cops,” I told Doc on the phone early the next morning.
“All cops? Or two detectives in particular?” His voice was still scratchy from sleep.
I wished I were there under the covers next to him instead of on my way to get a protein shake for Cornelius. Jerry had beat my alarm clock to the punch again this morning, telling me the latest game plan involving Rosy the Riveter, a certain ghost whisperer, and me. Ray had been benched after yesterday’s surprise visit from the tooth fairy, and now Dickie was out of the game thanks to that nasty cold bug the rest of his crew had—well, except for Rosy.
“All cops,” I told Doc, “but the one sleeping in your spare bedroom gives me the hives from just a glare.”
He chuckled, deep and throaty. It sounded incredibly sexy, making my body get steamy in all of the Doc-sensitive spots. Ever since his goodnight kisses last night, which had involved a lot of heated whispers about how he was going to torture me with his mouth until I delivered on that massage I’d promised him last week, my ears hadn’t stopped smoking.
I killed the Picklemobile’s engine in front of Piggly Wiggly, scaring the bejeezus out of several birds when the old truck backfired.
“Where are you?” Doc asked. “And why aren’t you here offering me breakfast in bed?”
“I’m at the grocery store.” I climbed out of the Picklemobile and started across the parking lot. “I can bring you a protein shake.”
“I’m not talking about food.”
Poof! There went more smoke.
His line sent me into a déjà vu spin, only there was a dirty old buzzard in the other version of this conversation. “You remind me of Harvey.”
“Me fantasizing about having your body for breakfast reminds you of Willis? That just seems wrong.” He yawned. “Maybe I’m still asleep and having a twisted dream.”
I stepped inside the store, heading straight for the deli where they kept their cooled drinks. “Harvey was cursing at me yesterday for interfering with his morning tail.”
“And for good reason. Damn it, woman, get over here and let me lick your thighs again.”
Last night’s tongue lashing he’d given me in the haunted brothel replayed in my head. I stood there overheating in front of the cooler full of protein drinks.
“Doc,” I whispered, turning my back on the deli counter lady waiting to see if I needed help. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to have to go over to the fresh vegetables section and redirect one of those water mister nozzles down the front of my dress.”
“Which dress?”
“White with pink stripes.” Another one of Jerry’s outfit choices. Even though Dickie wasn’t there to be on camera, Jerry wanted me to be prepared in case Rosy wanted to do some filming.
“I don’t remember that one. Are you wearing panties today?”
“Are you serious?”
“When it comes to you, definitely.” I heard the sound of a door shutting. “There’s only one reason you would be at the store buying a protein shake this early. Is this part of the deal to get your Planet of the Apes pal to join us tomorrow night at Willis’ ranch?”
“No. Jerry called this morning and told me I need to take the camera-woman over to do some filming at Cornelius’s hotel. I know better than to show up at his door this early without liquid protein.” I didn’t want him to scare Rosy off, although I was starting to get the feeling that it would take more than a ghost or a cranky Abe Lincoln doppelganger to impress Rosy. “When I have a moment alone with Cornelius, I’ll see if he’s available tomorrow.”
I sort of hoped he was busy. While Cooper may have spoken his piece, I was still against doing the séance on the Day of the Dead. If we couldn’t get our Pied Piper lined up, then the deal was off as far as I was concerned.
“Call me when you get an answer from him.” The sound of the shower kicking on came through the phone. “If he’s game, I’ll phone Cooper and let him know we’re definitely on.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“You mean the séance or you joining me in the shower?”
“Both.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“An axe-wielding juggernaut and you turning on the cold water again so you can get your rocks off by rubbing soap over my high beams.”
A chuckle came through the line. “Ay yi yi.”
“Au revoir, Gomez. I’ll call you later.” I hung up before he started giving me a play-by-play of what he wanted to do with me in the shower. I doubted the store manager would appreciate finding me in the freezer while I consoled my undersexed libido with a gallon of
peanut butter fudge ice cream.
On the way to Cornelius’s hotel, I battled the fear tightening my guts about the ghosts I’d heard on Cornelius’s recording last week. I was a dud. Those ghosts couldn’t hurt me. At least I didn’t think so.
Cornelius opened the door for Rosy and me on the second knock. His thigh-length, Hugh Hefner inspired scarlet silk robe, lack of pants, and crooked stovepipe hat knocked the words right out of my mouth and left my tongue jumbled on the floor next to them.
As he ushered us inside his domain, Rosy and I exchanged raised brows but kept our comments to ourselves. I in particular would like to have scrubbed my brain on one of those old fashioned washboards to remove the image of Abe Jr.’s black furry pencil legs from my memory. Seriously, the guy looked like he was wearing the bottom half of a gorilla suit.
My fear of what unseen guests were waiting in his suite seemed silly in the sun-brightened rooms. Didn’t he usually keep his blinds closed? I wondered what was with the change in procedure this morning.
With my past experience with the eccentric ghost whisperer, I’d warned Rosy on the elevator ride up to his suite that Cornelius was a bit odd. Rosy took one look around his suite, pausing on the numerous monitors, expensive meters, fancy stereo equipment, and empty bottles of protein drinks and crossed her arms over her chest. “You have a K-II Meter, huh? You know they offer a lot of potential for false positives, right?”
And they were off.
For the next forty-five minutes, Cornelius led Rosy around his suite, showing off his expensive gadgets and ghost toys, including his EMF, EVP, and other acronym based doodads. I followed behind them trying to pay attention, only to get mired repeatedly in remembering the words behind each of the letters. When they moved onto paranormal terms, such as “intelligent” versus “residual” hauntings, I got sidetracked by trying to apply it to Prudence’s presence in the Carhart house. Then Cornelius mentioned “matrixing,” and I tumbled down a rabbit hole that started with Keanu Reeves trying to bend spoons with his mind and ended with his trapping demons in mirrors. Apparently I suffered from ADD this early in the morning.
When Rosy excused herself to use the restroom thanks to the extra-large coffee I’d purposely brought her this morning, I cornered the furry legged, paranormal groupie.
“Cornelius, I need your help tomorrow night with a séance.”
“Tomorrow?” He looked at his wrist, which held no watch. “That’s the Day of the Dead.”
“I know. A bad night to have a séance, right?” Nothing like a leading question, but time was short. That coffee would only buy me so much time.
“A very bad night.”
“That’s what I thought. We should probably reschedule it, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely not.”
Skirrrch. “I don’t understand.”
He sat down on one of his bar stools. “Of course you don’t, Violet. That’s why you need me.”
Most days, I needed him like I needed a hot poker jammed in my eye. I glossed over his reply and continued on course. “I really don’t think we should do it tomorrow.”
“It’s in your nature to say that.”
“Because I’m not a paranormal investigator?”
“Because you channel.”
I scratched my head, wishing I’d grabbed an extra large coffee for myself. “Shouldn’t a channeler be more willing to open up the airwaves on a day when the dead are restless?”
“No. You’ll be flooded.”
“Remind me why that’s a problem.”
“Flooding can stop your heart … or worse.”
“What’s worse than stopping my heart?”
“Getting trapped inside another realm.”
He had a point there. If I had to choose between being trapped in Ms. Wolff’s apartment back in time with that juggernaut and his creepy ax or being plain old dead, I’d take the dirt nap option any day.
“Let me get this straight,” I took the bar stool next to him. “Even though this is going to be dangerous for me, you still think we should do the séance?”
“Definitely.”
“In spite of my reservations?”
“Because of them.”
This conversation was beginning to actually hurt. My brain needed some reinforcements. I stole his protein drink from him and gulped down several swallows, licking the crappy vanilla-flavored liquid substitute for steak off my lips. “Explain that, Professor Enigmatic.”
“Your reservations will help you maintain a safe channeling width. If you were excited to go into this, then I wouldn’t want to do it, because you would undoubtedly open too wide.”
Yeah, I had that problem when it came to sex with Doc.
“Yet again,” Cornelius continued, “in your channeling wisdom, you recognize the potential dangers and are already preparing mentally to keep the channel narrow.”
But what if I weren’t even really a channeler, but rather an executioner, and doing this séance on the Day of the Dead was going to round up something much scarier than an ornery old ghost with nobody there who knew how to close the gate?
I sighed. I was sticking with my original opinion—this was a big mistake. What I couldn’t figure out was why Doc wasn’t more worried about it. He seemed at ease not only with taking this risk but also having a skeptic with a badge in the audience. I was beginning to suspect he’d done this before with cops somewhere along the line. He was certainly at ease with Cooper’s presence.
“We’ll have the séance an hour and eleven minutes after the sun sets,” Cornelius decreed.
“Fine, whatever.” But if things went south tomorrow night, I was going to blame Abe Jr. just because he frustrated the hell out of me most days. “Do you want me to pick you up, or would you like directions to the ranch?”
“Neither.”
“Right. You want to use the transporter beam then?”
“You’re spunky this morning, Violet. It must be that dress.”
I suspected it had more to do with my goal to keep breathing for a little bit longer, something I feared this séance would hinder.
“The thing is,” he stroked his goatee, measuring me with those cornflower blue eyes, “you may not be fit to drive afterward.”
He had a good point. “I’ll line up a ride for both of us then. Do I need to get any supplies?”
“Nope, I am already stocked up. Although they sent me a voodoo love doll instead of the Wanga bag I wanted, so I’ll have to improvise.”
The toilet flushed.
“Don’t mention any of this in front of Rosy,” I told him. “Or anyone else. This séance is private.”
“I understand. But there is one more thing, Violet.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think you should reach into the darkness tomorrow night with your mind.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because of that little girl ghost of yours that keeps talking to me,” he started.
“She’s not mine.” I wanted no association with Wilda Hessler if I could help it.
The sound of running water stopped.
“Maybe not, but she keeps mentioning your name.”
“What’s she saying?”
Cornelius leaned closer to me. “Roses are red, Violet is blue. Wolfgang is dead, Violet is, too.”
Goosebumps covered me from toes to scalp.
Before I could croak out any kind of response, Rosy joined us again. I covered my shock with a wide smile.
Cornelius left to get some pants on so he could take us around from room to room and give Rosy a good feel of the place.
I rubbed my arms, looking around the suite, wondering if Wilda Hessler was standing next to me, her blonde ringlets trembling with rage, her dead eyes overflowing with hate. Was her brother still here? His face melting off again?
By the time Cornelius was dressed and ready to go, I was waiting out in the hall trying to figure out what Wilda meant with that stupid poem. Was it just a pissed of
f little girl out to scare me, or did she know something about the others that I should be more afraid of than I was?
Something to do with that clock in Ms. Wolff’s apartment and its cuckooing death toll?
Something that would end my game as an executioner before I’d had a chance to get rolling?
* * *
When I pulled into Aunt Zoe’s driveway I was surprised to see Jeff Wymonds’ truck sitting there … and not in a happy-to-see-him way.
After a day of touring with Rosy around Cornelius’s hotel, as well as several other reportedly haunted locales in Deadwood to film extra background footage, I wasn’t really in the mood for company. Especially if this particular company required my shoulder to cry on because his ex-wife was taking him back to court for full custody of his other testicle.
As I climbed out of the Picklemobile, I glanced down the street, wishing I would see Doc’s Camaro or even Harvey’s Ford pickup coming my way. Both should be here for supper any minute now. Unfortunately, I was on my own.
In the early evening air, I could hear the kids laughing and yelling in the back yard. Instead of facing Jeff, I detoured through the back gate, dropped my purse on the grass next to their slide, and squeezed my butt into one of the swings on their old swing set. The comforting scent of autumn with its crisp version of pine trees and dried leaves grounded me.
“Hi, Addy’s mom,” Kelly Wymonds said from across the yard.
I waved, the swing creaking as I rocked back and forth, watching the two girls do cartwheels across the yard. Oh, to be so carefree. I remembered those days way back when with Natalie—no bills to pay, no mouths to fill, no creepy-weird beings to kill.
The back door opened and out walked Jeff.
“Hey, Violet Parker.” Dressed in a button up shirt and new-looking jeans, he headed my way. His blond hair looked freshly cut, his jaw stubble-free. He sat down on the swing next to mine, his musky cologne fresh on his skin and now fresh in my sinuses.
“I hear you’re going to be a TV superstar soon.” His grin was easy, his eyes teasing.
“Watch out world,” I answered without enthusiasm. “Here I come.”
We swung in silence, watching our girls try to do back bends and fall over giggling.
