Rattling the Heat in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 8)

by Ann Charles

  He lifted another monitor. “Not even close. Try again.”

  “I’m too tired for this game, Cornelius.”

  He set the monitor on Jerry’s chair. His gaze focused on me, studying my face. “You do look haggard.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He always knew what to say to make a girl feel good and kicked when she was down.

  “And your hair is more messy than usual. Were you recently electrocuted?”

  “I wish!” A solid zap to my gray matter might erase an afternoon of detective-filled frustration that had ended with boss-inspired humiliation and angst.

  “Have you been dabbling in the darkness again?”

  “Nope. There was plenty of light during today’s clusterfuck.”

  One black eyebrow lifted. “How would you feel about my attaching brainwave monitoring detectors to your forehead so that I can see the activity going on in your skull?”

  “Touch my head and you will die a painful death.”

  “That’s the exact response I’d expect from a physical medium such as yourself. Do you think your boss got the water turned on in the upstairs bathroom?”

  “The upstairs bathroom?” I didn’t realize this building had a bathroom up there. What else was upstairs?

  He fanned his shirt. “Is it hot in here or am I experiencing contact with a non-living presence?”

  I wasn’t going to go there right now with the drama king. “What’s wrong with the shower in your hotel suite?”

  “It’s not going to work anymore.”

  Was he into premonitions now? “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s in the process of being torn out by the men I hired to remodel my hotel.”

  He was having the Old Prospector Hotel remodeled? Good. That place needed some updating. While the bones of the hotel were still solid, the upper two stories were decorated with relics left over from the 1970s. The antiques weren’t the only leave-behinds either, according to Doc, who’d run into a handful of ghosts during one of his previous visits.

  “What’s the other thing?” I asked.

  “It’s too far away from my back scrubber.”

  “Your back scrubber?”

  He pointed at the ceiling. “And my robe, which is also upstairs.”

  I cringed, thinking about that robe and the visual buffet that came with it. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re moving in upstairs?”

  “Precisely.”

  “As in Calamity Jane Realty’s second floor?”

  He handed me what looked like a stud finder, red and green lights and all. “We really should be recording your brain waves right now. I’d wager they’re spiking off the charts.”

  “You’re going to be here 24/7? Right above me?”

  “Indeed.”

  “For how long?”

  He shrugged. “My abilities have not yet developed in the precognition field.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. First Cooper playing Goldilocks in each house I showed him, then Detective Hawke biting at my heels, then Jerry plastering me on that damned billboard in enemy territory, and now Cornelius filling my days with supernatural cogitations and aggravations. That was it! I was packing up the kids and signing up for NASA’s off-planet exploration program. Terraforming couldn’t be as bad as they made it look in the science fiction movies, could it? How hard could it be to assemble oxygen-making machines? My son was super smart. He’d figure it out.

  “Violet.” Cornelius interrupted my interstellar fantasy. “I’d like my protein shake chilled and ready for me at precisely eight-twenty-seven tomorrow morning.”

  My eyes flashed open. “You expect me to bring … Cornelius, you’re not even my client anymore.”

  “I know. We went over this already.” He took the gadget from my hand. “I’m your roommate, remember?”

  Chapter Three

  Old Man Winter had arrived early in the Black Hills, the frigid bastard. Along with his trademark freezing temperatures and periodic snow flurries, he brought deep shadows that turned day into night long before I made it home most evenings. Tonight would be no different, except for the detective who’d probably be darkening my doorstep even more at some point.

  I closed the back door of Doc’s office behind me and leaned against it, soaking up the silence for a moment. Wallowing in a self-pity party sounded tempting, but the inviting scent of Doc’s woodsy cologne persuaded me to lift my chin and keep on moving forward. By forward, I meant toward the soft glow at the other end of the hallway where I knew I would find a pair of strong arms and broad shoulders. I’d need both this afternoon to ward off my chills from Detective Hawke’s unnamed threat.

  “Doc?” I clomped down the hall, the well-aged wooden floorboards creaking under my weight. Where was Harvey? The bathroom was empty and the back room dark. Normally, he’d be filling the quiet with some anecdote or dirty joke.

  Doc sat in his leather chair, his laptop closed on his desk. A single desk lamp lit the room, softening the edges of my vision. His dark brown eyes searched mine for several heartbeats.

  “How are you doing, Killer?” he asked, using the nickname he’d given me after finding out about the job I had a genetic obligation to fulfill. His dark hair looked almost black in the low light, adding an extra-sexy edge to him this afternoon.

  “I’ve had better days.” I leaned my hip against his desk, taking in his brown flannel shirt hanging loose over a white T-shirt. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans instead of dress khakis today. Saturdays were usually laid back for Doc, even though his financial planning business was growing by leaps and bounds thanks to word of mouth.

  “Where’s the Picklemobile?” Harvey’s old green Ford pickup had been recently tuned up and spit-shined under Doc’s sure hands, no longer belching smoke or backfiring like it had been when I was driving her earlier this fall. “And where’s Harvey? He was supposed to wait here for a ride home.”

  “The latter took the former to your aunt’s place to start his famous lasagna.”

  “We’re having lasagna tonight?” I almost drooled a little at the thought of Harvey’s delicious homemade tomato sauce.

  “He’s making it just for you. Mentioned something about you needing to be cheered up.”

  “That man knows how to make my stomach happy.”

  “Too bad he didn’t accept your marriage proposal,” he teased, his gaze flirting.

  “Uh, yeah.” Marriage was a topic that made me fidget in front of Doc after learning he’d left Tiffany Sugarbell when she started talking about wedding dresses. I changed the subject. “If Harvey took the Picklemobile, how are you going to get home?”

  “I was hoping to hitch a ride with a hot blonde.”

  I batted my eyelashes at him, flirting back. “What’s the magic word, big boy?”

  “Violet Parker, would you please meet my needs and put a smile on my face?”

  Put a smile on … I cursed under my breath. “You heard?”

  “I saw.” He caught my elbow and tugged me onto his lap. “I was in Spearfish at lunch to drop off some paperwork at a client’s place. I took the interstate back to the Deadwood exit and nearly drove off the road when I saw you there, bigger than life, looking sexy as hell in that little black dress.”

  I buried my face in my hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “You’ll cause a pile-up or two with those cherry red lips and your violet eyes.”

  I lowered my hands. “My eyes aren’t violet.”

  “They are on that billboard.”

  “I didn’t even notice my eye color on the picture Jerry texted me. I was too busy staring at that stupid pen in my mouth.”

  “Oh, man. That pen …” He cupped my cheeks. “I’ve been waiting all afternoon to kiss these lips.” His mouth brushed over mine. “I stared at your billboard for so long that a highway patrol officer stopped to see if I needed help.”

  Well, there was one positive about the new billboard I hadn’t expected. I’d sort of figured Doc woul
d be unhappy about it. If he were on a billboard for all of the world to see, I’d probably risk life and limb climbing up there with a can of spray paint to blacken his teeth, maybe even give him an eye patch while I was at it. Then I’d write Doc LOVES Violet inside a big heart to make sure all of the females in the land understood he was off limits.

  “I missed you today, Boots.”

  There it was, my favorite flirty nickname that signaled hanky panky was to follow. He kissed me fully, taking his time about it. He tasted sweet and lemony, reminding me of …

  I pulled back, my eyes narrowing. “Did you swipe some lemon drop cookies from Aunt Zoe’s cookie jar this morning and bring them to work?”

  “Guilty as charged,” he whispered, his eyes still focused on my mouth. “Come back here. I wasn’t done.”

  This time he moved in hard and fast, inviting my tongue to dance. I moaned and sank into him, letting him make me forget about today’s shit-storm for a few heated breaths.

  When he pulled back, I blew out a low whistle. “Did they teach you to kiss girls senseless like that in college?”

  His smile warmed his eyes. “We spent a whole week studying the art of kissing during Economics 101.”

  “Really? Economics?”

  “Sure. It was a good teaching tool for the two fundamental facts of economics.”

  “What do these two fundamental facts have to do with kissing?”

  “First, humans have unlimited wants.” He unbuttoned my pea coat, pushing it partway down my shoulders, trapping my arms at my side. “For example, I want to see you naked, morning, noon, and night every single day. One could say that my want for your body is unlimited.”

  “Are you sure about mornings when my hair looks like I got caught up in a tornado?”

  He nodded, unfastening several buttons on my black knit cardigan sweater. I watched as he trailed the back of his fingers over the upper slopes of my breasts, grazing the lacy edge of my red bra. “Especially the mornings, when your smiles are sleepy and your skin is soft, warm, and deliciously bare.”

  I tried to wiggle free of my coat, but he grabbed the cuffs and held me prisoner. “What’s the second fundamental fact?”

  “The means for satisfying these wants are relatively scarce.”

  “What’s that have to do with perfecting the art of kissing?”

  The pad of his thumb brushed over the front of my bra. The heat in his eyes when they met mine made my upper lip sweat. “I had to study up before meeting you so I’d be able to keep your unlimited wants satisfied.”

  He was doing a mighty fine job of that as of late, spending several nights a week in my bed, waking me up in the morning with his hands and mouth. So far, I didn’t think my kids had figured out that our slumber parties were taking place in my bedroom since Doc was always awake and dressed before both of them in the morning, but one of these days we’d have to purposely stay in bed long enough for them to catch us.

  I squirmed on his lap to free my arms, wanting to touch, too. His eyes smoldered while they focused on my bared cleavage.

  “On whom did you perfect the art of kissing?” I asked.

  “You know me, I did more reading than experimenting.”

  I stopped trying to free my arms and smiled. “You seriously expect me to believe you didn’t practice with anyone?”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? When I met you, I finally had the opportunity to perfect my technique.”

  I laughed. His nutty ex-girlfriend would surely tell a different tale. Tiffany would undoubtedly take great pleasure in giving me play-by-play details of their sex life if given the opportunity.

  Speaking of Tiffany and her cattiness, I unloaded part of this afternoon’s baggage on Doc. “Jerry has decided to pit me against your ex.”

  “There’s no competition.” He let go of my sleeves and helped me out of the coat, tossing it on his desk. “You win, hands down.”

  “You’re delusional. It’s a side effect of Harvey’s homemade love potion that I’ve been sneaking into your coffee each morning.”

  “Not delusional, but I am a little worried.”

  “About Tiffany?” I was, too. She’d already filled up Doc’s voicemail many times in an effort to win him back. Going head to head with her on the career front would surely make the snakes on her head hiss and strike every time we ran into each other.

  “About you.”

  “You think she’ll claw my eyes out?”

  He smirked. “No, Killer. I’ve seen you swing a war hammer. I think you can handle Tiffany’s claws.” He toyed with one of my curls that had sprung free. “I’m concerned that this new ad your boss posted is going to bring you a slew of men all trying to replace me in your bed.”

  I took his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. “You’re jealous? I don’t believe it. You never let the green ogre mess with your head.” I, on the other hand, had to repeatedly run my ogre over with a Zamboni machine.

  He raised our laced fingers to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “I’m going to have to up my game if Jerry keeps working this marketing angle. Lo and behold, a van of Mensa members cruises past that billboard, sees your sexy lips, and comes knocking.”

  I’d once told Doc I had a weakness for smart guys. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten about it.

  I looped my arms around his neck. “Mensa, schmensa,” I said, running my lips along his jaw. “I’m no longer into those brainiacs.”

  “Who are you into now?”

  “Tall mediums.” I used Cornelius’s term for Doc. I pursed my lips. “Embrasse moi, ma chérie,” I ordered him to kiss me, using one of the French phrases I’d looked up on the Internet and memorized just for him.

  He traced the line of my jaw. “Ah, Tish. That’s French.”

  “Oui, Gomez.”

  Pulling down the shoulder of my sweater, he kissed his way along my skin to my neck.

  I lifted my chin, my body humming to life as his lips headed toward my cleavage.

  “Christ, Violet,” he said between kisses. “You smell like butterscotch.”

  “I ordered a butterscotch latte at lunch and managed to spill part of it down my sweater on the drive back to work.” It was a wonder it hadn’t left a red mark from where it’d burned a trail down to my bellybutton.

  Doc looked up at me, his expression taut with need. “That gives me an idea.”

  “You want to spill hot coffee on me?” I wasn’t really into that sort of sadomasochistic foreplay. It rated up there on my “Hell No” list next to golden showers.

  “Not coffee. I saw a jar of butterscotch syrup at the grocery store the other day.” He planted a kiss on my lips. “I’m going to buy some and lick it off your skin.”

  “Won’t that be sticky?”

  “I hope so.” He moved his hips under me and returned to taste-testing my neck and chest, distracting me for several breathy seconds while his hand explored under my skirt. “I’ll have to lick you twice as much.”

  My phone chirped in my coat.

  I swore at the ceiling.

  He fished the phone out of my coat pocket for me.

  “It’s Cornelius,” I said, glancing at the text. “He wants me to give him a wake-up call at seven-forty-one tomorrow morning.”

  Doc pulled his hand out from under my skirt. “Speaking of your Planet of the Apes buddy, he stopped by earlier and filled me in on his new address.”

  I sighed, wishing we had time for Doc to finish what he’d started. “You realize what this means, don’t you?”

  “He’s going to listen for Jane’s ghost?”

  “Well, yes.” I straightened my sweater. “But I was referring to his confusion about me being his secretary. He already placed his order for a protein shake tomorrow morning.”

  Doc’s chest vibrated against me. “He’s going to keep things interesting. I don’t think Jerry realizes who he invited to move into your building.”

  “I think Jerry’s main focus is getting rid of Jane. Wait until he
sees Cornelius’s favorite robe when he comes down for coffee in the morning.”

  Doc started removing the bobby pins in my hair, freeing my curls. “He wants me to sneak over there one night after all of you leave and help him reach out to Jane.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Only if he helps me with my problem.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “For one, my girlfriend is being used to lure eastbound travelers on Interstate 90.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Jerry posted his phone number, not mine.”

  “I noticed.”

  “He’s acting as my bouncer, fielding calls and screening clients for me.”

  “Good. He should. Zoe is going to be pissed on your behalf.”

  I smiled, imagining her breaking one of her glass pieces over Jerry’s big head.

  Shaking out my hair, I felt my tension lessen. Neither my hair nor I liked being confined all day. “So what’s this problem of yours that you need help with?” I repeated my earlier question, collecting the bobby pins from him.

  He watched me button up my sweater with a frown. “You mean besides you smelling and tasting like butterscotch when Willis made me promise we wouldn’t be late for supper?”

  “Next time I spill my latte, I’ll call you and make sure you keep your calendar open.”

  He grinned, but quickly sobered. “There are two problems, actually—Wilda’s and her mother’s ghosts. I need to find them both and return them to wherever they were before I let them loose.”

  “You mean before I let them loose. You were just saving my bacon, remember?” I was the one who had screwed up during the séance and given Mrs. Hessler and Wilda what they wanted—freedom. “You think Cornelius can help you with this?”

  “He’s dabbled more in ghost luring than I have. I usually let them come to me of their own free will.”

  “Maybe they’re gone for good. Maybe they just wanted me to help them find each other again so they could spend eternity together collecting creepy clown crap.” Mrs. Hessler had been a fan of clown memorabilia—the weirder the better based on what I’d seen of her collection before I burned her house down.

  “I doubt it. Both were bent on blaming you for their unhappiness. With eternity to hang around, I have a feeling they’ll want to seek revenge at some point or another. I need to find them before they come for you.”