Dead Case in Deadwood (9 page)

"Anyway," Harvey said, "if I can find that
cash my pa swore my grandpappy buried, I wouldn’t have to wait for my ranch to
sell to buy a house in town."

I sat up straight, my chain yanked. Did someone say
buy
a house?

Harvey grinned. "I’d be your second cash-paying
customer this month."

Okay, so I wasn’t sold yet on the whole concept of ghosts
existing, and maybe the idea of Cornelius talking to them was a tad bit loony,
but what if—
just what if
—there really were jars of money hidden on
Harvey’s ranch and Cornelius had some way of figuring out the general vicinity where
Harvey should dig? Wasn’t that worth baiting Cornelius a little with the
promise of another ghost and taking him on a mini-road trip out to Harvey’s
ranch?

No, that was just too desperate.

True, but could it really hurt to give it a try?

I chewed on my lower lip, torn between my sensibilities and
my need for food and shelter for me and mine.

My cell phone rang.
Doc?
I wondered what he’d think
about Harvey’s request.

I grabbed my cell phone. Nope. The screen displayed Natalie’s
name. "Hello?"

"Hey, girlfriend, I’m tied up down here in Rapid."

"Were you abducted this time or is it voluntary again?"

Natalie chuckled. "It’s voluntary, but not as fun as
last time. I’m still dressed."

"Oh, well, maybe next time. Do you need my help?"
It would be a good excuse to swing in down at my parents and grab my kids
without being obvious about getting them away from my sister.

"No, I’m good. I didn’t want you guys to wait for me
for supper tonight. I probably won’t be home until after eight."

Two things bugged me about that.

First, I didn’t like how she was beginning to think of Aunt
Zoe’s place as home. While I loved Nat, I loved her better when she didn’t
share my bedroom.

Second, I needed her tonight. There was a viewing at the
Mudder Brothers, and she was my ticket in.

I’d just have to figure out some other way to sneak into
Mudder Brothers without George thinking I was some kind of nutty funeral-home
junkie. "Leftovers will be in the fridge."

"Save me a beer. I’m gonna need it after this shitty
day."

She and I both.

I hung up and smiled wide at Aunt Zoe. "You feel like
paying your respects to a recently deceased member of the community tonight?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I can’t. I have to finish that
order for the Denver gallery tonight."

Well, crap.

"Whose funeral?" Aunt Zoe asked, still
eagle-eyeing me.

Squirming a little, I tried to remember the name of the
guest of honor.

"Are you talking about Elsa Haskell’s viewing?"
Harvey asked.

That was it. "Yes!" I said with too much excitement.
I tried to frown a little and do my best sad-faced impression, but going by the
pinch of Aunt Zoe’s lips, she wasn’t buying my act.

"How did you know Elsa Haskell?" Aunt Zoe was
digging her claws in; I could feel them. Shit.

Aunt Zoe didn’t know anything about my obsession with George
Mudder and Ray. If she did, she would chew my ass up one cheek and down the
other like it was an ear of corn.

I pushed away from the table and carried my empty lemonade
glass to the sink so I could hide my tell-tale, twitchy nose. "Elsa was a
friend of Jane’s. I’m going out of support for my boss."

"You’re attending a viewing in order to further your
career?" she asked.

If my catching Ray in the act of a crime could get his
chauvinistic ass fired, then yes, I was. "Maybe."

Harvey snorted. "Elsa would have liked your spunk. She
was into burning her bras and wearing short skirts long before it was the hip
thing to do."

"You knew her?" I asked.

"Sure. She was a ways ahead of me in school, but I used
to try to peek up her skirt when she was shaking her pom-pons at the high
school football games. Her sweaters were like a second layer of skin."

Aunt Zoe chuckled. "That never changed. I ran into her
last month in the Piggly Wiggly. She’d left the price tag on her bra, and I
could see the shape of it through her way-too-tight shirt."

I crossed my arms over my own too-snug dress and stared at the
president of the peanut gallery. Harvey by my side at a viewing? That just
might work. He was well-known around town, so there’d be no question as to why
I was there. And if I needed a distraction, a dirty old man with a trick hip who
still liked to look up women’s skirts would fit the bill.

"Harvey, how do you feel about going to Elsa’s viewing
with me tonight?"

He hesitated, then slapped the table. "What the hell? Elsa’s
daughter owns that little bakery in Central City. Maybe she’ll bring some of
her mama’s favorite doughnuts to share."

I pointed at his faded jeans. "You don’t happen to have
a nice shirt and pair of pants stashed somewhere around town, do you? Like at
Cooper’s?"

"Or next door at Miss Geary’s," Aunt Zoe said.

Her neighbor was one of Harvey’s on- and off-again
girlfriends. At least once a week, his Ford pickup sat in her drive overnight.

"It’s your lucky day, girly-girl. One of my old flames keeps
her dead husband’s suits hanging in her spare closet, and wouldn’t you know, I’m
his exact size."

No shit. "What are the chances?"

That his old flame still mourned her husband so much made my
throat burn a little in sympathy.

Harvey’s eyes twinkled. "Pretty damned good. She’s a
picky woman."

"You mean she likes her boyfriends to be built the same
as her husband?"

"Yep. Saves her from adjusting the inseam."

My heart twanged. Blue stories like this made me determined
not to fall in love. There was too much to lose. I already had my hands and
heart full with my two kids. "That’s so sad."

"Sad? What are you talking about?" His eyebrows
were all scrunched up again.

"Your old flame’s undying love for her dead husband."

He snorted. "You have the story all wrong. He was a cheatin’
asshole. She likes me to dress up like him so she can spank me for being a bad
boy."

"Blahhh!" I plugged my ears too late.

Aunt Zoe covered her eyes and shook her head.

Maybe going to the viewing with Harvey tonight wasn’t such a
great idea after all.

My day had begun with a visit to Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor
to view a dead body, so ending it with a return to the century-old, two-story renovated
house and its massive front gable seemed fitting.

Same place, different dead body.

I really needed to get a life.

It was Friday night, for crap-sake. I should be spending my
time staring into Doc’s eyes, a bottle of Merlot and a thick T-bone steak
separating us, clothing optional.

Instead, here I was leaning against one of Mudder Brothers huge
neoclassical front-porch columns, watching the sun set behind the hills while I
waited for Old Man Harvey to show up in his Sunday best … or rather some fancy
duds belonging to an S&M-loving widow’s dead hubby.

Jeesh. With friends like Harvey, who needed television?

I’d insisted Harvey take the Picklemobile without me to go
get his suit. Knowing what I did about the widow’s extra-curricular activities,
there was no way I’d be able to look her in the eye without my cheeks flaming.

After Aunt Zoe had dropped me off at Mudder Brothers, I’d
tried to scope out the parking lot behind Doc’s office from my porch viewpoint,
searching for a certain red-headed Realtor’s black Jeep parked in the vicinity
of Doc’s Camaro. But there were too many pickups and RVs in the lot to see much
in the twilight. I squelched the temptation to race over there and search the
lot one vehicle at a time. My jealousy hadn’t reached the temporarily insane
level … yet.

Once again, I reminded the silly, needy teenage girl in my
head that there was more to life than Doc Nyce. Things such as dead bodies and
their missing parts.

I picked at some loose paint on the column. Dang it, where
was Harvey? The clock was ticking and I wanted to get in and out of Mudder
Brothers while the place was filled with other people who’d distract George
from my presence.

I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time again. Frowning
at the screen, I debated about calling Doc, going so far as to pull up his
number. Was he with Tiffany? Were they out to dinner as she’d mentioned in
their earlier call?

A knot of jealousy coiled in my stomach, taking my breath
away. Damn it.

Life was so much easier without men and sex. But lonelier. Not
as colorful. I thought of Doc’s mouth and a thrill raced over my skin. Or as exciting.

I typed a text message:
Hi.

Before I could chicken out, I hit the Send button.

Then I waited, tapping my phone against my hip. Would he
reply? Could he? Or were his hands full at the moment … full of Tiffany’s perky
breasts?

"Stop it!" I chided my inner green ogre, growling
under my breath in frustration.

An ancient, ocean-liner-sized Lincoln pulled into the empty
handicap spot in front of me. Two gray-haired heads bobbed just above the dash’s
surface. Who was captaining the Titanic? Would they recognize me from my realty
signs or business cards stapled to corkboards around town?

I moved around to the other side of the column, hiding from
view. I didn’t need any questions about how I had known Mrs. Haskell, not
without Harvey at my side to back me up.

My phone vibrated. With my heart halfway up my esophagus, I
looked at the screen.
Hi back.

What’s new?
I typed.

You texting me. You usually call. What’s up?

Nothing. Thinking about U
—with Tiffany, I didn’t type.—
Where
R U?

Was he alone?

In my office. Where are you?

I looked around, trying to come up with an answer other than
the truth. While I’d promised to start telling Doc more about my comings and
goings, sharing the fact that I was standing outside of Mudder Brothers about to
go snooping in George’s home-away-from-home, shouldn’t be done in a text message.

The little old ladies disembarked. Their whole knitting club
would fit in the Lincoln.

I’m w/Harvey,
I texted back. That was kind of true,
since I’d be with him shortly.
U R working late.

I added
R U alone?
on another line, and then deleted
it.

Have a lot to do. Where are you and Harvey?

Harvey’s doing fine.
I skirted his question.

Violet, what’s going on?

Nothing. Can’t I just say Hi?

You never just say Hi. Where are you two?

I blew out a breath. If I told him, he might walk over here.
As much as I wanted to see him right then, I had a mission, and Doc would get
in the way.

I typed,
Hanging out.

I could hear the Picklemobile’s exhaust pipe coming closer
from a couple of blocks away.

Your nose is twitching
, Doc wrote.

U can’t see me from there.

Come closer. Within reach. Bring your boots.

My shiver had nothing to do with the cool evening air. He
must be alone. He wouldn’t be texting this much if Tiffany was sitting there,
would he? I sighed.
Can’t tonight. Got company.

Tell her.

My gut twisted in a whole new knot just thinking about hurting
Natalie with the truth about Doc and me.

But he was right. This game had gone on long enough. I
wanted to stop worrying about who was watching when I tackled Doc and slobbered
all over him.

The Picklemobile pulled into the Mudder Brothers parking
lot.

Gotta go
, I texted, listening to Harvey drive around
the side of the building.

Stay out of trouble, Violet.

Always.

Right.

My flares of jealousy doused, I shoved my phone back in my
purse and peeked around the column at the two older ladies, who had made it to
the top of the porch ramp. The backfiring boom of Harvey’s exhaust surprised a
yip
out of the older, more rotund of the two, her walker jerking in her hands.

The younger one leaned over and said in a loud voice, "Did
you hear that gunshot, Norma Jean?"

Norma Jean nodded with a grunt. "I hope the sheriff got
the bastard."

I blinked, scratching my head. Had I heard her right?

Norma Jean’s walker creaked past me. "We’d better stop
by the powder room, Lucille. That shot just about scared the piss out of me."

Cackles of laughter followed the two women into the funeral
parlor.

The door had no sooner shut behind them when Harvey rounded
the corner of the building, a walking cane in hand.

At the site of him, I nearly fell off the porch. "What
in the hell is that?"

"What? Is this damned thing crooked again?" Harvey
straightened his black bow tie. "Or are you talkin’ about my fancy walking
stick?"

I pointed at his yellow plaid leisure suit jacket, my jaw
still hanging down to my belly button. "You look like a canary wrapped in a
wire fence."

He tugged on the too-short sleeves. "Yeah, it’s a
little short in the arms and the crotch. I’m built a bit long for this suit, if
you know what I mean." He waggled his bushy eyebrows.

I’d need a plunger to remove that visual from my brain. "Harvey,
I said you needed to blend in. The only place you’d fit in wearing that suit is
at a clown convention."

I caught a whiff of strawberries in the air. Lucille or
Norma Jean must have left a trail of perfume in their wake.

"You’re one to talk about blendin’ in with that hair of
yours," Harvey said, pointing at my head.

I patted my coiffed and tucked-in curls. "What’s wrong
with my hair?"

"Besides, all of the other suits were at the cleaners,"
he said, obviously ignoring my question. His gold teeth appeared behind his
wide smile. "We’ve been experimenting with some homemade edible love goops
lately and things got a bit messier than usual."