Optical Delusions in Deadwood (25 page)

      “No way! I’d be a shriveled raisin by then. That woman can’t get enough of me.”

      Red satin boxers and now this kernel of knowledge. Swell.

      “What’s wrong with your hair?” Harvey asked. “You jam something in a light socket?”

      “I had chicken issues.”

      “Your feathers do look ruffled this mornin’.”

      My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my purse and flipped it open. Douglas Mann, again. I took a deep breath and took Douglas’ call. “Violet Parker speaking, how can I help you?”

      “Hello, Miss Parker.” Doug’s voice sounded strangely high and peppy with a squeak of bubblegum, like a sixteen-year-old girl’s. “This is Douglas Mann’s secretary. He’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.”

      He had his secretary call? Wow. That seemed pretty highfalutin’ for a Tuesday morning in Deadwood. “Sure.”

      She put me through.

      “Hello, Miss Parker.” This time Doug’s voice sounded more like I’d figured—baritone. Although I’d expected it to have a whiskey smoothness that came with years of luring young virgins, not a crust around the edges as if he was getting over a cold. “I’ve finally managed to catch you.”

      Did that have a double meaning? Or were tales of his dalliances skewing my opinion before I’d even met him? “What can I do for you, Mr. Mann?”

      We pulled into the parking lot behind Calamity Jane Realty. I could feel Harvey’s eyes on me. I ignored him.

      “I’d like to have lunch with you today.”

      “You would? Today? Why?” Douglas didn’t waste any time, did he?

      “I may be interested in purchasing some property.”

      “Of course.”
Duh, Violet.
My face warmed at the wrong conclusion I’d broad-jumped to. “Where do you want to meet? Bighorn Billy’s?”

      Harvey slowed to a stop behind my Bronco.

      “No. It’s too busy with bikers. Meet me at The Golden Sluice at eleven-thirty. I’ll be in the corner booth.”

      “The Golden Sluice, got it. See you then.”

      I tossed my phone in my purse and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for driving me down here, Harvey.”

      His caterpillar-like eyebrows were all crinkled. “Was that Doug Mann you were talking to?”

      “Yes. And if you are going to tell me he’s a womanizer, I already know.” He didn’t seem very womanizing on the phone. I hadn’t had a chance to get to that funeral video yet to confirm anything for myself, but I would remedy that before I sat across the table from him.

      “And you’re still going to go to lunch with him?”

      “He wants to buy something.”

      Harvey snorted. “He usually gets it for free. What makes him think you’re selling?”

      “I’m talking about a property, smartass”

      “Yeah, but is he?”

      “I’m going to say good-bye now, Harvey.” I shoved open the door. “And ignore your little innuendo.”

      “Fine, Miss High-n-Mighty, you do that. But watch Doug’s hands, or you might get pinched in-yer-end-o.”

      I could hear him laughing at his own pun as he drove off.

      A couple of hours later, I’d watched Douglas on the funeral disk over and over. That was no pinch. He’d cupped and squeezed, and Lila hadn’t visibly reacted at all. Either she’d been too grief-stricken to notice Douglas’ hand on her ass or she’d been cupped and squeezed by the man before. I’d place all of my chips on the latter.

      I was still pondering what this could mean in the grand scheme of murder as I made the winding drive up through traffic and curves to The Golden Sluice. As dingy, hole-in-the-wall bars go, it was unremarkable with its grimy wood floors, scarred tables, and crappy lighting. Not very golden at all.

      A few people—mostly men, mostly grizzled—sat at the tables, foamy beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. Wisps of smoke spiraled up toward the ceiling fans, the haze-filled air hiding all the dirty corners. A TV on the back wall reigned, entrancing the dozen or so men with a baseball game, the volume down to a low drone.

      Three hunched patrons held down stools at the bar. A Grizzly Adams lookalike cleaned glasses behind it, eyeing me as I crossed to the corner booth. My smile and small wave went unreturned. Not exactly Boston’s
Cheers
, this place.

      Douglas Mann rose to the occasion, as in he stepped out of the booth to greet me. He reminded me of a lollipop, his chin round, his jowls a little rounder, and his wire-rimmed glasses complete circles. But his torso and legs were long and straight, clear down to the pointed toes of his cowboy boots.

      A little too boyish to be handsome, I thought as I approached and he smiled. Actually, more like the kid next door on stilts. Not exactly lady-killer material. What was it about the guy that made him such a big babe magnet? Something I wasn’t seeing?

      “You must be Mr. Mann,” I said and took the hand he offered. The skin on his palm reminded me of raw steak—cool, smooth, and meaty. I let go as soon as I could.

      “Please, call me Douglas.” His gaze dipped to my neck, but no lower in spite of the semi-deep V of my navy-blue dress.  “That’s a beautiful sapphire. Is it an heirloom?”

      I touched my grandmother’s heart pendant. The man knew a little about jewelry. “Thank you, and yes, it is.”

      His smile widened enough to show two rows of bright white teeth that stood out in the bar’s semi-gloom. “Is your hair naturally that curly?”

      I fingered one of the rampant spirals that had escaped my French knot, tucking it behind my ear. “Yes.”

      I waited, anticipating a fire-hose dousing of charm or charisma or something that would live up to his tail-chasing reputation.

      “Interesting,” was all he said. He gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

      Hmm. Nothing sleazy. A gentleman so far. Maybe I had the wrong Douglas Mann. “A Diet Coke would be great.”

      “I’ll be right back. Menus are on the table.”

      Ten minutes passed in a blip. Too soon, I was done with the menu and thus forced to make eye contact. “So, are you interested in a particular house or would you like to look at some of the MLS listings I’ve brought along?” I reached for my tote.

      Douglas’ lips curved downward. “I don’t usually like to talk business until after I eat. It gives me indigestion.”

      “Okay.” That left the weather to fill the next half hour. I didn’t think Mother Nature was going to cut it with all of the blue sky and sunshine lately.

      “How long have you lived in the area, Miss Parker?”

      “Six months. And you can call me Violet.”

      “Violet, it is.” His knee bumped mine.

      Was that on purpose? I thought of Harvey’s warning and made sure both of Douglas’ hands were accounted for.

      “Do you like living in the hills?” he asked.

      “Most days.”

      “What brought you to town?”

     
My Bronco.
What was with these formal questions? Was I being vetted for something? “Family and a job.”

      “You mean your current job?” His knee bumped mine again.

      Twice meant something, didn’t it? “Yes.”

      “How’s the realty business these days with this economic climate?”

      “A little slow.” Pinesap moved faster in the dead of winter.

      “I’ve noticed a few more For Sale signs than usual around town this spring.”

      Just a few? Try three times more than usual, according to Mona. “Times are tough in Deadwood.”

      “Lead, too. But I’m hoping I can help.” His knee nudged mine again.

      I shifted deeper into the booth, out of knee reach.

      “Was that you?” He peeked under the table. “I thought it was the table leg. I’m sorry.”

      I waved him off. “That’s okay.”

      So he wasn’t playing knee-sie with me on purpose? Why not? After all the badmouthing I’d heard about this would-be Don Juan, I’d expected to be battling an octopus all through lunch.

      “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very bony knee?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

      Boney knees and Raggedy Ann hair. I should have donned my red nose and clown shoes to complete the outfit. Was it really any wonder Douglas wasn’t hitting on me?

      The food showed up at that moment, delivered by Grizzly himself. The plates clattered on the table, each followed by a grunt and a splashing refill.

      After dabbing the Diet Coke from my dress, I lifted the soggy top bun from my sandwich and frowned down at the charred sliver of meat. I could’ve sworn I’d ordered chicken, not Tweety Bird. I reached for the ketchup to cover the taste of burned poultry.

      When I glanced up at Douglas, he was frowning toward the doorway, shaking his head.

      I looked over my shoulder, attempting to follow his frown but instead locking eyes with a familiar pair of pale blue eyes at the bar.

     
Harvey!
What was he doing here? Oh, right. He’d heard me on the phone with Douglas.

      Harvey ducked behind a menu—a postcard-sized drink menu. I could still see his bushy brows and gold teeth. A familiar body slid onto the stool next to him. My jaw tightened. Cooper, too? Did Harvey really think Douglas was that bad? Why didn’t he just call in the National Guard? 

      “You trying to drown that?” Douglas asked.

      “What?” I’d been pouring ketchup this whole time. Tweety floated in a pool of tomato blood. “Oh, crud.”

      Douglas chuckled and offered me a dry French fry.

      The rest of lunch was a blur of small talk and stolen scowls in Harvey’s direction. Not a single wink or flirty glance flowed from Douglas. Was this the same guy I’d watched cup and squeeze Lila’s ass on the video? Maybe he had an evil twin. That, or Douglas liked to chase any skirt but mine.

      Douglas insisted upon walking me out to my Bronco, and since he hadn’t allowed me to talk business inside, I agreed.

      I’d parked on a side street just off Lead’s main drag. He opened my door for me. Again, a gentleman.

      “Violet.” He leaned on the open window frame, his cheeks rounded. “I’m interested in the old Carhart place.”

      “Why?” It was out before I realized what I’d said. I tightened my slack jaw and smiled back. “I mean, would you like to do a walk-through?”

      “Sure, but not today.” He glanced toward Main Street, his forehead wrinkling. “Have you had any other offers on it yet?”

      “There’s some interest.”

      “But an actual offer?”

      “Not yet.”

      “If one comes in any time soon, you’ll let me know?”

      “I can.”

      “Excellent.” He stepped back. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

      I whistled all of the way back to work and practically skipped back into the air-conditioned office. Mona was there when I arrived, the phone to her ear, her fingernails clacking, her jasmine perfume a fresh change from stale cigarette smoke.

      I bounced into my chair, humming happy tunes under my breath. Things were finally looking up, in spite of the nightmares from which only lots of tequila seemed to help me escape. Therapy or alcohol—it was nice to have options.

      By the time Mona hung up, I was busy filing my nails while surfing the Internet for information about Douglas Mann.

      “Having a good day, are we?” Mona asked.

      “Extremely.” It was amazing what great sex and a potential buyer could do for one’s attitude.

      “You’ll be happy to see this, then.” Mona walked over and placed a sticky note on my desk.

      I read it, picked it up, and read it again. “You’re kidding me.” Zeke and Zelda wanted to make an offer on the Carhart place. Where was my wallet? I needed to buy a lotto ticket.

      “I wonder what prompted this.” Last I knew, Zelda had wanted more proof the place was haunted.

      “Call and see.”

      So I did, but I got Zelda’s voicemail. I left a message asking her to give me a call when she had a chance.

      “How did lunch with Douglas go?” Mona asked after I hung up. She must have read the question on my face. “Ray told me Douglas called, and I put two and two together. Did he hit on you?”

      “Not at all.”

      “You’re kidding. He hits on everyone.”

     
Everyone? Really?
This factoid and Mona’s wide-eyed surprise were doing wonders for my ego. I tucked away another fugitive curl and cleared my throat. “Everyone but me, it appears.”

      “What did he want?”

      “He’s interested in the Carhart place.”

      “What are the chances? Two fish at once. Good for you.”

      “After I get the offer from Zeke and Zelda all written up, I’ll need to let Douglas know about it, I guess.” Although I didn’t really want to. For one thing, I liked Zelda and Zeke and the idea of having them in town. For another, I was beginning not to like Douglas Mann very much. What was it that he didn’t like about me? Was it the curly hair?

      “He may want to make an offer, too.” Mona interrupted my fifth-grade pity party. “Step carefully there. You signed a DLA agreement, right?”

      “Yeah, but I need to freshen up on the details on representing two potential buyers for the same property, make sure I don’t break any laws.”   

      I was doing that very thing an hour later when Ray came strutting in through the back door, his too-tanned face sporting a big, shit-eating grin, his beady eyes locked on me.

      “Hey, Slut,” he said.

      “Ray!” Mona chided.

      I sat there sucker-punched, my mouth agape.

      He guffawed—I wanted to cram my phone down his throat when that sound came from it—and said, “Who’d you piss off now, Blondie?”

      I recovered from my moment of surprise. “Go blow a monkey, you jackass.” I turned my back to him before I could follow my gut instinct and launch at his face, claws extended.

      “Don’t shoot the messenger.” His keys rattled as they hit his desk. “I’m only repeating what someone scratched on the side of your Bronco.”