Optical Delusions in Deadwood (28 page)

      The low snarl of a motor outside the window squeezed lungs into lockdown.

      “Uh-oh!” I rushed to the window, peeking through the gauzy sky-blue curtains in time to see Lila and Millie crawling out of the Barbie-mobile. While I watched, Lila pointed at Doc’s Camaro. Her face pinched into an ugly sneer as she spoke to Millie, who squinted up at the house, right at me.

      I stepped back, sweaty and breathy. My body flooded with adrenaline, kicking into flight mode. “Doc, we have to go.”

      “Not yet,” he said from the bed.

      “We have to get out of this room.” I was already halfway to the door.

      “I can’t.”

      I glanced Doc’s way and stopped. He looked like a ghost sitting on the bed. His wide, dark eyes stared over my shoulder, with a haunted, hollow-cheeked look Hollywood makeup artists spend hours trying to achieve. His whole body shuddered and quaked, his hands clenched into claw-like almost-fists at his sides.

      Chills peppered my arms and legs. “Doc?”

      Downstairs, the front door slammed open. Something crashed and shattered.

      “Doc?” I returned to his side, not sure how to help, where to touch. “We have to go before Lila finds us in here.”

      “Not. Yet.” His nostrils flared with short, sharp breaths. His eyes remained fixed on the open doorway.

      Was that a stair step creaking?

      Crap!

      “I’ll be back,” I said and turned to go head off Lila’s talons.

      “No!” Doc caught my hand and yanked me backward.

      I almost fell onto his lap. “What are you—”

      “She’s here.”

      He was right. Those were definitely footfalls coming up the stairs. “I know. I have to go stop her.”

      “Not Lila.” He pointed at the empty threshold. “
Her
.”

     
Chapter Sixteen

      Whether or not I believed in ghosts, Doc’s behavior and warning sparked a rush of goosebumps up my arms.

      “Doc, you’re scaring me a little,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the empty doorway.

      “If you could smell her, you’d be terrified. This one has some nasty secrets.”

      A piercing scream rang out from downstairs. I jumped, nearly peeing my pants. I heard more crashing and shattering, along with footfalls pounding away, back down the stairs. What in the hell was going on down there?

      I focused on the ghost at hand. “How can you tell she has nasty secrets?”

      “The intensity of her odor. She’s trailed it throughout the house.”

      “I can’t see anything.”

      “Trust me, she’s right here.”

      “Where?”

      “Just inside the doorway.”

      More chills—this time, shivering down my spine. I backed into his knee.

      His hand on my hip steadied me. “Do you believe me?”

      I didn’t know what to believe. “You make a pretty persuasive Vincent Price.” I grabbed his hand and held on tight. “How do you know it’s a woman?”

      “I’m catching traces of rose water.”

      “Rose water,” I parroted. That reminded me of the little bowl of rose-shaped soaps my grandmother kept on the back of her toilet.

      “Plus, I can see her. Kind of.”

      “I thought you could only smell ghosts.”

      “When she stands still, there’s a slight blur.”

      “Is she standing still now?”

      “Yes.”

      “Right in front of us?”

      “Yes.”

      The goosebumps spread clear to my toes. Okay, now I was totally creeped out. I tugged on his hand. “We need to get out of this room.”

      “I don’t know what will happen if she tries to pass through me.”

      “Pass through you?” I cast a grimace in his direction. “Can’t you walk around her?”

      “It appears not. She’s insisting.”

      “How does she know you can sense her?”

      “I haven’t figured that out, but they always do.”

      “What are we going to do?”

      “You go first. I’ll try to follow.”

      “Try to?” I seemed to be having trouble processing his words today.

      “Be ready.” He shoved me toward the door.

      I skirted to the left, scurrying through the doorway as if my tail feathers were on fire. When I reached the safety of the hall, I spun around. “Ready for what?”

      Doc pushed to his feet. “This.”

      He walked three steps and then stumbled, careened into the door jamb with a whump, and slumped to the floor.

      Shit!

      “Doc?” I rushed to where he lay crumpled on the threshold and knelt over him. “Doc, are you okay?”

      His eyes didn’t open. I touched his pale cheeks, his forehead, his neck, searching for a bit of warm skin. He was cold. Impossibly cold, considering the heat trapped upstairs with us. Was he in shock? What were the signs, again?

      Sweat coated my arms and legs and trickled down my back. I reached for his wrist. My heart was pounding so hard that I couldn’t tell at first if I was feeling his pulse or my own. After a couple of deep breaths and a string of un-ladylike curses at myself for dragging him to this damned house, I found his pulse—strong and steady.

      I sat back on my heels, still holding his arm. Behind his closed eyelids, his eyes rolled around—REM on speed. What was going on in there?

      “Doc?” I whispered in his ear.

      No response.

      I grasped his hand. “Doc, squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

      No squeeze.

     
Fuck!
Should I call 911? Harvey? Aunt Zoe? Cooper?

      My gut told me I needed to get him out of the room, so I hooked my hands under his armpits and tugged, then tugged some more. Grunting and sweating, I dragged him into the hall and noticed the color had returned to his lips. It wasn’t until I stood upright that I realized I had company.

      “What are
you
doing up here?” Lila said, her mouth crinkled into a snarl.

      I mentally gulped. With a man down, I was ill prepared for battle. “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, stepping between her and Doc to shield him from her claws. “I’m showing
Wanda’s
house to a potential buyer.”

      Her eyes narrowed at my jab.

      Millie came around the corner right then. Her owl eyes widened with alarm when she saw Doc. “What did you do to him? Is he dead?” Grimacing, she leaned over Doc, whose color had almost returned to normal.

      Had Millie been the one who found her dad and brother, post mortem? Did she have nightmares, too? I touched her arm in empathy, only to jerk my hand back when she recoiled from me.

      “He’s not dead.” I scrambled for an explanation and threw out the first thing that came to mind. “He has allergies.” I should’ve gone with the second.

      Lila snorted. “That’s not a normal reaction.”

      She didn’t know the half of it. “His meds cause some chemical imbalances.”

      The tilt of her head hinted that she wasn’t buying my bullshit. She looked over my shoulder into the bedroom, and her face contorted. I turned to see what had her all feral and bristly and saw the rumpled bed cover where Doc had been sitting. Busted! Crap. By the time I turned back, Lila had schooled her expression, but she still gave me frostbite from my toes north.

      “Is he the one who wants to buy our house?” Millie asked, still leaning over Doc.

      “No.”

      “Then why is he here?” Lila bit out each word.

      Damn, I was tired of this bitch. I had more important things to deal with, like the man lying at my feet. “I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

      Lila’s cheeks flashed bright pink. “Listen, you little—”

      Doc gasped and wheezed.

      Millie cried out in surprise and stumbled backwards.

      Before I could do more than gape down at him, his eyelids opened and he came out of his spell swinging. Literally. I leapt out of the way as he thrashed and punched the air, wrestling some invisible demon.

      Lila squealed when I landed on her foot, my heel crushing her toes. She shoved me, hard, and my shoulder slammed into the wall, but my fear for Doc overshadowed the flare of pain.

      “Doc!” He writhed on the floor as if in a seizure, the tendons standing out on his neck, his muscles straining. I didn’t dare risk getting close enough to touch him. “Doc, wake up!”

      He stopped so suddenly that it took me several shallow breaths to realize he was looking up at me—actually seeing me.

      I bent over him. “Are you okay?”

      His eyes flittered over my face, then focused behind me and widened. He sat up so fast we nearly clonked heads. “We have to get out of here.”

      He lurched to his feet, not waiting for a second opinion, and staggered into the wall.

      “Doc?” I gawked up at him.

      “Now, Violet!” He grabbed my wrist and yanked me up, the force making my head spin. He crashed down the stairs with me trailing like a kite.

      The offer letter still lay on the sideboard. It caught air as we blew past it. I glanced over my shoulder and saw it fluttering to the floor. A glimpse of Wanda cowering in the kitchen entryway, broom in hand, spurred a parting “I’ll call” from me as we flew by.

      Doc didn’t slow until we reached his car. He shoved me into the driver’s seat and tossed his keys in my lap.

      I sat there catching flies with my open mouth as he crawled into the passenger side and slammed the door.

      “Drive!”

      I stared, too stunned to do anything else.

      He reached over, plucked the keys from my lap, and placed them in my palm. “Violet, drive. Please.”

      “Wow.” It took me three blinks to snap out of my stupor. I put the key in the ignition and sparked the Camaro to life. “Where to?”

      “I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”

      We drove back down to Deadwood in silence, the wind blowing through the open windows and the rumble of passing bikes the only sounds. Doc leaned his head back against the seat’s headrest, his eyes closed. Meanwhile, I aimed worried glances his way, my lips pinched tight. I was afraid that if I unlatched the gate, all my questions would stampede.

      As I entered the city limits, my phone rang. I fished it out of my purse, trying to keep my main focus on the road. The phone flashed Douglas Mann’s number. “I should take this,” I told Doc, who nodded in reply.

      I whipped into the hardware store’s parking lot and pulled into a stall, letting the engine idle.

      “Hello?”

      “Violet, it’s Douglas Mann. I need to talk to you.”

      “Hi, Douglas. I need to talk to you, too.” With the offer in the Carhart’s hands—well, on their floor—Douglas had thirty-six hours to make his own offer.

      “Have dinner with me tonight.”

      It was more of a command than a question. I had the feeling Douglas was used to people asking “to the moon?” when he ordered them to jump. “Dinner? Can’t we just meet at my office this afternoon?”

      I glanced at Doc and found him watching me through one open eye. His skin tone had returned to normal, his forehead smooth. He was going to be okay. The tight grip of anxiety on my chest eased.

      “I have meetings all day. It has to be dinner. How about Chuckwagon Charlie’s? They serve an excellent apricot-stuffed chicken that comes coated in a blueberry sauce.”

      Oh, my God. They called that chuckwagon food? Just the thought made my stomach lay siege to my liver. My lack of lunch was beginning to make me a little woozy. Low blood sugar had a way of changing me from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. From now on, I was going to eat before Doc played patty-cake with one of his ghosts.

      “I didn’t realize Chuckwagon Charlie’s served anything other than beer, burgers, and stale peanuts.” I’d only been there once, with Natalie. She’d been dating the bartender at the time.

      “They have an upstairs lounge now.”

      “A lounge? Sounds fancy.”

      Doc cleared his throat.

      I looked his way and ran into his razor-sharp glare. Whoa! No mixed message there. “I don’t know, Douglas. I had some plans tonight.”

      “I’d like to place an offer on the Carhart house.”

      “Oh.” Well, when he said it like that. I turned my back on Doc. “Okay, what time?”

      “Seven or eight. You pick.”

      “Seven it is. Does the lounge have a dress code?”

      “No, but I do. Wear a black skirt.”

      Why? Maybe Doc was right about Douglas being interested in more than my Realtor services. “You have something against women in pants?”

      “In my position, appearances in public are always important.”

      Politics. I should’ve known. Who was he expecting, the paparazzi? “I’ll see what I can find in my closet.”

      “Great. Bring a list of any disclosures.”

      “Will do. See you tonight.” I hung up and turned back to Doc.

      “You’re going to dinner with Douglas Mann?” How he got that out through clenched teeth boggled me.

      “Hey, the color is back in your cheeks.” A change of subject and a compliment. It was worth a shot.

      “Violet.” Somehow, he even made anger look sexy.

      “Douglas wants to put an offer on the table.”

      “I’m sure he does, especially if you wear something that shows off your knees.”

      “You like my knees?”

      “I like you. Period. What I don’t like is you having dinner with the local playboy.”

      “It’s just business.”

      “For you, maybe. Not for him.”

      “Doc, I’m telling you, he’s not interested in me.”

      “And I’m telling you, Violet, that a man would have to be blind, dumb, and castrated not to be interested. You’re just too naïve and insecure to see the game he’s playing with you.”

      “Gee, your compliments warm the cockles of my heart.”

      He closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest again. “Violet, don’t go to dinner with him.”