An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 (12 page)

“How are you doing?” he asked, his deep voice velvety. I wanted to wrap myself up in it to fight off the chills and dread that kept breezing through me.

I had a feeling he wasn’t making small talk, so I didn’t either. “I’m scared about Layne.”

“This is some weird coincidence, Violet. He’ll be fine. He’s a smart kid.”

“
And
I’m anxious about Tiffany knowing we’re a couple.” I winced. Was
couple
too strong a word for his comfort level to describe our relationship at the moment? I felt extra sensitive about his feelings after having Tiffany and his past in my thoughts today. “Well, we’re together, I mean. Not necessarily a
couple
, but still boyfriend and girlfriend. Dating exclusively at this moment … sort of.”

I covered my mouth to shut it up.

“Are you done, sweetheart?” he asked.

I took my hand away long enough to answer. “I think so.”

“Two things you need to know.”

Only two? My hand lowered to my sternum. “What?”

“Don’t apply what I said about why I left Tiffany to you.”

Which part?
As much as I wanted clarification, I kept my lips squeezed tight, afraid I’d sound more stupid and pathetic than I already had. “What’s the second thing?” I asked instead.

“You may have been right.”

“About what?”

“Tiffany not taking the fact that we’re a couple very well.”

So we were a couple in his eyes. Whew.
What exactly did being a couple mean to him?
I bitch-smacked my forehead, trying to mute that insecure voice in my skull. “Why do you say that?”

“She called me tonight.”

That settled over me like mustard gas. I coughed to clear the constriction in my throat. “What did she say?”

“I didn’t answer.”

Good! “Why not?”

“I was busy working.”

Even better. “Oh.”

“And I didn’t want to talk to her.”

I smiled. “Why not?”

“Violet, don’t you get it yet?”

“Get what?”

“The obvious.”

“I never assume I understand the obvious.” That usually resulted in my cheeks burning and a need to bury my head in the sand.

“That’s probably a safe bet.”

He was losing me. After the long, brain-bending day I’d had, I needed to keep our conversation at an eighth grade reading level.

“Did she leave a message?” I asked, my throat still burning about Tiffany calling
my
boyfriend.

“Not just one.”

I plucked a chicken feather from my comforter and let it drift to the floor. “So she called back?”

“Yes, twenty-three more times.”

What! Jeez! Crap! One sighting and she’d gone psycho. “What did she say in her messages?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Was she speaking in tongues?”

He chuckled. “I deleted them without listening to any.”

Really? “Weren’t you a little bit curious about what she had to say?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“One of the many benefits of no longer being involved with her romantically is that I don’t have to listen to anything she says.”

“So if I called and left you twenty-three messages you’d listen to every one of them?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I’d play the first one to find out what trouble you’d gotten into again and then come find you.”

I leaned back against the pillows, stretching my legs out in front of me, wishing he was sprawled out next to me. “You’d show up as my knight in shining armor?”

“Something like that. Not that you’d let me save you.”

“I certainly wouldn’t stop you if I was up shit creek.”

“Good. I’ll make sure to bring paddles next time.”

Rubbing my eyes, I sighed. “What are we going to do about your ex?”

“Ignore her. She’ll get over this and move on.”

I didn’t share his optimism. “It’s already been three months. It appears she hasn’t moved an inch yet. Maybe she’s been holding onto the hope that you’d eventually change your mind and take her back.”

“No, I think this goes back to her need to compete and be the best at everything.”

“Or maybe you’re irresistible.”

He laughed.

“You are pretty decent in the sack, Doc.”

“Pretty decent?”

“I’ve definitely had worse.”

“Name them.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“I’m serious, name them so I can hunt them down and warn them to stay away from you.”

“You’re starting to sound as loony as Tiffany.”

“You drive me nuts, Boots.”

I grinned. “I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“I’m just getting rolling.”

I miss you.

I bit my tongue, keeping those three words inside. I was afraid if I said them, then three other words would follow, and Doc would leave me, too. Tiffany and I could become best friends forever and plaster our walls with pictures of Doc we shot through his blinds and curtains.

“Please tell me you’re definitely coming back up here tomorrow.” I plucked another chicken feather from my comforter. Addy must have let Elvis run loose today after school, dang it.

“I should be hitting the road by noon. Why? You want to finish what you started at lunch today?”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

I sat silent for a moment, listening to him breathe, imagining him touching me. “Violet?”

“What?”

“There’s something I need to tell you about Tiffany.”

My gut lurched. I wasn’t sure I could handle this tonight, but before my brain could take a vote on the matter, my lips asked, “What?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“In your bed?”

“Yes.”

“Under the sheets?”

I growled at him. “Damn it, Doc. What haven’t you told me about Tiffany?”

“She’s not you.”

He’d said that before. “What does that even mean?” I already knew she wasn’t flabby-bellied with wild hair.

“It means that if Tiffany tries to mess with you about us, remember what I’m telling you right now.”

What was he telling me? “That she’s not me?”

“Yes.”

He was going to need to spell it out for me, because I was tired of the guessing game when it came to us. “Could you be less cryptic, Doc?”

“Not over the phone. Sleep tight, Boots.”

He hung up, leaving me wanting so much more.

* * *

Wednesday, October 3
rd

I blinked awake. The morning sunlight did not make my current situation look any better no matter how long I lay there in my bed, wishin’ and a hopin’. The smell of bacon lured me out from under my covers eventually.

My morning went the same as every other with periods of yelling and bouts of fighting until Harvey shoved the kids out the front door to take them to school. I spent extra time picking out a power outfit made up of black dress pants and a tiger striped silk blouse. Black leather boots finished off the bottom, a tightly coiled French chignon wrapped up the top. With some eyeliner and a touch of tinted lip gloss, the queen of the jungle was ready to meet her new client.

Parking spots were plentiful when I pulled into the lot, even with Jerry, Ray, and Benjamin’s vehicles already there. The “boys” had taken to coming in early to work and hitting the basketball court next door at the Rec Center for some early morning competition to get their testosterone spiking. As for me, I preferred caffeine over sweaty jock straps.

Mona pulled in right behind me.

“Morning, Vi,” she said and walked in with me. “How’s your aunt doing these days?”

“Okay.” We hung up our jackets and went our separate ways to our desks. “Why do you ask?”

Mona opened her laptop. “I saw Reid Martin playing pool last night up at Charles’ Club.”

“Yeah?” Reid and Aunt Zoe had a history. I didn’t know the full details, but it initially involved rejection and hurt feelings, and now included a shotgun aimed at his backside as Aunt Zoe shooed him away. “How’s Deadwood’s fire captain doing?”

It had been a couple of weeks since I’d run into Reid hustling out Aunt Zoe’s screen door while she hunted down her shotgun shells. Since then, I’d heard he was working long hours and drinking during the short ones. Whatever was going on between those two, Reid seemed to be swimming in booze to get through it. I’d been there and done that in the past, so I wasn’t one to throw pebbles at anyone’s glass house. Hell, much more of this crazy shit going on in my world and I might join him at the bar.

The back door creaked open; male laughter echoed up the hallway.

“I think Reid’s broken,” Mona said. “On a positive note, he could write country songs now. If he got himself a three-legged hound dog, he’d be on the road to a Grammy.”

Jerry’s extra-large shoes thudded into the front room. “Mornin’.” His cheeks were flushed, his tie hung loose, and his hair was wet. I caught the glance Mona shot at his backside as he bent over in his khakis and poured himself a cup of coffee. “What’s the game plan today, ladies?”

Mona’s fingers started their clacking song and dance. “Two showings and a lunch meeting down in Spearfish for me.”

“That color looks nice on you, Red,” Jerry said, staring at Mona’s white cashmere sweater snuggling her chest perfectly. “What about you, Violet?” he asked, his gaze still assessing Mona’s front side.

“White always makes me look washed out,” I answered, tongue in cheek.

“I think you look nice in white,” Ben said, rounding his desk and dropping into his chair. His cheeks were flushed, too, but his tie was straight and tight against his neck. “It turns your hair a pretty golden color, like Kate Hudson’s.”

“Thanks, Ben. I like that tie.”

“What is this?” Ray asked, dropping into his chair and kicking his boots up on his desk. “A hippie love-in?”

Jerry chuckled, dragging his focus away from Mona the siren. “I meant, what’s on your plate today, Violet?”

“Your Billboard Bunny caught a mouse,” Ray cut me off.

“He’s more of a golden-haired lion,” Mona said.

“Apparently,” I clarified for Jerry, “a customer came in yesterday while I was at lunch and made an appointment to be here at nine.” Which was twenty minutes away.

“He mentioned seeing her billboard.” Ray crossed his arms over his chest and grinned at me. “That was a brilliant marketing idea you had, Jerry.”

Freaking kiss ass. Ray knew my feelings about the billboard ad. He’d overheard me tell Mona the afternoon when I had first seen it that I was going to spray gasoline all over it and burn the sucker down.

“After I finish talking to this new customer, I have an appointment with Detective Cooper.”

“Again?” Jerry’s blonde eyebrows formed a line on his forehead below his buzz cut.

Ray snickered. “Does it involve handcuffs?”

I ignored him. “Cooper wants me to show him a place in town,” I sort of fibbed since he was actually going to show me the place.

“Are you going to show him somewhere that he’ll love coming home to every night?” Ray repeated my billboard slogan.

“Ray,” Mona warned.

“What? I’m getting our little Violet warmed up for her new customer.”

“That’s enough, Ray,” Jerry said. “Violet, I’ll leave you alone to get prepped for your next potential sale then.” He raised his coffee cup in salute. “Nice game this morning, boys.” He tapped on Mona’s desk as he walked past her. “Keep up the good work, Red.”

With the coach back in his office, the rest of us did our usual warm up routine. Mona clacked out more of what I suspected was going to be her great American novel, Ray picked up the phone and started schmoozing his clients, and Ben began printing new listing reports for all of the Black Hills and the surrounding area. Meanwhile, I fretted about losing my job, getting thrown in jail, and dirtying my already sullied reputation.

At five minutes until nine, my nerves about meeting a male client who found me thanks to a sleazy billboard were all sparky, my bladder tickling like I might pee my pants. I grabbed my purse and slipped into the bathroom, taking care of business, scrubbing my hands longer than usual, touching up my makeup.

I heard the bell over the front door jingle and then Mona gave her usual “Welcome, would you like a cup of coffee” bit.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped out. I took one last moment to smooth my shirt and tuck up some loose curls before heading toward the front office.

With a big smile glued high on my cheeks, I stepped out into the front room. “Hello, I’m … ”

My voice froze and fell over dead.

My smile collapsed onto the floor next to it.

“You’re Violet Parker,” finished Rex Conner, the low-down, no-good, piece-of-shit father of my children. His smile was working just fine. It creased his brown eyes and showed off his straight white teeth. “I’ve come to see you about a house.”

No. Fucking. Way.

Chapter Seven

Long ago, in a prairie town about forty miles away, a foolish college girl got knocked up by a handsome, smart, charming, slick—
did I mention handsome?
—older college boy. It wasn’t a night of drunken debauchery, nor was it her first time. It was a matter of trying a different birth control pill and ending up pregnant. When the foolish girl told the handsome boy about the bun in the oven (not realizing at the time that she should be using the plural version of the word
bun
), his reaction was to sprint in the other direction, running off to pursue his career and never to be seen again … until today.

There was more to this tale, some soap opera drama award-winning shit involving the girl’s trampy younger sister and a lot of unscrupulous sex that didn’t include the foolish girl. But that was a tale for another time and still necessitated a bottle of tequila to cough it all out.

For now, the moral of the story was that old man Harvey had been right: I should carry a firearm at all times in case my children’s sperm donor walked through the door and needed his smug handsome mug blown to smithereens.

“Violet?” Mona rushed toward me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

More like the devil himself.

“Maybe you should have a seat. Ben get her a glass of water.”