An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 (37 page)

“Oh, that?” he said, as if it were his least important ability.

“Yes, that. So let’s keep that secret of yours between us.”

“Of course.” He shoved open the door. “I always try to lie low and blend in.”

I looked at his stovepipe hat, black wool coat, pointy goatee, and the walking stick he was unfolding as he stepped out onto the street. “Right. You’re a regular chameleon.”

We walked to the front porch, the clack-clack of his walking stick on the sidewalk echoing down the street in an otherwise quiet moment.

Freesia opened the front door, greeting us with a smile. “Good to see you again, Violet.” Her gaze climbed all of the way up to the top of Cornelius’s hat. The curves in her cheeks deepened as her smile grew wider, making her eyes sparkle. “And who is this tall drink of water?” she asked, her voice growing huskier than normal, breathier. She batted her long eyelashes at him.

I did a doubletake. Was she flirting with Cornelius? Could that even be possible? Had the magnetic poles switched places?

“This is Cornelius Curion,” I told her. “He’s a client of mine.” I turned to him, checking to see if he’d noticed he had an admirer. The bonehead was frowning down at his glasses, trying to wipe a dirt smudge away with wool. I cleared my throat. “Cornelius, this is Freesia Tender. She owns the Galena House.’

Freesia held out her hand.

Cornelius looked up at it and reared back a step. “I don’t shake hands. It can send my aura into a maelstrom.”

Her cheeks warmed at his rebuff. She pulled back her hand and shoved it into the pocket of her capri pants. “Your aura, huh? You must be into the spiritual world.”

“Yes. I’m a ghost whi—”

I elbowed him in the solar plexus, aiming to knock him off course. Instead I knocked the wind out of him. He gasped and coughed and gasped some more.

When he caught his breath, he grimaced at me. “That was unpleasant.”

“Oops,” I replied.

“What were you saying?” Freesia asked. “You’re a ghost what?”

I glared at him.

“That’s all,” he said. “I’m a ghost.”

She touched his chest, scraping her nail down the wool of his coat. “You feel like a real man to me.”

Oh, Lord, was this really happening? Had Freesia been brainwashed by an evil presence in the building? Was she looking for the ‘keymaster’? Was the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man going to come strolling down the street next?

Cornelius appeared oblivious to Freesia’s flirting, looking away to cough into his hand a couple more times. Then he took off his round-framed glasses and put them in the inside breast pocket of his coat. “Freesia,” he said, peering down the hall behind her at who knew what. “Did you know that your name is the same as a fragrant, delicate flower that is easily damaged by the elements?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Are you?” he asked, his gaze focusing back on her.

“Am I what?”

“Easily damaged?”

“Oh, no, darlin’. I’m hardy as a dandelion.”

Cornelius frowned. “You’re referring to the weed, right? Not a dapper lion or an herbal tea?”

Okay. We’d reached the end of the stage line. It was time for everyone to get off and move along. “Freesia,” I took her by the elbow and turned her toward the stairs. “Do you mind showing Cornelius and me around the building?”

“Sure. Would you like the same tour as the one you had yesterday with Mr. Harvey?”

“That’s fine.”

“I’d like to view the attic,” Cornelius said. “And the basement.”

I frowned at him but said nothing. I thought he was concerned about the evil billowing from the heart of this place. If so, why would he want to scope out the scariest parts of the house?

Freesia had a sexy hip-swing going as she climbed the stairs in front of us. “You’re welcome to take a peek,” she glanced back and winked at Cornelius. “I can show you my apartment, too, if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, raining on her flirt fest.

“Maybe another time,” she directed at Cornelius.

Criminy. She must have been sniffing glue before we arrived. “Is that the door to the attic?” I asked, moving us right along, wanting to get this over with so the world could return to its normal programming.

It was the door, luckily. We climbed upstairs and looked around at a couple of large rooms packed full of old furniture, stacks of books and boxes, and huge conglomerations of dust bunnies. Down in the basement, the musty smell came complimentary with the dirt floor. Old shelves lined the concrete walls, broken furniture was scattered here and there along with rusted paint cans and some paint-peeling doors.

Back on the first floor, we paused outside of Ms. Wolff’s door. The tape was still there, X-ing off the doorway. I frowned at it, thinking about Layne’s picture tucked into the mirror inside.

“Sorry, I still can’t let you in, Violet,” Freesia said.

“Why not?” Cornelius asked.

Freesia looked at me. “He doesn’t know?”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know what?”

I opened my mouth to tell Cornelius about Ms. Wolff, but he covered my mouth with his hand. “No, don’t tell me, I’d rather find out later.”

“Find out later?” Freesia asked. She turned to me. “Are you thinking of sneaking inside again tonight?”

Cornelius gasped. “I can’t believe you came here at night without me?” He sounded hurt, which was ironic considering a short time ago he didn’t even like the place.

I shrugged at him. It wasn’t like we were ghost hunting partners. “Sort of.” I kept my answer evasive to protect Freesia in case Cooper came around asking questions.

“Did you find something?” he pressed.

“Sort of,” I said again.

“Is that why you want to have a séance in there tomorrow night?”

Lucky for him, I hit him with a glare instead of my foot.

Freesia’s eyes widened. “You want to have a séance in Ms. Wolff’s apartment?”

I hemmed, hawed, and then looked at my toes. “Sort of.”

Both Cornelius and Freesia were silent.

I looked up, expecting to meet resistance. “Listen, we don’t have to do it. It was an idea. I thought it could help the cops.” I grabbed Freesia’s arm. “But I didn’t plan to tell them about it, just kind of sneak in, try to talk to some ghosts—with any hope, Ms. Wolff—and then leave.”

“Are you both mediums or something?” Freesia asked.

“Or something,” I mumbled.

“I talk to ghosts,” Cornelius explained. “Violet acts as a conduit for me.”

I winced in anticipation of her blatant disbelief.

“How cool! I used to have fun in college with my girlfriends playing with a Ouija board. I swear that thing would move on its own sometimes.” Freesia’s smile had a conspiratorial feel to it. She leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you what. If you let me join you guys, I’ll sneak you into Ms. Wolff’s place tomorrow night.”

“There’s one more of us,” I said. “My boyfriend.” I risked a glance at Cornelius to see his reaction to me adding another attendee.

He nodded. “Safety in numbers.”

I’d heard that before.

“If I can come, he can come.” Freesia sidled up next to Cornelius, flirting with her body and smile this time. “We can make it a double date. I’ll bring some wine.”

“No!” Cornelius said.

I gaped at him. Damn it, he was going to blow this opportunity. If Freesia wanted some flirting in return for a night in Ms. Wolff’s apartment, he was going to have to suck it up and take one for the team.

“Wine dilutes the channel.” Cornelius pulled his glasses from his pocket. “Make it mead.” He turned to me. “And don’t bother with the elk steaks. I already tried them.” The way his nose wrinkled told me he felt the same about eating elk as my son.

“Are you saying you’re game?” I asked him, unsure if I wanted the séance to happen or not. If we got caught in Ms. Wolff’s apartment with candles and recording devices, Cooper would be all too happy to throw me in jail.

“Yes.” Cornelius put his glasses on and gave me that weird crooked lip thing he did in place of a smile.

“What changed your mind?”

“The ghosts. They have something they want to tell me.”

Chapter Nineteen

Bighorn Billy’s parking lot bustled with post-lunch patrons ogling a group of mint 1940s era Mercurys. The fall sunshine reflected off the cars’ flawless paint jobs, lighting up the excited faces of their admirers. Unfortunately, none of them were fit for time travel. I really could have used a way to zip back in time and figure out why Ms. Wolff had left that picture of Layne on her mirror and who had murdered her before Harvey and I got to her place.

Inside the diner, Dean Martin crooned about bedding down with his rifle and pony in a purple lit canyon. I recognized the song from
Rio Bravo
and puffed out my chest like the Duke facing down a mob of outlaws … or in this case, one particular bristly detective sitting alone in the back corner booth. As I stood inside the door, wondering if coming here was a mistake, Detective Cooper nailed me with his cop squint and waved me over. If I turned tail and ran, would he chase me down and tackle me? Could I call that police brutality?

I blew out a breath. Dang, I might as well get this over with. Amidst the scent of burgers, coffee, and all things grilled and deep fried, I joined him at the booth, dropping into the opposite seat.

“I’m surprised you agreed to come here,” was his greeting.

I shrugged off my jacket. “You did use the word ‘please’ for once.” His invitation to meet and chat was so polite and non-curse filled that at first I thought he’d called the wrong number. I glanced at him. “You’re not dying are you?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

After I settled into the booth and the waitress stopped by to take our drink orders, I picked up the menu. “Did you order another salad for me?”

Cooper had a bad habit of ordering diet food for me if I ran late. He claimed he was watching out for my figure, but I suspected something more along the lines of payback for the heartburn I seemed to cause him most days.

“Not this time,” he said. “I thought I’d wait for you.”

I looked up from the menu. “Wait a second, who are you really? Are you Detective Cooper’s non-evil twin?”

“No. I’m still evil, but I’m tired of chasing ghosts.”

That was something we had in common. I lowered the menu. Taking a closer look at him, I noticed a patch of stubble on his jaw he’d missed with the razor, the tired lines around his eyes, and the tufts of hair pulled this way and that.

“Your eyes are red,” I said, focusing back on the menu.

“Yours are, too.”

“It’s called nightmares about dead people coming back to life. What’s your excuse?” Next we’d start trading scar stories.

“Nightmares about live people turning up dead.”

The waitress brought our drinks and took our order. After she left he leaned back in the seat and watched me.

I wasn’t in the mood to have a staring contest. “Why am I here, Detective? Is this about the sale of your house?” I doubted it, but a Realtor could hope.

“Detective Hawke has a theory about you.”

“Uh-oh, this can’t be good.”

His lips twisted in a wry grin, confirming my fear. “He thinks you’re a witch.”

I leaned forward. “Come again?”

“Not the wart-nosed, green-skinned, black pointy hat kind—more of a sorcerer of sorts who dabbles in black magic, voodoo, or other kinds of pagan rituals.”

“He thinks I’m a witch?” I was still having trouble processing that part of his theory.

“I understand his confusion considering your crazy hair.” Cooper sipped his coffee. “But I told him I disagreed.”

“Gee, thanks.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “What is Detective Hawke basing this theory on? Let me guess, he found my flying broomstick. Or was it my jar of frog hearts?”

“He’s gone through all of the case files and your statements and believes there is a reason you have been involved in some manner with all of the deaths.”

“That’s insane. It’s coincidence.”

“Is it?” Cooper’s gaze searched mine.

“What do you think?”

He shrugged. “I think you need to stay away from the Galena House.”

That came out of left field. “What?’

“One of the patrol units called in late this morning and told me he saw you and an Abe Lincoln look-alike leaving the Galena House.”

My cheeks heated. His implicit accusation burned all of the way down, firing up my resentment toward him and his men. “Freesia Tender hired me as her Realtor.”

“I know that, but there is no reason for Cornelius Curion to be in that house with you.”

“He is a client of mine,” I bit out the words.

“He’s already buying The Old Prospector Hotel.”

“True, but maybe he’s interested in more than one property in Deadwood, have you considered that?”

“Is he?”

Rather than lie, I dodged his question, taking a card from his deck. “That’s privileged Realtor-client information.”

The waitress appeared with our side salads and forced our conversation to go nonverbal for a moment. Cooper tried to intimidate me with his squint. I lifted my chin in response.

After she left, he picked up his fork and aimed it at me. “Stay out of Ms. Wolff’s apartment without a police escort, Parker. We’ve left that place taped off for a reason.”

“What reason?’

“That’s none of your business.”

“As Freesia’s Realtor, it is my business. I need to know how soon the apartment will be cleared so that I can take interested buyers through the house without wincing when we walk by your police tape.”

He chomped on a bite of salad. “I’ll remove the tape when I’m done collecting evidence.”

“What’s left to collect? You’ve dusted for prints and taken pictures of everything, and you’re undoubtedly having Ms. Wolff’s body autopsied. Is there something else you are trying to find there? Does it have to do with those shrunken heads from decades ago that you’re trying to tie together with Ms. Wolff’s demise?”

His fork lowered, his nostrils flaring. “Nothing of concern to you. Just an answer or two.”

I didn’t give up that easily. “Like who killed Ms. Wolff and if it’s related to the previous murders?”

“Like why she called you instead of the cops if she knew someone was going to kill her.”