Nearly Departed in Deadwood (6 page)

      I nearly dropped the folder in surprise. “Be right with you.” I slipped the folder back in its place.

      Straightening my damp camisole, I forced my cheeks into a smile and stepped out into the front room. “How can I ...”

      Our new neighbor, the cleft-chinned Wild Bill groupie, stood pasted against the wall next to the To-Do whiteboard. His gaze was locked on the coffee maker, his lips pressed tight, his rugged face visibly pale. I glanced at the coffee maker, looking for a mouse or a rat or a flying-purple-people-eater. Something other than just a glass decanter half-filled with brown liquid.

      “Are you okay?”

      His dark eyes flicked my way. “I will be in a second.”

      “Can I help you ... somehow?”

      “I just need to catch my breath.”

      Funny, he didn’t seem winded.

      As the seconds ticked by, his cheeks regained some color. “I’m Doc Nyce, by the way.”

     
Nyce?
How did I know that name?

      “I left you a message earlier this morning.”

      “You’re Doctor Nyce?” Judging by his jeans and faded black T-shirt, I wouldn’t have guessed that M.D. followed his name.

      “Yes, but I’m not a doctor.”

      Puzzled, I crossed my arms. “Then why do you go by
doctor
?”

      “I don’t. I go by ‘Doc.’ My name is Dane, but my initials are ‘D.R.’ Nyce.”

      Well, there were ten seconds of my life that I’d never get back. I indicated to the chair across from my desk. “Do you want to have a seat,
Doc
?”

      “I’ll just stand here, if you don’t mind.”

      “Okay.” I hesitated, uncertain if I should follow his lead or sit.

      “You have something on your ...” He circled his face with his open palm.

     
Shit!
I’d forgotten about my clown makeup. My cheeks burned so hot that my ears sent up smoke signals. I grabbed another tissue and swiped at my eyes. “Is that better?”

      He winced. “Not really.”

      I gave up and sat. “What can I do for you, Mr. Nyce?”

      “I want to buy a house.”

      A buyer? Holy crap. I tried not to drool as I smiled. “Do you have a house in mind?”

      “No.” His gaze whipped back to the coffee maker, his nostrils flaring.

      “An area then?”

      “Close to Deadwood.” He sniffed, twice.

      “How close?” Was the coffee burning? I sniffed, too. Nope. “Like a five-mile radius?”

      “Sure.”

      Wolfgang’s house came to mind, but it wouldn’t be ready to show for a few weeks, if that. I opened my notebook containing our current listings and scanned for Deadwood addresses. “How many bedrooms are you interested in?”

      “I’m easy.”

      “How many baths?”

      “Two.” His voice sounded further away. I looked up to find him pressing against the front door, his focus now on Mona’s desk. What in the hell?

      I sat back and scratched my neck. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

      “I’m just a little nauseated.”

      He was making me just a little nervous. “Would you like a glass of water?”

      “No. Fresh air will help.” His body tensed visibly, his face creasing for a blink of time. “Can we look at some houses tomorrow?”

      “Sure. Morning or afternoon?”

      He shoved open the door and practically fell outside. “Afternoon,” he hollered in at me.

      I stood up, unsure if I should follow him out. “You want to meet me here at twelve-thirty, then?”

      “No. You come to my office instead.”

      “All right. Then I’ll see y—” He was gone before I could finish. I dropped into my seat, feeling like a hit-and-run victim.

      A pounding on the front plate glass made me jump out of my chair. Mr. Nyce waved at me and slid an envelope through the brass mail slot in our door. He disappeared around the corner again before I had time to frown.

      Heart pounding, I picked up the envelope and tore it open. Inside was a piece of paper and a hundred-dollar bill. I fished out the paper:
Sorry about your pants—Doc Nyce
.

      In spite of the whole Marx Brothers routine with Mr. Dane ‘Doc’ Nyce, I grinned. I had a buyer.

      Now I needed a house that wasn’t on the brink of being condemned.

     
Chapter Five

     
Wednesday, July 11th

      Jane once told me she believed that blinds were bad for business. Which meant squinting was my only solution for the mid-morning sunshine ricocheting off the SUV parked in front of Calamity Jane’s.

      I sat hunched at my computer. I should have been combing the Internet for a cleaner or a contractor within a fifty-mile radius. Instead, I was hunting with little success for crumbs on the first girl who’d disappeared last summer. A trip to the library might be in order soon.

      At the next desk over, Ray polished his Tony Lama boots while chatting with his nephew on the speaker phone. The smell of stinky feet and leather had my stomach bucking.

      “You have nothing to worry about, Ben,” Ray told his nephew. “I could tell Jane liked you by the way she drilled you on that condo project going up in Sturgis.”

      I tried to breathe through my anger in spite of its strangle hold on my windpipe. An hour ago, Ray had danced into Calamity Jane’s with a victory smile so wide it looked as if someone had stuffed a banana in his mouth sideways.

      “I hope you’re right,” Ben’s husky voice crackled slightly as it came through the speaker phone. “I forgot to tell you, the owner of Moonbeam Lodge is almost ready to sign with me, but he’d prefer I was backed by a broker.”

      “Tell your seller you’ll have a broker in three weeks.” Ray snickered while slipping on a boot. “There is definitely nothing happening in Blondie’s ballpark.”

      “She might hit a home run in the last inning.”

      Ray’s laughter echoed off the plaster-covered walls. “The Queen of Strike outs? No way.”

      My molars grinding, I glared at Ray.

      He blew me a kiss.

      I flipped him off.

      It was one of those warm, fuzzy moments they wrote about on Hallmark cards.

      “Listen, Ben,” Ray tugged his other boot on. “I have to go show a place. I’ll see you tonight at the poker game.” He disconnected the call and spun my way. “Was that an invitation, Sweetheart? You interested in putting our differences to bed?”

      I aimed a second bird his way.

      The front door whooshed open.

      I jammed my hands under my desk.

      “You two sharing your love for each other again?” Natalie Beals asked, placing an iced latte on my desk.

      I smiled at my best-friend-since-childhood. Natalie’s cousins, the Morgans, were my next-door neighbors while growing up down in Rapid City. Her cousin, Claire, had introduced us while playing kick ball, and the rest was history. 

      Ray made a gargling sound in his throat—his version of a tiger growl usually reserved for Mona on her tight-sweater days. His gaze slithered up Natalie’s body before settling on her full lips, a focal point for most testosterone-driven suckers. “I wouldn’t mind sharing some love with you, Cupcake.”

      “Give it up, Ray.” Natalie sank into the seat across from me. “There isn’t enough alcohol in town to make you look good.”

      Ray’s face darkened under his fake tan. He wrinkled his upper lip at Natalie and then sneered at me. “Two-and-a-half weeks and counting, Blondie.”

      He left grinning.

      If I’d had a bow and arrow, he would have left limping.

      I groaned and leaned back in my chair. “I’m so screwed.”

      Natalie nudged the sweating coffee toward me. “Have a hit of caffeine. It will make it all better.”

      I took a drink. Icy sweet. “Yum, caramel. I owe you one.”

      “No, you owe me five.” Natalie stretched out her long, bronzed legs and crossed them at the ankles. Her cutoff jean shorts, tennis shoes, and dirt-smudged tank top were typical for a pavement-sizzling summer day. “I got your message. How can I help?”

      There were five people I could lean on when life kept smacking me with a flyswatter. There was Aunt Zoe, but she had already done too much; and Quint, my older brother, but he was somewhere in the Great White North taking pictures of polar bears and snow; and my parents, who were vacationing in Maine until the end of the month. That left Natalie, the sister that my real sister was too busy to be.

      “I have a house to flip.” I took another swig of caffeinated courage before diving into my request. “But it needs some serious work. The kind involving the tools that you carry around in the back of your pickup.”

      Natalie spent most of the year playing caretaker at a popular resort just south of town.

      I leaned forward. “I’ve called every contractor and handyman in the area. Only one guy could fit me in, but I would’ve had to sell some naked pictures to
Playboy
to afford him, and I know how you feel about your privacy.”

      She grinned. “How long do you think this will take?”

      “A couple of weeks.” Or more. I crossed my toes since she could see my fingers. “I’ll give you half of my half of the commission.”

      Natalie stroked her chin. “Forget the money. Make it one favor owed—no questions asked.”

      “Deal.”

      “When do I start? This afternoon?”

      “Sure, but aren’t you going out with Mr. Clean tonight?” Natalie’s current boyfriend was draped with muscles, had a shaved head and a hoop earring.

      “No. Mr. Clean cheated on me with some face-pierced whore with a tramp stamp.”

      I grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t be. He was just another in the long line of losers I keep winding up without. I swear to you, he’s the last one. I’m taking a year sabbatical from men.”

      “Me, too.”

      “No, your year is over.”

      The absolute tone in her statement made me blink. “What do you mean?”

      “I found the perfect guy for you.”

      “You mean he likes poor, desperate, chubby mothers who mooch off their friends and families?”

      “You’re not chubby.”

      “Okay, flabby.”

      “Either put up the cash for a tummy tuck or shush up.” Natalie’s grin took the sting out of her words. “Anyway, you’ll love him. He collects Star Trek stuff.”

      Ever since I wore pigtails on a daily basis, I’d had a crush on James Tiberius Kirk. Natalie had always confused my adoration for Captain Hottie for an all-things-Trekkie passion. Big difference.

      I shook my head. “No blind dates. You know what happened last time.”

      “How was I to know he had that open sore?”

      Just the memory of it made me want to scald my hands clean. “Nat, you know I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

      “Who cares about relationships? I’m talking sex here. You need something to take the edge off.”

      “That’s what yoga is for.” Not that I did that anymore. Lately, my morning sun-salute ritual involved a middle finger and several curse words as I fumbled for my sunglasses.

      “Yoga is for a different set of muscles.”

      “Why are you pushing me on this?”

      “I want you to stick around town.”

      “You think me going out with this guy will accomplish that?”

      “No, but helping you find the
one
will. We have to start somewhere.”

      She didn’t get that there was no “one” in my life, only “two,” and they didn’t leave me much time for sex. “No. Absolutely not.”

      “You owe me a favor, remember.”

      I could tell by the firm set of her lips that I’d have better luck stapling pudding to a wall than winning this battle. “Fine. Give the guy my cell number and have him call me.”

      “I will, but I think he’s leaving soon for some comic book convention, or something along those lines, so don’t expect him to call right away.”

     
Never
would be too soon. I sucked down the last of my latte.

      “How did your date with Old Man Harvey go last night?” Natalie asked.

      “It wasn’t a date, just a picnic.”

      “Did he try anything funny?”

      “No, not with three kids present.”

      In spite of the biting flies and the sweltering heat rolling off the prairie, everything had gone well—except for the “dinner once a week until the ranch sells” clause Harvey had insisted upon adding before signing the contract.

      “What do you mean three kids? Did you pop out another since I saw you last weekend?”

      “Addy brought her new friend, Kelly.”

      “Kelly who?”

      “Kelly Wymonds. Addy met her at the pool.” I frowned at Natalie. “What’s with the silly grin on your face?”

      “I dated Kelly’s dad in high school. He couldn’t focus on anything besides football, even while we were naked in his back seat.”

      Natalie had been born and raised in Deadwood. She read through the local white pages like it was the
National Enquirer
.

      “Exactly how many guys have you slept with?”

      She grinned. “Deadwood is a small town. A girl gets bored.”

      Another reason for me to send Addy off to a convent—that and the serial snatcher roaming Deadwood’s streets. Which reminded me ... “Kelly Wymonds’ best friend was the girl who disappeared last summer,” I told Natalie.

      Her eyes locked onto mine, all traces of humor gone. “Did Kelly talk about it at the picnic?”

      “No.” Which surprised me. I guess I’d expected Kelly to spill bits of information about the kidnapping in a juicy, more-at-eleven, news-trailer format. “I didn’t ask. But last night, while the twins were getting ready for bed, Addy told me that Kelly talks about her missing friend a lot.”

      “Even after all this time, huh? That’s sad.”

      I nodded, remembering Addy’s solemn voice as she frowned up at me from her pink pillowcase and prodded me for more information on the kidnappings than I wanted to spill. I had no problem talking to my kids about life’s grim realities, but this was nightmare fodder.