Better Off Dead in Deadwood (20 page)

“Holy shitballs of fire!” Harvey shouted loud enough to make me wince. He burst out laughing. “Hot damn, I didn’t know the circus was in town this week. Where’d you leave your red nose?”

Crap, I’d forgotten about the makeover Jerry insisted I get. I wrinkled my non-red nose at him as I headed to the fridge. “You bray like a donkey, old man.”

That only made him wheeze harder.

“Look at those eyelashes.” Aunt Zoe walked over to where I stood in front of the open fridge door. She grabbed my jaw and gently twisted it to one side and then other. “How do those even stay on?”

“They look like someone glued spider legs to her eyelids,” Harvey said.

“They’re a little long,” I conceded.

“A little?” Aunt Zoe smiled. “I can feel a breeze when you blink, child.”

“I just hope they don’t rip off my eyelids when I remove them,” I said.

I grabbed a cold Corona from the door shelf. That would work. I joined them at the cookie jar, stealing two chocolate chip cookies from Harvey’s pile.

“What’s with all of the goop on your face?” he asked.

“My boss took me shopping today.”

Aunt Zoe’s gaze narrowed. “You mean Jane’s first husband?”

Last night after supper, I’d told her and Harvey about who was running the show down at Calamity Jane Realty. They were now both up-to-date on most of the current happenings, except for Cornelius and his opera house ghost, the old albino portrait, Prudence possibly knowing Jane’s killer, and my slip in regard to Cooper’s case board.

I grimaced at the thought of Cooper and shoved a whole cookie in my big mouth, barely tasting the chocolate.

I’d received three very terse voicemails from the detective throughout the course of the day. Judging from the amount of swear words per message, it was a good thing I’d left the hills and him behind. After much thought, I’d decided the best way to handle Cooper’s current level of fury was to avoid him until after Christmas, or at least until he didn’t want to shoot me on sight.

“Remember how I told you Jerry wanted to try a new marketing idea,” I said. “Well, I’m it. He wants to use me to bring in more clients—especially males.”

“Are you gonna pose in your birthday suit?” Harvey asked.

“Hell, no.”

“Gotcha,” he said, “just topless then.”

I reached across the table and pinched his forearm. “Would you get your mind out of the gutter, old man.”

“What? I guaran-damn-tee you’d get a bunch of new clients knocking down your door if you showed your hooters.” His gaze lowered.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Quit thinking about my boobs.”

“I’m not. I’m thinking about Beatrice’s and the names we gave them. One was called—”

“Stop right there,” I said, cramming a cookie in his mouth.

“How do you feel about being used like this?” Aunt Zoe asked. “Like you’re some piece of man-candy.”

Aunt Zoe’s feminist roots still held strong. She was one of my main influences and cheerleaders when it came to taking charge and being the sole provider for my children without needing to lean on a man for help.

“Jerry promised me today that all of the ads would be tasteful,” I told her.

“No cherry licking then,” Harvey said, “or bending over to pick up the newspaper in a little swishy cowgirl skirt?”

Aunt Zoe and I both wrinkled our noses at him.

He blinked. “What? I’m just trying to think outside of the box.”

“These ads are not going in
Penthouse
,” I said, stealing another cookie from the crusty old cowpoke.

“I was thinking more along the lines of some of those fancy men’s magazines with the sexy babes on the front,” Harvey said.

“So, they’ll be tasteful,” Aunt Zoe said, her arms crossed now, her eyes squinting in obvious distaste. “But you’re still being treated like an object.”

“I know,” I said, tipping back the Corona. I could have used a lime wedge. “But I need this job, and if it does bring in new buying clients,” something I was in dire need of at the moment, especially if Cornelius flaked out on me, “then it’s worth swallowing my pride for now.”

She nodded slowly, but her neck seemed stiff. “I don’t like it. You’re beautiful just the way you are.”

“I don’t like it, either, and you’re biased about my looks.”

“I am.”

“She is,” Harvey said around a cookie, his beard stretched wide from his grin. “I think you’re just so-so. But that there goop on your face sure makes it more fun to look at ya.”

I slapped him on the arm.

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Addy yelled from the living room.

“What are we having tonight?” I asked Aunt Zoe. “You want me to order some pizza?”

“Harvey’s cooking for us.”

I sat back. “Really? Beans and biscuits then?” I taunted, knowing he was ten times the cook I was.

“I was thinking more along the lines of flank steaks on the grill, risotto, and some sautéed vegetables. Cherry pie for dessert.”

Drool almost ran out of my mouth. “You have cherries on the brain, old man.”

He shrugged. “They’re Beatrice’s favorite.”

Correction, he had Beatrice Geary on the brain.

Addy came skidding into the kitchen. “Mom!”

“Slow down. You shouldn’t be running with a sucker in your mouth.” She shouldn’t be eating suckers this close to dinnertime, either. “What is it?”

“Oh, my molies, Mother! What is on your face?” she asked, coming closer for an inspection. She smelled like her grape sucker. “Are those spiders on your eyes?”

“It’s makeup,” I said, nudging her back out of my face. “You almost put my eye out with that sucker stick.”

“Sorry,” she tried to touch my right eyelash, but I knocked her hand away.

“Where are your glasses, Addy?”

“On my dresser.”

“They need to be on your face. Who was at the door?” I asked.

“Some guy. He’s still there. He wants to talk to you.”

It was probably another salesman. Last week it was roof gutter systems; the week before, it was satellite television. I turned to Aunt Zoe. “Will you go see what the guy is selling? I look like I fell into a vat of makeup.”

“It’s not a sales guy,” Addy said. “He said to tell you if you don’t come to the door, he’s coming back later tonight with a warrant.”

Chapter Eleven

Straightening my shoulders, I warned Addy to stay in the kitchen and went to meet Cooper’s gnashing teeth. My feet dragged as I crossed the living room.

Through the screen door, I could see the detective’s profile. In the soft, early evening light, his body looked rigid and tense, posed to strike. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides. His shoulders bent inward like he was barely holding in the beast.

Something down the street seemed to have captured his attention—probably a baby harp seal he planned to club when he finished beating on me.

I thought about keeping the screen door between us as a layer of protection, but I doubted anything less than a brick wall would suffice against his huffing and puffing. Stepping out on the front porch, I pulled the main door shut so my family wouldn’t have to witness the carnage.

He was on me before the screen door
thwapped
closed, backing me into the door jamb, his expression all tight-jawed and squinty-eyed. With my blood pounding in my ears, I tried to hold my ground in the face of his fury.

“What in the hell were you doing in my basement?” he said, his voice a deep growl. His aftershave smelled minty-cool, matching the ice shards in his gaze.

I dragged my tongue out from its hiding spot behind my tonsils. “Good evening, Detective Cooper.”

He just snorted.

Going head to head with him would only result in my getting mine bit right off, so I opted for an off-the-wall response. “Would you like to stay for supper?”

“I explicitly told you
not
to go down there. I even dead-bolted the fucking door!” A vein in the middle of his forehead pulsed.

I glanced down at his open jacket to see if he were packing tonight.
Dammit
. Of course he was.

Trying not to let him see my gulp, I said, “Your uncle is going to grill some steaks.”

“But you just couldn’t keep your damned nose out of my business!”

“We’re having cherry pie for dessert.” I strove to keep my tone calming. Nice beast. Good beast. How about a Scooby Snack?

“I should have known better than to trust that key anywhere within a fifty mile radius of you!” His left cheek began to tic.

I cringed, waiting for his head to explode. “We have ice cream in the freezer, too.”

“I’m so fucking sick and tired of finding your ass at my goddamned crime scenes.”

I was pretty sure this was the most I’d heard Cooper swear since I’d begun pissing him off regularly. “I could get you a pre-dinner drink. We have tequila, whiskey, and some—”

He grabbed my arm and yanked me closer until we were almost nose-to-nose. His lips curled in a snarl. “Do you have some kind of death wish, woman?”

“Vodka,” I finished, my voice squeaking on the last syllable. I cleared my throat. “It’s bacon flavored.”

His chest rose and fell fast. His wrath seemed almost tangible, like a sparking aura that would shock if I risked a touch.

His grip on my arm became vice-like, bruising. “Have you heard a single fucking word I’ve said through all of that crazy hair?”

All right, that was about enough. I yanked my arm free and poked him in the chest hard enough to make him grunt. “Listen here, Mr. Detective, you can chew on me for sneaking a peek at your precious case board, but do
not
make fun of the hair.”

He searched my face, and then he stepped back, frowning at me as if he were seeing me for the first time tonight. “What in the hell is on your eyes?”

“Fake eyelashes.”

“Are they supposed to be sexy?”

“For your information, they’re supposed to make me look like a fashion model.” At least that is what the salesgirl claimed as she stuck them onto my eyelids.

“It looks like you glued long-legged centipedes to your eyes.”

Okay, I got it. Nobody liked the fake eyelashes. I didn’t either.

“Do those things throw off your balance?” Cooper leaned in to inspect them, lifting his hand like he was going to touch one. “They almost look alive.”

I knocked his hand away, just like I had Addy’s. “Don’t touch the lashes.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why is your hair all gooped-up like that?”

“It’s called styling gel, and again, I have a fashion model thing going on here.”

“Fashion model, huh?” His lips twitched. “You could scare children with that face.”

“So could you. Now, if you’re done chewing my ass up one side and down the other, I will explain why I know about your stupid case board.”

His angry glare returned in a blink. “I’m all ears.”

And I was all eyelashes. “You left that damned Colt .45 hand gun lamp in your bedroom during the open house and I had to hide it before my boss came and saw what a lousy prep job I’d done.”

“Hey, my house was clean. I even put those vanilla candles in the bathroom like Uncle Willis insisted.”

Cooper had been the one who tidied up the place? I imagined him with a dust mop in one hand and a semi-automatic machine gun in the other.

“Clean, yes, but that’s not the same as having it prepped for show. Anyway, my boss was already on the way and I had to hide your stupid gun lamp. Harvey suggested I stick it inside of the basement room and lock the door so nobody would find it and accidentally shoot somebody.”

His jaw tightened as he chewed on that for a moment. “Fine. That flies. But why didn’t you just stick it inside of the door and walk away?”

“I got distracted by your case board.”

“Bullshit. That board was tucked away in the back of the room. You just couldn’t resist seeing what I was hiding. Admit it.”

There was no way I was admitting anything that could be used against me later in a court of law. “Why is my name listed on the board?”

“Because you’re a suspect.”

I planted my hands on my hips. It was that or strangle him with them. “I didn’t kill my boss, Cooper.”

He shrugged. “I know that, but I might as well keep you on there until the next crime. You’re like herpes—you show up when shit gets tense and never fully go away.”

Centipedes and herpes. “You’re always so warm and fuzzy to me.”

“Being a teddy bear isn’t in my job description. I find the bad guys and throw them in jail.”

“And harass innocent women caught in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I couldn’t resist poking the non-teddy bear a little when he kept stabbing me with his own sharp sticks.

He scoffed. “You were sneaking around a mortuary looking for God knows what. Don’t try to pretend you’re all pigtails and pink lollipops, Violet Parker. I have your number.”

That’s what had me sweating. I kept my desire to leap off the porch and yip-yip-yip all of the way to Doc’s house in check behind a fake grin. “I prefer a pony tail and cotton candy, Detective.”

His pinched lips made me wonder what he was damming behind them. “How many people have you told about what you saw on my case board?”

“Uh …” I didn’t want to get Doc in trouble.

“Don’t lie to me, Parker.”

“Tarnation, Coop,” Harvey said, coming around from Aunt Zoe’s side gate. “What’s with all of the squealin’ about your godforsaken case board?” Apparently a certain suspender-wearing shotgun lover had been eavesdropping. “I didn’t see a single name on your list that ain’t already been thrown in the ring as a possible killer by the boys up at The Golden Sluice.”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Cooper scrubbed his hand down his face. His glare narrowed on me. “I should have known you’d drag
him
into this.”

The funny thing was I distinctly remembered telling only Doc, not Harvey. The old buzzard must have sneaked down into Cooper’s basement and taken a peek for himself.

Cooper pointed at me, his pissed-off cop mask back in place with its granite crust and rough edges. “I swear to God, Parker, if I catch you messing with my investigation one more time, I’m going to arrest you for obstruction of justice.”