Meanwhile, Back in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 6) (49 page)

“You’re wearing jeans.” Doc shut the door behind me. “And your boots.”

“Jerry told me to take the day off. Dickie’s too sick to film.” I hoisted my purse on my shoulder. “He lost his voice, so he sent the camera crew back to the studio for a week to start editing the footage they already have. Where’s Detective Crabbyass?” I started across the parking garage. “Getting his daily dose of doughnut sweetener?”

“Hold on a second, Boots.” Doc caught my hand and anchored me to a stop.

I looked back. “What? Did I leave the lights on?” I didn’t remember turning them on in the first place, but Doc had a way of flipping my brain on its side.

He pulled me toward him. “You have the day off, your kids are gone for the night, and you’re wearing those boots?”

“Yep, yep, and yep.”

Taking my purse and the protein drink from me, he set both on the Picklemobile. “Do you have any plans?”

Now that my arms were free, I wrapped them around his waist, sliding my hands over his back pockets. “One or two.”

“Like what?”

“Flirting with my boyfriend.”

“Really? To what end?”

I shrugged. “Something titillating.”

“I like it when you titillate.” He tipped my chin up and kissed me. “Especially when you’re wearing those boots.”

He tasted like a tall drink of sex and smelled like long-legged, finger-licking male goodness. What was that he’d said earlier about giving me something more invigorating than caffeine? “Do you have any clients this morning?”

“Not a one all day.” He kissed me again, his hands testing out the softness of my sweater as he backed me into the side of the Picklemobile. “I’m all yours, Boots.”

I think he had that backwards, especially with the way he was making me steamy in this chilly garage. I pulled his mouth back down to mine and showed him as much.

His hands slid under my sweater, feathering over my skin, making my head float clear up to the next parking level.

Somewhere between Doc’s magic touch and heaven, someone honked a horn, long and rude. It echoed throughout the concrete walls, scaring my libido back into its cave.

“Hey!” Cooper barked out his window. “This is a public garage.” His tires screeched as he pulled into a parking spot across from us.

Doc cursed under his breath, stepping back from me as Cooper climbed out of his car. “You have rotten timing, Coop.”

The detective snorted. “Seems to me I arrived in the nick of time. Parker would probably have bitten your head off as soon as you’d finished.”

“Wrong again,
Coop
,” I said and bared my teeth at him. “I keep these babies sharpened only for you.”

“That’s ‘Detective Cooper’ to you, Parker.”

Doc held my purse out for me. I offered to carry the protein drink, but he shook his head and put his arm over my shoulder, leading me toward the hotel.

“How come everyone gets to call you ‘Coop’ but me?”

Cooper shot me a pinched glare. “You’re special.” His lip curled during that last word.

“Lucky me.”

“Nobody else manages to piss me off on a daily basis.”

“Not even Detective Hawke?”

He walked a few steps before answering, “He just annoys the hell out of me.”

I smiled up at Doc. “You hear that? I’m special.”

“Remarkably so in those boots.”

Cooper held the hotel lobby door for us, his gaze scanning Main Street.

“Natalie sends her love,” I told him as I slipped past him.

He caught up with me at the elevator. “Where is Ms. Beals this morning?”

“She has a date,” I teased.

I thought I heard Cooper growl as he pushed the third floor button.

Doc nudged me, his knock-it-off expression making me feel guilty.

Fine, I’d be nice to the lovesick jerk. “A date down in Rapid with her aunt’s house. It needs winterizing.”

The detective grunted, looking straight ahead.

“She told me to give you a message.”

Cooper’s squinty eyes glanced my way.

“You’re supposed to stop being such a stubborn son of a bitch and go see the damned doctor.” When Doc nudged me again, I said, “What? Those were her exact words.”

I saw a smile flit across Cooper’s face before he corralled it and locked it back up behind those steel bars he called lips.

Cornelius opened the door before we knocked.

“Did you hear us coming?” I asked as he held the door wide.

“Wilda told me you were here.” He closed the door and led the way toward the dining room.

Doc caught me as I turned around to walk right back out and return to the ghost-free safety of the Picklemobile. “Don’t worry about her,” he said for my ears only. “I have you.”

“Yeah, well don’t let go.” That little girl ghost made my bladder weak.

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

We joined Cooper and Cornelius in front of what was starting to look like something Spock had sat in front of on the Starship Enterprise.

I took the protein drink from Doc and put it on the table next to Cornelius. “There. Now tell me why I’m here bright and surly on my day off?”

“You’re the missing link,” Cornelius said without looking away from his monitor.

“Between Neanderthals and Homo sapiens?”

That got those cornflower blue eyes turned in my direction. “That would certainly explain something I’ve wondered since I first met you.”

“What’s that?” My perky frontal lobe didn’t slope? Was it the hair?

“Enough chit chat,” Cooper interrupted. “We need to get this debriefing moving.”

“I should’ve brought two protein shakes,” I told Doc.

Cornelius frowned up at Cooper. “Has anyone ever told you that your aura is very turbulent?”

I was surprised Cooper’s aura was brave enough to show its face. “His aura had better watch its P’s and Q’s, or it will end up in jail along with his sense of humor.”

“Keep it up, Parker, and I’ll toss you in there, too.”

Doc squeezed my shoulder before turning to Cornelius. “You mentioned on the phone something about needing some answers from Violet.”

Cornelius took it from there, flicking switches and pushing buttons, playing the part of the mad scientist … or rather the eccentric paranormal investigator. While he got his recording ready for playback, I took a seat on the chair Doc had carried over for me, keeping a lookout for the ghost of a little girl who had her own family history as a killer.

I needed to focus on something other than the idea of Wilda standing next to me plotting my demise. “Why do you think Harvey’s grandfather decided to use me as his microphone?” I asked nobody in particular.

I’d pondered this question several times since hanging up with Doc earlier—in the shower after talking to Jerry, during breakfast with my oblivious kids and sharp-eyed aunt, and on the drive down to the hotel. Why me? I’d always thought I was a complete dud when it came to ghosts. Had I been wearing blinders this whole time? Was it possible for ghosts to talk through whomever they pleased? Prudence sure seemed to be able to choose puppets at will.

My gaze honed in on Doc, who was leaning against the sofa staring back at me with a wrinkled brow. Or had someone else had a hand in it? Someone who had been a medium for many moons and knew his way around ghosts? I thought back to the voice I’d heard in the dark, the one belonging to whomever had taken my hand and led me under the moon.

Whoa there, Killer … I got somethin’ to show ya.

It had sounded like Harvey’s grandfather, but Doc was the only person who called me
Killer
. “Wait a second,” I said to Doc. “You were in there?”

He nodded. “Harvey’s grandfather was being very stubborn. He was staying just out of my reach.”

“The stubborn gene runs strong in the Harvey bloodline,” Cooper said from where he stood by the window inspecting the street below.

“You used me as bait?” I asked Doc.

“I prefer to think of you as a temptation.”

“Temptation is a more appropriate term for the technique we utilized,” Cornelius explained while typing on his keyboard. “I have often had to employ personal objects belonging to the recently deceased as encouragement to show themselves.”

“I’m not an object.” Nor was Grandpappy recently deceased.

Cooper scoffed. “That depends on your point-of-view. Uncle Willis has often told stories about Grandpappy’s love of wild women, especially blondes. He probably took one look at that crazy hair of yours and was putty in your hands.”

I glared at the detective. “How’s that nose healing,
Coop
?”

He glared back. Peace, love, and happiness crackled between us.

“Anyway,” Doc interrupted our stare-off, “I only placed you out there to tempt Grandpappy after I’d tested the waters and he appeared to be benevolent.”

“How exactly can you tell good ghosts from bad?”

“I’ve been doing this for almost four decades. You learn to read the signs over the years.”

I’d been doing it for a couple of months and couldn’t even begin to wrap my brain around it. “So I can speak for ghosts even though I’m not a medium.”

Doc crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t know the full range of your psychic capacity yet.”

What was he saying? That I could be an executioner and something else? It was so much easier being just a struggling single mother.

“Whether you possess a psychic ability or not doesn’t matter in this case,” Cornelius explained. “Your boyfriend has the ability to perceive energy beyond our realm, as well as bring information from non-physical dimensions to our physical dimension, acting as a conductor if you will.”

Doc shrugged, looking embarrassed by Cornelius’s explanation. “I merely held the door open for you.”

“Merely?” Cornelius snorted. “Mr. Nyce is being humble. The ability to read the entity and choose how to use one’s skills to facilitate the communications is not for beginners. His years of training are evident.”

“Really?” I stared at Doc, feeling a little star struck and a lot foolish for my summing up his abilities as the ability to “smell” ghosts. It was no wonder he’d objected to my ignorant, simple-minded definition of what he was capable of when it came to the paranormal world.

Cornelius continued, “Usually the medium acts as a Psychophoner for the extraphysical entities in the room who want to interact with those in the physical dimension.”

“So you transferred this—what was the word … this Psychophoner ability to me?”

Cornelius leaned back in his chair, studying Doc. “I would theorize that he used telepathy to transmit the information from the ghost to you.”

“Which was it?” I asked.

Doc winked. “Ancient Chinese secret.”

“Tell me something, Nyce,” Cooper said, leaving his window perch. “This wasn’t the first time you’ve worked with law enforcement in this capacity, was it?”

“No.”

Skirrrchh
. My brain did a double take. “You never told me you helped the cops before now.”

“We haven’t made it there yet.”

“What other stuff haven’t you told me?”

He rubbed his jaw. “You’re going to need to be more specific. A lot has happened in thirty-nine years.”

I stared at the man I’d fallen in love with, or at least the man I’d thought I loved. This incident reaffirmed how little I knew about Doc beyond the carnal level, and here I was letting him into my children’s lives. Had I jumped the gun? Confused my lust for love?

No. This was Doc. He might be wrapped in mystery, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t true blue when it came to his actions, which were usually focused around protecting me and mine.

As if he could read the direction of my thoughts, Doc took my hand and squeezed it. “Trust me, Violet.”

I searched his face, settling on his dark eyes. Nodding, I squeezed back and returned to the reason we were here. “So, Cornelius, are we ready to do whatever it is you wanted me here for?”

“Did you bring the black licorice?”

I fished it from my purse and dropped it on the table next to Cornelius’s keyboard.

“What’s with the licorice?” Cooper asked. During the process of leaning back against the couch next to Doc, something made Cooper wince and then hold his side for a moment. “Does it have something to do with psychic shit?”

“Some believe its medicinal benefits are parallel to ginger, especially for stomach and digestive system complaints.” Cornelius held a piece out toward the detective. “You should try some. It’ll help with your heartburn.”

“I doubt that,” Cooper interrupted. “I have a feeling Parker is here to stay.”

I flipped him off, not bothering to waste my breath on a rebuttal.

Cornelius leaned forward and hit a button. A slight static played through the speakers; then they went silent except for Cornelius’s humming soundtrack in the background until old man Harvey’s voice came through.

“Where’d you hide all that money Daddy jawed about?” Harvey asked.

I heard myself answer, “I buried it all out behind the chicken coop in some ol’ tins.”

“Holy shit!” I heard Natalie say. “Was that really the ghost speaking through Vi? Or am I on one of those stupid prank shows?”

“It’s the real deal, girlie,” Harvey answered.

Cooper’s voice came next on the recording. “We’re not here about the damned money, Uncle Willis.”

“You may not be,” Harvey said, “but I sure am.” He cleared his throat. “Why was your ol’ shotgun in the safe?”

“That young whipper-snapper five-fingered it before cuttin’ dirt out of the house,” I answered for Grandpappy.

“Ask about the body in the safe,” Cooper directed, “not the shotgun.”

I heard a shuffling sound, and then Harvey’s voice was louder, like he’d moved closer to the microphone. “Why was there a body in the safe?”

“Be more specific,” Cooper coached his uncle. “Ask who killed him.”

“Stop ridin’ on my ass, Coop.” Harvey grumbled something that sounded like “know-it-all greenhorn.” Then he asked, “Who killed the dead man?”

“Ya mean the odd fish?” I said for Grandpappy. “Oh, his heart was all played out after their little fuss back in the bone yard.”

“Pause the recording,” Cooper told Cornelius. Cooper turned to Doc. “What are we missing out on there?”

“What do you mean?”