Nearly Departed in Deadwood (25 page)

      Our trip back to Deadwood had been filled with lots of useless small talk on my part about Aunt Zoe’s glass shop—the only neutral subject I could think of to pass the time since Doc had made it clear back on the porch swing that he wasn’t going to elaborate on his so-called allergy issues no matter how much I prodded him.

      I climbed out of my Bronco and ascended the concrete stairs. The century-old library greeted me with the smell of wood varnish and musty paper. I paused inside the threshold, counting three other patrons lounging in chairs. Miss Plum, the young brunette from my last visit, was nowhere to be seen—neither was any other official-looking person, thank God. With my hide still stinging from Ray’s sharp teeth, I felt about as sociable as a hemophiliac at a vampire convention.

      Stealing across the creaky wood floor, I pushed open the door to the South Dakota records room. Doc looked up from the table as I stepped inside. I held my finger to my lips, shushing him until the door clicked closed behind me.

      He leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled. “Are you on another top-secret mission, Special Agent V?”

      “Maybe.” I glanced down at the book laid out on the table before him—the
Register of Deaths
again, this time spread open and splayed across a large map. “What are you looking at?”

      Doc’s smile slipped a little around the edges, but he didn’t try to hide anything as I leaned over the table. “Just some local history.”

      “That’s right.” I remembered the thick, Wild Bill Hickok book. “You’re a big history nut.”

      “That’s one way of putting it.”

      “What part of the hills is this?” I bent over the USGS topographical map, tucking some loose curls behind my ear as I scanned the curvy contour lines.

      “North Central.” He scooted forward, nudged my arm aside, and touched a spot near the left edge. “Here’s Custer Peak.”

      “And there’s Harvey’s place.” I pictured his place in my mind, orienting myself, and noticed a mark on the contoured hill behind where Harvey’s barn was located. “What’s this sideways Y symbol mean?”

      “A cave opening or mine tunnel.”

      I thought about Harvey’s “funny noises.” Was something living in the cave or mine above his barn? Was that what’d left the deer carcass behind?

      “What’s wrong?”

      I looked at Doc. God, I hoped Harvey didn’t get it in his stubborn brain to go exploring up there on his own. Bessie by his side or not.

      “Violet, what?”

      I debated on telling him about the noises and deer, but logic weighed in and I decided against it. It was probably just a cougar. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

      My eyes returned to the map, and I noticed something else. “I didn’t realize there was a cemetery out by Harvey’s place.” I glanced at the
Register of Deaths
, putting two and two together, and then looked up at Doc. “What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Nyce?”

      He raised his gaze from the map, his long black lashes close enough for me to count, his eyes hooded. “Make an appointment with me and see for yourself, Ms. Parker.”

      “Are you always this secretive?”

      “More often than not.”

      “When can you fit me in?” For what, I had no idea, but I was tired of trying to listen through walls, wondering what was going on in the office next door.

      “I’m open Friday.”

     
Friday
.

      “Oh, yeah.” I blinked back into real estate agent mode. “That reminds me. Mona has a house in the Presidential district coming on the market. Are you available Friday around noon?”

      “I think so. Let me take you to lunch afterward.”

      I frowned. “Why?”

      “Because.”

      Two could play this ambiguity game of his. I strolled over to a bookshelf full of South Dakota-related titles. “I might be busy. I’ll have to check my daytimer.”

      A glance Doc’s way showed his eyes still on me. I ran my fingers along a row of book spines. “Now where would I find a book on historic buildings in Lead?”

      “I saw your daytimer when it fell out of your purse today, Violet.” His chair scraped on the floor. “It has a lot of white space in it.”

      Damn him for noticing. “I do have a date that evening.”

      “With your secret admirer, I know.”

      I pulled out a book called,
The Merry Days of Lead
and flipped through pages filled with a lot of print and very few pictures. “If I say ‘yes’ to lunch, will you come clean?”

      Footfalls behind me made the floor creak. “What makes you think I’m dirty?”

      I gulped as his breath warmed the back of my neck. I was playing with matches—but lighting them with Doc was so intoxicating. “I can see it in your eyes.”

      “What else can you see?”

      That sounded like a dare. I turned. The objects in question were very close. The musky aroma of his aftershave lured me even closer. I locked my knees. “You’re hiding something.”

      “I’m hiding a lot of things.” He placed both hands on the bookshelf behind me, imprisoning me.

     
Oh, shit
. “Like what?”

      “There’s no fun in telling.” He lowered his head.

      He was too close! Warning alarms whooped in my head. The matches I’d been playing with caught fire low in my belly, flaring white hot. I dropped my gaze to the center of his chest, staring at the cotton weave on his dark blue T-shirt.

      “I’d rather show you,” he whispered, his lips hovering near my ear.

      “Oh.” It came out as a croak as I struggled to breathe.

      “Violet?”

      Every muscle rigid, I waited for his touch. “Yes?”

      “Is this what you’re looking for?” He grabbed my hand. The feel of something cool and hard against my palm made me blink. I looked up.

      Doc grinned down at me, a twinkle in his eyes. In my hand, he’d placed a book titled,
Lead—From Then to Now
.

      The flames in my stomach climbed up my neck and cheeks, undoubtedly branding the words,
World’s Silliest Fool
, on my forehead for all of Deadwood to see. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

      He nodded and stepped back, lounging on the edge of the table like he hadn’t just played yo-yo with my libido. “Shall we go to lunch before or after we see the house on Friday?”

      I wanted to throw the frickin’ book at him, would have, too, if I didn’t want him to buy a stupid house through me. “I don’t care.”

      “Then we’ll eat after.”

      “Fine.” Yanking out a chair, I plopped down at the table and flipped open the book on Lead.

      Doc had been spot-on, damn him. The pages were filled with “Then” and “Now” pictures of buildings in the old mining town. I gave him my best Clint Eastwood squint as he returned to his seat across the table from me.

      “Is there something in your eye?” His grin still rounded his cheeks.

      “No.” I flipped several more pages with an extra dose of attitude.

      “Where are you going to lunch tomorrow with Jeff Wymonds?”

      “I don’t know. He’s going to call me in the morning and tell me where to meet him.”

      “I wish you’d let Harvey join you.”

      “I’m a big girl. I can handle Jeff on my own.” That sounded tough. I just hoped I felt an iota of that gumption tomorrow when I sat across from Jeff and tried to stuff food down my throat while acting as if I wasn’t sharing a table with a serial kidnapper.

      “Like you just handled me?”

      That earned him another glare. “You’re different.”

      “Thanks. You’re different for me, too.” The fervency in his dark gaze seized my attention for several breath-held seconds.

      What exactly did he mean by that?

      Instead of trying to pick his words apart and find meaning where there probably wasn’t any, I tugged my mind back to the task at hand—digging up tidbits on the Sugarloaf building.

      “Mr. Harvey mentioned that you were trying to make a connection between the girl from Spearfish and the other three missing girls.”

      “Harvey has a bucket mouth.” That came out surly, but I couldn’t help it. Doc’s teasing had left me grinding my teeth.

      “I don’t know Harvey well enough yet to confirm that, but I do know something about Sherry Dobbler.”

      His matter-of-fact tone made me look up from a page of Lead’s past.

      “Her sister is a lifeguard.”

      I frowned. Not exactly part of the same swim team, but still a water-related trade. It had potential as a link. “Did they mention that on the news?” If so, I’d missed it.

      “No.”

      “Then how do you know about Sherry’s sister?”

      “Because she works weekends at the Rec Center. I’ve seen both her and Sherry there during open swim—many times.”

      I slammed my fist down on the book. “Bingo!”

      * * *

     
Wednesday, July 18th

      I drove to work with the windows down, whistling along with the blue jays under the bright mid-morning sunshine. The earth smelled fresh: mowed grass, heated pine pitch, baked asphalt. Walt Disney couldn’t have arranged a more cheerful opening to my day.

      For the first time in over a week, I had a full night of sleep under my belt. I’d awoken alone, without burning eyes, a throbbing headache, or a molting chicken. Not even the sight of five yellowish-brown horse teeth soaking in a glass next to my toothbrush could make me cringe. Nope, not today. Nor had I screamed or yelled after stepping barefoot on the red toy train lying in wait at the bottom of the stairs.

      My lavender blouse hadn’t needed an ironing, my white pants felt a little loose, and my purple boots didn’t have any little green army men hiding in them when I slipped them on. Life was good.

      For once, Doc’s Camaro wasn’t in my parking spot when I pulled into the lot behind Calamity Jane’s. Ray’s SUV wasn’t anywhere to be seen either. I locked my Bronco and practically skipped across the parking lot.

      Mona clacked away on her laptop as I dropped my stuff on my desk then detoured to pour myself a cup of coffee.

      “I spoke with Doc yesterday,” I told her as I loaded my brew with plenty of cream and sugar. “We’ll be there Friday at noon to see the place.”

      “Great.”

      I dropped into my chair and flicked on my computer. “You’re going to be there to give us an official tour, right?”

      “Of course.” Mona stopped clacking and smiled across at me. “Trust me, Vi, I’m going to make this place impossible for him to resist.”

      “My fingers will be crossed.” I sipped my sweetened coffee.

      My cell phone trilled. Aunt Zoe’s number filled the screen. “Hello?”

      “Hi, Mom,” Layne said.

      “Hey, sweetie. What’s going on?”

      “When are you coming home today?”

      “The usual time.”

      “Okay.” He paused. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

      “What is it, Layne?”

      I could feel his hesitation through the line. “The newsman said the kidnapper tried to get another girl.”

      I leaned back in my chair, hating that I couldn’t guarantee safety for my children. “That’s true.”

      “But she got away, right?”

      “Yeah, honey. She did.”

      “I knew it. Addy didn’t believe me. She said Kelly told her the girl was gone.”

      “Kelly was wrong.”

      “Sweet! Addy owes me a dollar. I love you, Mom. Bye.”

      “Oh, hey!” I tried to catch him before he hung up.

      “Yeah?”

      “You need to pick up your toys. I bruised my foot this morning on that train you left at the bottom of the stairs.”

      “I didn’t leave it there. Addy’s kittens must have been playing with it.”

      “Where did you get that, anyway? You didn’t have Aunt Zoe buy it, did you?”

      “No, Mom.” He said it as if that was my tenth stupid question of the morning. “Addy found it in Wolfgang’s yard, remember? Near that trap door.”

      That train had been black. He must have painted ... wait! “What trap door?”

      “The one by the back of the garage. Natalie told me not to open it.”

      “Natalie was right.” It was probably an old root cellar, and with all of Homestake’s underground blasting over the years, the roof on it was likely one good shake away from caving in.

      “I couldn’t open it, anyway. It had a blue padlock on it.”

      “Good.” Smart thinking, on Wolfgang’s part. That door was just a lawsuit waiting to happen.

      “Gotta go, Mom. Aunt Zoe’s looking for me. Bye.” He hung up before I could say anything else.

      I flipped my phone closed just as Ray stepped through the back door, his boot heels thumping my way.

      “Hey, Red,” he said to Mona as he passed her desk.

      I kept my back to him, pretending to be neck deep in an Internet search to avoid any interaction with him.

      “Nine days and counting, Blondie.”

      No such luck. I glared at my screen, struggling not to tackle him, tie him up, and scrub his teeth with the office toilet brush.

      “What’s wrong, Blondie?” Ray dropped into his chair, which whooshed and then squealed in objection. “Am I being too rough on you this morning?”

      Maybe fitting him with concrete shoes and dumping his lousy ass in the middle of Lake Pactola was a better idea.

      “Your delicate little feathers can’t take so much ruffling?”

      Better yet, lock him up in a well-used port-a-potty and roll it down Strawberry Hill.

      “Here, Ray,” Mona clonked a glass down in front of the sleezeball. “Shut up and drink your orange juice.”

      “Thanks, Red.”

      I could feel Ray’s eyes on me as he gulped down his drink. I smiled as I read through the new MLS listings in the area, knowing that within a half-hour, Ray would be relocating to the commode as Mona’s fiber-filled elixir worked its magic.