Better Off Dead in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  “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.”

  The intensity of his gaze acted as an effective exclamation point. I took a step back.

  “Define ‘messing’,” Harvey said, leaning against the porch rail.

  “One. More. Time.” Cooper shook his finger in my face with each word. “I’m not fucking around anymore.”

  “Got it,” I said, dead serious. Call me kooky, but I really didn’t want to go to jail.

  After a final growl, Cooper strode to his unmarked police sedan parked at the curb. Through his passenger window, he kept us in his crosshairs as he drove away.

  “Dang,” Harvey said, climbing the steps to stand next to me. “That boy’s mad as a bee stung dog.”

  “When did you look at his case board?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then why did you act like you did?”

  “I figured you’d been sandpapered enough for one night.”

  I snapped the old boy’s suspender playfully. “Thanks for saving my bacon.”

  “It’s my job. You sure have a way of getting Coop’s tail all bristly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s sweet on you.”

  That reminded me of Natalie and her theory about Cooper lusting after me. Natalie just had lust on the brain. At least she had before I broke her heart.

  “He’s not sweet on me,” I said. It was time to put an end to that whole unfounded notion.

  “I know.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I said ‘If I didn’t know better.’” Harvey spared me a sideways smirk. “He’s sweet on someone else.”

  My mouth gaped. “Who?”

  “I’m not tellin’, so don’t even bother badgerin’ me about it.” He nodded across at Miss Geary’s house. “You think her young stallion is in there with her right now?”

  My mind was still wondering about Cooper’s secret crush, but I gave a cursory glance across the street. “I don’t see his racy black sports car.”

  “Maybe she lets him park in her garage like I used to.”

  “Is that supposed to be a double-entendre?”

  “Why do you have to make everything dirty?” he asked.

  “I’m just following your lead.”

  He grinned. “You’re an apt pupil.”

  I grinned back. “Thanks.”

  We both watched Miss Geary’s house while the crickets started warming up.

  “I need you to go somewhere with me tomorrow morning,” I told him. “You busy?”

  “Nope. Where’re we headin’?”

  “The Carhart house. I have to talk to Wanda.” And her ghost.

  He grunted. “Giddy up.”

  * * *

  Wednesday, September 5th

  True to his word, Harvey stood on my doorstep the next morning at eight o’clock, all spit-polished and bushy-tailed.

  Aunt Zoe was still sleeping after a late night working in her glass workshop out behind the house, so I fixed some toaster waffles to go with the store bought orange juice I put on the table. Ignoring the grumbles from Harvey about the lack of real breakfast food, I managed to herd everyone out the door without rattling the windows and doors.

  Fitting all four of us in the cab of the Picklemobile for the ride to school would have been a tight squeeze, so Harvey chauffeured us in his extended cab pickup.

  “It smells like dog back here,” Addy said as we sat at a red light.

  Harvey looked at her in the rearview mirror. “Old Red usually rides in that seat when we go out checkin’ on my herd.”

  “Mom says pets don’t belong inside vehicles.”

  I scowled at her, knowing exactly where this was heading. “Now is not the time for another protest about animal rights,” I told her.

  “If we don’t stick up for them, who will?”

  “Shut it down now, Adelynn Renee.”

  “Yeah, shut your big yap,” Layne said, shoving his sister into the side window. His tiredness from staying up too late last night was showing its bully face. Who knew a book on the geology of the Black Hills could be so riveting, but there he’d been at midnight, hiding under his covers with a flashlight in hand.

  “Layne, knock it off and say you’re sorry,” I said, giving him a hard stare.

  He mumbled something that vaguely sounded like, “Sorry.”

  I turned back to his sister, who was rubbing her head where it had connected with the glass. “Addy, do you really want to go another round with me about this? Remember, you’re still in big trouble for painting Elvis’s feathers with my mascara brush.”

  “I told you, Mom, Elvis needed racing stripes for the competition.”

  “And I told you to stop using my toiletries on your pets.”

  Turning back toward the front, I heard muffled wheezes coming from Harvey. I poked him in the ribs, and he wheezed some more.

  “Why do you have to check on your herd, Mr. Harvey?” Layne asked. “Do some of the cows get lost?”

  “Lost, stolen, even shot. Old Red is pretty good at sniffing in the wind and finding a missing heifer.”

  That dog was also good at finding missing human heads, like the one belonging to the decapitated body the yellow lab had dug up out in Harvey’s cemetery—the body with my business card still clutched in its hand. Turned out the head was still on the property. Old Red had found it in the defunct outhouse behind Harvey’s barn. Now if only the dog could find the rest of the body that went with the torn scalp and human ear that Harvey had found in his bear trap a couple of months ago.

  Addy sighed. “I sure wish we could take Elvis with us when we go places in the Picklemobile.”

  I ignored her billboard-sized hint and stared out the window at a couple of teenagers hugging on the sidewalk. His hands were on her butt, her arms inside his fleece jacket. Ah, young love. My heart pang
ed for Doc, darn it.

  I blinked back to reality and my daughter. “That chicken is not allowed inside the pickup. Period. I have enough trouble keeping her feathers off my clothes.”

  “Elvis molts on you because she loves you,” Addy said.

  Harvey pulled up in front of the school and let the engine idle. He turned around in the seat and grinned at Addy. “Maybe tonight we can make a chicken carrier you can tie in the back of the Picklemobile so Elvis can travel along without messin’ up your momma’s glad rags.”

  “Yes! Can we, Mom?”

  “We’ll talk about it after school,” I said, tired of thinking about that dang chicken this early in the morning. I stepped down to let both kids out my side. After I planted a kiss on the tops of their heads, I sent them on their way.

  When I crawled back in the pickup, Harvey was messing with the radio dials. I pulled my dark green knit sweater over my matching short sleeve shirt. It was supposed to warm up into the seventies today, but it sure didn’t feel like it this morning.

  Harvey settled on a station playing Willie Nelson’s On the Road Again and headed up the highway that took us through Central City and then on into Lead. Not a half mile out of Deadwood, we passed Reid. He was driving the big red dually truck that had the fire station’s namesake on the side.

  “Damn,” Harvey said, “he looked like he’s been rode hard and put up wet.”

  Harvey was right. Reid appeared drawn, almost haggard. “Maybe he’s not a morning guy,” I said.

  “Maybe he’s got barrel fever,” Harvey said.

  “What?”

  “He’s been bending the elbow too much.” When I continued to frown at him, he added, “He’s hungover. Do I have to teach you the English language, girl?”

  I ignored his smartass grin. “Maybe Reid just needs some more caffeine.” I always needed more. Feeding it to me intravenously would be easiest some mornings.

  “Is your aunt still all puckered up about him?”

  “If that means wanting to shoot him on sight, then yes. I don’t know what happened between those two in the past, but she can’t seem to forgive and forget.”

  He shook his head. “Life is too short for holdin’ grudges. You must have gotten that bull-headed streak of yours from her.”