by Ann Charles
After a check on the two cops, I leaned closer to Doc. “Was it that dang imp?”
“I don’t think so. But I have a feeling we’re going to wish it had been before this is all over.”
I didn’t like the eerie timbre in his voice. “Why’s that?”
“Come on.” He tugged on my hand. “I’ll show you.”
Uh oh. Show and tell was not my favorite game when it came to creepy things in the dark. I grimaced, letting him pull me along. God, I wished I was under the covers rubbing my icy toes on Doc’s long legs instead of trailing after him into a shop full of stuffed dead things.
“ ‘Back home we got a taxidermy man,’ ” I said under my breath as we crossed the threshold, reciting one of my son’s favorite lines from the movie Jaws.
“ ‘He gonna have a heart attack when he see what I brung him,’ ” Doc finished the movie quote, doing a much better impression of Robert Shaw. He clicked on a flashlight, aiming the beam at the floor.
The place smelled like a well-worn bowling shoe, musty with an underlying layer of sweat and chemicals. At least it was warm.
I tugged off my gloves and pocketed them. My cheekbones couldn’t take much more of that arctic wind. I tucked away a few loose curls that had escaped my old chenille knit beanie that had showed up with Harvey. I stored the hat in my SUV during the snowy months, along with spare gloves, a blanket, and tire chains. Snowstorms in the hills tended to turn up at unexpected times, like a bad penny … or a depraved sister set on stealing what didn’t belong to her.
I shook off all thoughts of the Bitch from Hell, aka my sister, before they could sink their claws in. Susan was a problem for another day. One pain in the ass at a time.
“You’ve been hanging out with Layne too much,” I told Doc while we waited for Harvey to close the door behind us. Actually, Layne was glued to Doc’s side lately, which was a good thing, considering my son used to see Doc as competition for the man-of-the-house role.
“I’m trying to get the kid to put in a good word for me with his mom.” Doc caught my hand again and kissed my knuckles. “I’m hoping I have a shot with her.”
His lips were nice and warm. I batted my eyelashes at the heartbreaker. “Make it a tequila shot, Candy Cane, and you’ll be miles ahead of the competition.”
He let go of my hand and crossed his arms. “Competition?” He looked over my shoulder. “Harvey, I’m going to need to borrow Bessie and a handful of rock salt rounds.”
Bessie was Harvey’s favorite shotgun. I’d met her double barrels up close and personal last July when I’d visited Harvey’s ranch for the first time to see if he wanted to hire me as his real estate agent. Word at the office had been that he was looking to move closer to town. Unfortunately, his ranch came with disembodied human parts and much worse, making it not so easy to sell.
“Ahhh, true love in 12-gauge style.” I toyed with the zipper on Doc’s coat. “You must really be soft on Layne’s mom.”
“Soft, you say?” He chuckled, his gaze hovering on my lips for a couple of beats. “Only on the inside, Vixen.”
Harvey guffawed, patting Doc on the shoulder. “Sparky, this poor lovesick sucker has taken to you like a lean tick to a fat hound.”
I stole Harvey’s hat off his head and smacked him in the belly with it. “Call me ‘fat’ again, Willis Harvey, and I’ll dye your beard pink while you sleep.”
“There’s no need to get in a lather, girlie. I didn’t call you a heifer this time. I know how much you enjoy bein’ compared to cows.”
Doc chuckled, earning himself a wallop with Harvey’s hat, too.
Harvey snatched his hat back and then turned to Doc. “What happened to the lights?”
“Whoever broke in cut the power,” Doc explained, moving over to the long counter running the length of the wall with a cash register weighing down the far end.
I loosened my scarf while scanning the shadowy room. I sure wished I had that tequila shot—or three—to take the heart-palpitating potential out of this place. “Never have I ever been in a taxidermy store at midnight,” I said, thinking of the drinking game I’d played too many times to count while downing alcohol with Natalie, my best friend since I’d stopped shoving crayons up my nose.
“I’d have to take a drink on that one,” Doc said, leaning against the counter. He’d apparently played the game, too. When? With whom?
“You’ve been in a taxidermy store in the middle of the night before?” Harvey asked.
Doc nodded.
“Tell us more, Mr. Mysterious,” I said.
Had he played the game with his ex, as in the red-haired siren with super perky boobs who was trying to steal my realty job out from under me? Before the jealous ogre in my head could take another lumbering step, I knocked it down and hog-tied it. Then I knuckle-rubbed it into submission and locked the tyrant back in the closet where I’d kept it for the last couple of months.
Doc and I were solid now—not quite bedrock, but certainly stronger than sandstone. There was no room in our relationship for ogres or exes. As for my future selling houses for a living, my boss seemed happy enough for the time being, especially with the first of a three-episode series about our office on the Paranormal Realty show broadcasting in a few days. So, Doc’s ex could go sit on something pointy and spin for now.
“It was a long time ago,” Doc told us.
“How long?” I pressed, always interested to learn more about Doc’s life before he came to Deadwood and made me fall for him … literally.
“Back in college,” he answered.
“In Colorado?” I pulled out my cell phone and tapped the flashlight option, shining the beam on the wall next to me while I waited for him to continue.
A huge moose head with black glass eyes deadpanned straight ahead. I cringed and took a step back, bumping into Harvey, who was eyeing something in a glass cabinet. Posed in a head-lowered stance on top of the cabinet was a coyote. His upper lip was frozen in a snarl. One of its ears was partly torn off and a chunk of hide was missing from its hind quarter.
“Yeah. My roommate’s uncle was a taxidermist.”
Before Doc could spin the rest of his tale, a door at the other end of the room opened and Cooper stepped out. He nailed me in the face with his flashlight beam. “Parker, I need you to come with me.”
Sometimes it was nice to be needed.
This was not one of those times.
I shielded my eyes. “Lower the light, Detective. Unless you expect me to start performing a taxidermy-themed cabaret.”
“I’ve always been a big fan of burlesque shows with plenty of feathers and not much else,” Harvey piped up. “How ’bout you, Doc?”
“I’m more partial to belly dancing and those coin-covered bras that jingle with each little shimmy.”
After a growl of exasperation, Cooper raised the beam to the ceiling, which lit up the room a bit more while deepening the shadows of all the creatures frozen in the afterlife.
I glanced around at the macabre zoo. Raccoons and rabbits, a bobcat and a beaver, to name a few. On the walls, sightless glass eyes stared at me from deer, elk, and pronghorn heads. A black bear crouched off to my right and a cougar sat on its haunches to the left, both still fierce in death. At the other end of the counter, a camel stood tall and regal—ah, Dorothy.
A uniformed cop wearing a puffy police coat, deputy hat, and thick utility belt filled the doorway next to Cooper, who was garbed in his off-duty leather coat and blue jeans. We’d come straight over to the taxidermy joint after saying adios to the Hungarian pest and dropping off a quirky ghost-whisperer at his apartment, not stopping off to change out of our devil-dealing duds on the way.
The cop headed my way, pausing in front of me with a shit-eating grin. “Nice black eye, ‘Rocky’ Parker. Did the other guy last the whole ten rounds, or did you knock him out in the first, like you did Detective Cooper?”
The badge-toting doofus was referring to the night I’d accidentally head-butted Coo
per, who went down for the count with a broken nose. The officer didn’t wait around for my answer, snickering as he closed the door behind him. I touched my bruised cheek. I’d forgotten about my black eye, a parting gift I’d received almost a week ago from a sweet librarian possessed by a crotchety ghost.
Cringing in anticipation of Cooper’s reaction to being the target of his co-worker’s joke, I hollered at the closed door, “Yeah, well, stink, stank, stunk to you, fuzz bucket.”
“Nice parting shot, there, Grinch.” Doc hooked me by the elbow. “Although a little late.”
He led me past a mountain lion frozen in mid-lunge with what looked like a bite taken out of its leg. To my left, a toothy hyena loomed, its neck torn open with furry bits dangling. Front and center stood a scowling detective without even a shadow of a grin on his face. His short blond hair reminded me of a patch of spike strips meant to tear up anyone trying to roll past him. Fittingly enough, the prickly cop waited next to a wild boar’s head mounted on the wall. Something had chewed along the end of its snout like it was corn on the cob.
“It’s not my fault,” I told Cooper before he could start pointing fingers.
His tired eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about, Parker?”
“I don’t know, but when you look at me with that sourpuss face, I start sputtering alibis.”
“I do not have a sourpuss face,” Cooper said with a definite frown anchoring the corners of his mouth.
“It looks like you’re chewin’ on a mouthful of bitter berries, boy.” Harvey took my side, both figuratively and physically.
“You’re not helping, Harvey,” I mumbled.
He grunted. “I call ’em like I see ’em.” To Cooper, he added, “Now, are you going to get to the point here or keep two-stepping around it? My prostate ain’t gonna wait all day.”
“Christ, you two,” Cooper snapped, adding a sigh as an exclamation mark. “Come on.” He turned and headed through the doorway, lighting the way with his flashlight.
I followed first, then Harvey, leaving Doc to bring up the rear. We filed down a narrow hallway lined with shelves full of bottles and jugs of various chemicals and cleaners. At the other end, Cooper ushered us through a doorway leading into a square workroom. A fluffy-haired, wiry guy with a handlebar mustache sat on a stool behind a workbench, resting his chin on his hands. A kerosene lantern sat next to him, the flickering flame reflecting in his horn-rimmed glasses.
“Howdy, Jonesy,” Harvey greeted the man, ambling over to shake his hand. “How’s the critter-stuffin’ business treatin’ you these days?”
“It’s a little slow now that Christmas is over, but otherwise, business as usual.” The taxidermist pushed his glasses up his pointy nose. “Well, until tonight anyway.”
Cooper took his favorite wide-legged cop stance. “Garth Jones, this is Violet Parker. She’s the consultant Doc Nyce and I were talking about earlier. She needs to hear your story.”
Consultant, huh? I raised my eyebrows in Doc’s direction. He shrugged back.
I joined Harvey and Garth at the workbench, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.”
His hand was dry and leathery, probably from all of the chemicals he worked with on a daily basis, but his grip was firm. He did a double take when he looked up at me. “What happened to your eye?”
“I ran into a stray elbow last week.”
I glanced around, trying not to cringe at the taxidermist’s works in progress. A pronghorn’s head sat on the bench next to him, its eye sockets empty. A chunk of hide was missing from the black band running down its snout, and one ear was dangling next to its cheek. On the table behind Garth, a falcon lay tipped partly on its side, one wing spread wide with wooden dowels, the other ripped clear off and tossed on the table next to it. Over in the corner, the tarp covering a bighorn sheep was partially pulled away, exposing the head, neck, and front legs. The sheep’s head was bent down, its curled horns ready to ram the wall. A large chunk of hide was ripped off its shoulder, exposing what looked like a jumble of wool, wire, and wood below.
Throughout the room on shelves, countertops, and under a long bench were bottles and piles of rags and half-folded tarps. Some were stained with what looked like dried blood, others were stiff with some kind of lacquer or varnish or polyurethane—whatever taxidermists used to finish the job.
In the daylight, this place would have been a little bit unsettling, but at night with dancing shadows and glassy stares, it was downright hair-raising … and drafty.
Why was it so cold back here? Was there a window open? No, the two windows in the room looked closed, the droopy, burlap-like curtains were motionless. I looked beyond the carcasses, noticing a door near the corner of the room. One of the windowpanes down low looked darker than the others. Shards of glass glittered on the floor below.
“What happened, Jonesy?” Harvey asked, settling onto the stool next to the taxidermist.
Garth’s brow lined. “Well, like I was telling your nephew and his crew, I was resting my eyes in my easy chair in the house before heading to bed when Beau here started growling and barking something fierce.”
I hadn’t noticed the bull terrier at his feet until the dog whined, lifting its fat head for a pat from Garth before lowering its snout back to the floor. Beau’s shoulders and hind end were as thick as his head, and his nose was peppered with enough gray and white fur to tell me he was not a young pup anymore.
“Next thing I know, my pickup’s alarm starts blaring. After I shut it off, Beau gets to howling and throwing himself at the kitchen door, making enough racket to wake the dead. I grabbed my .22 and came out to see what had the old boy so excited.” He twirled one end of his handlebar mustache. “I couldn’t see much when I stepped out on the porch, but Beau made a beeline to the shop and tried to bust in the back door.” He thumbed toward the door near the corner. “When I got closer, I noticed the broken window. Figurin’ someone was trying to clean out my cash register, I snuck in back here and tiptoed out front, keeping my flashlight off. That’s when I heard it.” He paused and shuddered. Then he made a low, snarling, grunting noise.
Beau whined, burying his snout under his front paws.
“That’s the sound you heard?” I asked, wanting to make sure he wasn’t just clearing his throat. Lord only knew the damage he’d done to his lungs over the years inhaling the chemicals of his trade.
Garth nodded. “I stepped out into the front room with my gun at the ready, but it was dark. I hadn’t realized the power was out until I tried to hit the overhead lights to surprise the son of a bitch.” He winced and shot me a frown. “Pardon my French, ma’am.”
Harvey waved him off on my account. “Sparky here can out-swear a longshoreman on a slow day at the docks.”
I glared at my bodyguard. “I wasn’t raised by a sailor.”
“More like moonshiner,” Harvey shot back, grinning. He nudged Garth’s arm. “Sparky has a real looker for a momma. Pretty as a pie supper, and sweet enough to rot your teeth after just one nibble. Makes a man think about taking a bite, if you get my gist.”
My glare tightened into a full scowl. “That’s my mother you’re talking about.”
Harvey’s blue eyes practically twinkled. “Would you rather I compare her to a fine heifer?”
“Finish your story, Garth,” Cooper cut in, leveling a hard stare at his uncle and then me.
“Anyway, before I could click on my flashlight, Beau shot past me and launched himself at the intruder. He sank his teeth into the guy, making him squeal like a stuck pig. Beau growled and snarled for a few seconds, and then he let out a yip and I heard something thud against the wall. I started toward the commotion, but the intruder rushed by me, shoving me into Dorothy in his haste to escape.” Garth shook his head. “The bastard smelled like last week’s roadkill and must have been about a head taller than Coop here. That shove of his sent me flying through the air for a few feet, so he was one strong sucker.”
“Did you
get a look at his face at all?” Harvey prodded.
“Nope. It was too dark.” Garth shifted, rubbing his shoulder, which had probably taken the brunt of his landing. “Beau took off down the hall after him, though, so I scrambled to my feet and made chase, following the two of them out into the snow. The clouds were blowing through, so I could only catch glimpses during the moon breaks. The two of them were partway down the drive, spinning in circles. Beau had locked onto his leg again, this time below the knee, and he wasn’t letting go. I raised my .22 and tried to get a bead on the guy, and that’s when I noticed he was missing an arm.”
“His whole arm?” Harvey asked. “Or just from the elbow down?”
“I think the whole damned thing.” Garth rolled his sore shoulder. “The guy managed to drag Beau away from his leg and tossed him into the trees, like the old boy isn’t fat as a hog during butchering season.”
Beau let out a short, snarly bark.
Either Beau spoke English on the side, or he’d been called a “fat hog” before and didn’t like it. I could relate. If Harvey called me a heifer one more time, I was going to bite onto his scrawny leg and not let go.
“And then the guy did the strangest thing,” Garth continued, shaking his head as if it still baffled him.
“What?” I asked in a hushed voice, half afraid to hear his answer. I’d seen some strange things myself lately. The sort of sights that kept me wide awake and trembling under the covers many a night.
“He let out a howl that curdled my blood. Then he bent down onto all fours—well, all threes in his case—and loped off toward the trees like a three-legged bear.” He shook his head. “I ain’t never seen any man scamper off like that, ’specially not in the snow. It was downright disturbing to my mental well-being, and I’ve seen a thing or two in my time.”
I bet he had, judging from the uncanny “pets” surrounding him day after day in here.
“Beau tried to give chase, of course,” Garth told Harvey and me. “But the guy was too fast. He disappeared under the trees in two shakes. I stood there with my chin on the ground for what must have been a solid minute, not believing what I’d just witnessed with my own two eyes. Wasn’t much after that I heard his howl again, only this time it was a ways off to the west, I think. Hard to tell for sure in the hills, though. Sound bounces off rock faces and the wind carries it this way and that.”