by Ann Charles
Good question. “I don’t know. I just want to touch you.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because once you start, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Maybe we should explore that feeling,” I said. “A hands-on therapy session of sorts.”
“Not in the library.”
I paused. “I didn’t realize you were such a prude.”
“Prude?” He stopped, his eyes narrowing. “You’re calling me a prude?”
“I didn’t stutter.”
“Okay, Boots,” he reversed and came around the table toward me. “I’ll call your bluff.”
He reached for me at the same time the door swung open. I stepped back from him as the librarian pushed a cart of books through the door, my heart rattling at almost being caught.
The librarian stopped at the sight of us standing there. Her gaze behind the rhinestone-studded rims of her glasses bounced between us. “Can I help you find something?”
Doc’s mental reflexes were faster than mine. “No, but you could answer a question for us.”
She raised one haughty eyebrow, but softened it with a tiny smile aimed at Doc. “I’ll certainly try, Doc.”
She knew his name? It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.
Charm dripped from the grin Doc gave her. “I want to learn more about cults and religions in relation to Deadwood’s past. Also, a bit more about the Chinese immigrant population in the late nineteenth century. Can you point me in the right direction?”
Was this about Lila’s tattoo?
“Well,” the librarian ran her fingernail along one of the book spines on her cart. “We don’t have much of a collection on those subjects here, but I seem to remember one of the libraries down in Rapid having a section dedicated to local religions. There may be something about cults mixed in there. Same goes with the Chinese immigrants. I’ll have to look it up on the Library Network database. Do you need this today?”
“Tomorrow is fine. I’ll stop by to see what you found.”
She nodded. “Or I can call you.”
“Sure. You have my number.”
My eyebrows must have hit the back of my scalp.
Doc grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the door. “Thanks for your help, Julia.”
I managed to smile at Julia, aka the librarian, as we left the room. Outside the front doors, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Since when are you on a first name basis with the head librarian?”
“Since she hired me to help her with her financial portfolio.”
Oh, his day job. I’d forgotten about that. “Don’t you think she’ll find it odd, you wanting to learn about cults and all?”
“No. She’s a librarian. Dealing with her patrons’ eccentricities is part of her daily grind. Think about some of the things people probably ask her to help them find. Cults and religion are quite tame, I’m betting.”
That reminded me of the time Layne dragged me to the library in Rapid and made me ask for help finding a book on how to shrink and preserve human skulls. From the look on that librarian’s face, my name was probably added to the FBI’s suspicious-persons database that day.
Doc held open the passenger-side door for me. I settled into the warm leather seat. The earthy aroma of Doc’s cologne wafted around me, more intense than usual in the hot interior, sparking a pheromone-filled heat flash. For just a few solitary seconds, I allowed myself to daydream about Doc and me and things that could be.
Then his door opened, and I fanned myself back to reality.
“Tell me more about the woman in the picture,” I said as Doc slid behind the wheel.
He stuck the key in the ignition, sparing me a glance. “You mean the Carharts’ ghost?”
“Yes.”
“The one you don’t know if you believe actually exists.”
I met his challenge. “Yes, that would be the one.”
The engine growled to life. “Prudence Baker,” he said and shifted into gear.
“Her name was Prudence?”
He nodded, pulling out into the street.
“Sounds like a relative of yours.”
He chuckled and stopped for a red light. His hand slid from the shifter to my knee before I realized it, his palm was blazing its way up my bare thigh. I clamped my legs together, capturing his hand before it hit pay dirt. He grinned. “Now who’s the prude?”
“You’re driving.”
“I can multitask.”
I was well aware of that. “The light is green.”
He looked down at the leg-lock I had on his hand. “Looks red to me.”
As he rolled through the intersection, I extracted his hand from my inner thigh and placed it back on the gear shift, covering it with mine for good measure. “Will you take me by the Carharts?”
“I don’t have to go in, do I?”
“No. I’ll just drop this off with Wanda.”
He made a right and headed up to Lead via Central City, around the back side of the big Open Cut. “Prudence was married to Edward Baker. They had a son named Ely. You have their photos in that locket you found with the box of teeth.”
“Ely reminded me of Layne.”
Doc glanced at me out of the corners of his eyes. “More than you know.”
His somber tone, mixed with that look, crammed my gut full of anxiety. “What happened?”
“How much detail do you want?”
“Don’t shield me.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve seen some bad shit.” Compliments of Wolfgang and his long-dead sister.
“That’s what concerns me.”
“I’m going to be standing inside that house in a minute. I’d like to know what I’m walking into.”
After another glance my way, he nodded. “Prudence’s husband and son were murdered in the front parlor.”
I winced. My favorite room. Damn.
“She was forced to watch.”
Double damn. My wince deepened into a cringe.
“Then she was raped and her neck slit.”
“Holy fuck!” I crossed my arms over my chest, holding tight, hunching. It was the ghost Jane had claimed to see years ago. “And you witnessed this through Prudence’s eyes?”
He nodded, slowing for a pickup in front of us with its left blinker on.
“In that moment when you relived this gruesome shit, did you feel what she felt?”
“To a degree,” he said, his face rigid. “It came in a twisted mess of images, sounds, smells, and pain.”
“Holy fuck.”
“You already said that.”
“Yeah, well, I think this deserves at least two of them.”
“It took me a little bit to sort it all out. That’s why I put you off yesterday.”
I thought of my Mr. Hyde routine yesterday, of going off on Doc after he’d suffered through whatever this was—real or just in his mind. My cheeks heated. “I’m sorry for blowing my top.”
He shot me a grimace. “Don’t apologize. You weren’t exactly having an easy day. I knew that when you walked away from me.” He rounded the bend into Lead. “Although,” he added, his grin making an appearance, “I hadn’t expected you to seek comfort in Jeff Wymonds’ arms.”
“Oh, God,” I said, leaning my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. “That was so awkward. And now Addy has it in her head that I’m going to marry Jeff, and Layne is freaking out about being replaced as man of the house.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What I’ve been doing all along—maintain the status quo and tell them that I’m not marrying anyone.” I peeked at Doc, wondering how he felt about the status quo. He stared out the front window, one hand on the steering wheel, giving me no sign of anything.
Good, I thought, but then frowned. A bit of interest from him in something long-term might be nice.
What?
I looked out my side window without really seeing. Did I want something more with D
oc? On one hand, there was this whole ghost-smelling business. On the other, he was kind, smart, fun, good with money, and dynamite in the sack. And he smelled better than warm brownies.
Crud mongers. I was getting in over my head here. I gulped down a wad of panic welling in my throat.
Okay, so this attraction of mine was growing. That didn’t mean it had to end in wedding bells. I was waist-deep into my thirties now. The silly insecurities of my twenties were long gone. I could handle a no-strings-attached relationship.
“Violet?” Doc’s voice interrupted my whirling dervish of angst-filled, confused thoughts. He sounded like he was talking to me from three plateaus away. “Do you want me to walk up the aisle with you?”
Up the aisle! What? I gaped at him. “What did you just ask me?”
He stared back at me, a grin hovering. “Do you want me to walk up the drive with you?” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word, and then pointed out my window. I followed his finger and realized we were already pulling up to the curb in front of the Carhart house.
Holy freakin’ moly. I needed to plug that hole in my head where the marbles were pouring out. As if I had time for this temporary bout of relationship insanity. I had a Bronco to bury and kids to ship off to my parents. Grabbing the offer papers, I said, “Thanks, but I can handle this.” I reached for the door handle, then stopped and looked back at Doc. “Do you know why Prudence and her family were murdered?”
“I’m still sorting that out, but I think it has to do with that box of teeth.”
The teeth? Why the teeth? A laugh bubbled up and out before I could catch it. “You know, Doc, sometimes you say the damnedest things.”
“I know it sounds farfetched, but one of her killers kept asking where she’d hid his teeth.”
“One?” Goosebumps trickled down my arms. “How many were there?”
“Three, all wearing burlap masks with eyeholes cut out, so I couldn’t see their faces.”
I can’t imagine the terror Prudence must have felt. Then I remembered Wolfgang and his playtime shenanigans and realized I could guess at it a little. “I’ll be right back.” I wanted to zip in and out of the house as fast as I could—ghost story or real deal.
Wanda inched the door open after my second knock.
“Hi, Wanda. Here’s the second offer I called you about.”
She snatched it from my hand with snake-strike quickness. I jerked back, resisting the urge to check for fang marks.
“You can’t come in,” she whispered, then glanced over her shoulder at something behind her. “You’d better leave now.”
What? Why? I didn’t move, my feet as dumbfounded as the rest of me. I leaned to the side, trying to see what was going on behind her.
She reached through the crack and pushed me back a step. “Go,” she hissed. “Now!”
She shut the door in my face. I heard the deadbolt click.
What in the hell was going on around here?
My mind reeling, I didn’t realize I’d returned to Doc’s car until I sat on the warm seat and shut the door.
Doc’s forehead furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Wanda was acting odd.”
“Do you want me to go back up there with you?”
“I don’t think so.” I thought about Wanda and her money, then me and my lack of money, and ended up on me and my lack of a vehicle. “No, never mind. Will you take me to Aunt Zoe’s, please?” I was ready to go home and regenerate some sanity before trudging out into the world again.
He turned the key and rolled into action.
By the time we hit the edge of Lead, my wits had returned from their surprise-induced hiatus and a question popped into my head. “Doc, that information on cults and Chinese immigrants that you asked the librarian about: are you looking for something in particular?”
He cast me a quick look, seeming to measure something. “Yes, a connection.”
“Connection between what?”
“Prudence’s killers and Lila.”
“You mean besides the Carhart house?” What else could there be? More than a century separated Lila from the rest.
“Yes, besides the house.” He slowed to a stop at the junction mid-way between Lead and Deadwood.
“Why would there be another connection?”
“The men who murdered Prudence had Chinese accents.”
“Oh, okay.” That explained nothing. “What does that have to do with Lila?”
“They also had matching tattoos—as in matching Lila’s.”
Chapter Twenty
I stared out the car window the rest of the way home, my gut festering over Lila and her tattoo, Prudence and the teeth, Doc and his ghosts. The gravity of my situation weighed heavily, like a buffalo plopped on my chest.
An old pickup with a rusted bumper sat in Aunt Zoe’s drive. Bird poop added visual texture to its army-green paint. “Whose is that?”
“I’m guessing Harvey’s, based on the bumper sticker,” Doc answered, pointing at the Life’s Short, Skinny Dip Daily sticker.
The old buzzard must have caught a whiff of my Bronco’s smoky death in the small-town air and come to circle and assess.
Doc parked behind Harvey’s truck, but left the engine growling.
I reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Violet?” Doc snagged my arm. Lines of concern contoured his forehead. He took off his sunglasses. “Please, be careful.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” The grin I forced felt carved into my cheeks.
He grimaced. “You could scare little kids with that smile.”
I pointed at my manic grin. “You think this is frightening, you should see my hair first thing in the morning.”
“Okay.”
Okay? “I was speaking rhetorically.” Kind of. Or not. The idea of spending the night with Doc toasted my marshmallows, but the potential fallout with my family doused the flame.
“Try speaking hypothetically instead.” Doc’s lazy grin came out to play. “For example, if you were there in the morning, then I could have breakfast in bed.”
“I don’t cook.”
“Who said anything about food?”
A wallop of lust left my brain floundering. “Are you trying to use sex talk to distract me from my problems?” Sex talk? What was this? Fifth grade?
“Is it working?”
Definitely. “Maybe.”
“I could distract you even more with my hands.” He demonstrated, his fingers skimming the tender skin on the inside of my arm.
“Yes, you could.” Heat pooled in all the fun places, making me shift closer.
“And we shouldn’t forget about my tongue.”
“Your tongue is a lethal weapon.” Just thinking about it nearly vaporized my underwear. “Tell me more.”
“Your aunt is watching us from the front porch.”
A glance at the house confirmed the situation. “Ah, hell. I was hoping for something a bit more titillating from you.”
“I’ll work on my stimulation techniques for next time.” He withdrew his fingers.
I pushed open the door and climbed out before the rummy effect of lust spilled me right into his lap. “Thanks for your help.”
“I meant what I said about the Carhart house.”
“You want me to be careful while I’m there.”
“I want you to stay away from it.”
I’d heard that one before. I shut the door and leaned on the open window. “I can’t. I’m selling it.”
“I figured you’d say that.” He shifted into reverse. “Just don’t do anything rash.”
“Just thinking about Lila makes me itch.”
“And stay away from Lila.”
“Another warning?”
“That one’s an order.” He softened it with a wink. “Call me later.”
“After I get my life straightened out?”
“No. I’ll be an old man by then. Later as in tonight, when you’re
alone. You know my number.”
I stepped back from the car. “So does the librarian.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t have my number.” He put on his sunglasses and rolled away, leaving me behind with reality.
I gave wide berth to the dirty green truck, which supported its own colony of flies and reeked as if it had been rolling around in a horse stall. Its cloud of dirt reminded me of Pigpen from those old Charlie Brown holiday cartoons.
Aunt Zoe greeted me on the front porch steps with a worried scowl and a much-needed bear hug. “Harvey told me the news. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m really starting to hate the sight of firemen, and that’s a damned shame.”
“Join the club,” she muttered and led me into the house, her arm around my shoulders.
The aroma of fresh-baked brownies made me smile. Ah, home sweet home. I picked up a balled sock and a purple flip-flop from the floor and tossed them in the basket of shoes next to the front door. “Where are the kids?”
“In the backyard making bonnets for Miss Elvis.”
“Chicken bonnets?”
“Addy is worried about her chicken getting skin cancer.”
“Of course she is.” Addy’s craziness about animals must come from her father’s bloodline.
I found Harvey sitting at the kitchen table, a brownie in his hand and another stuffed in his cheeks. “Hey, Sparky!” The brownie muffled his shout. “Sounds like you found yourself in another hot spot this mornin’.”
I just shook my head and reached for a brownie to cram into my mouth. I dropped into the chair opposite him. “Where’s your Chevy?” Had somebody messed with his truck, too?
“At home. I brought you some new wheels.”
I’d been too distracted by Pigpen’s aura to notice another set of tires in the pickup bed. “You shouldn’t have. I already owe you two.” I hope he kept the receipt.
“Forget about that.” He slid a set of keys across the table.
I frowned down at the yellow smiley-face keychain. “What’s this?”
“The keys to the Picklemobile.”
Aunt Zoe placed a glass of lemonade, on the rocks, under my nose. I could have showered her with kisses.
“The Picklemobile?”
“My old truck out front.”