by Ann Charles
Halfway there, I glanced over and saw Doc pretending to get something out of the trunk of his Camaro.
“Mr. Conner,” I called out, wanting to make sure Doc didn’t confuse Rex for Dickie, who was talking to Jerry as he walked us to the car.
Rex looked over at me, his eyebrows raised above his aviator sunglasses.
I scrambled for something to say. “Nice shades.” Sheesh, that wasn’t very smooth. Wait, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Doc needed to see Rex without his glasses on. “Can I see them for a moment?”
“Right now?” Rex asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Just take off the damned glasses, creep. “I’m considering buying a new pair and I like the looks of those.”
“They’re expensive,” he said, handing them to me.
What did that mean? Had his spying included my bank account? I was tempted to snap back something about how a lack of child support for the last decade hadn’t helped but closed my lips, pretending to check out the glasses.
“Try them on,” Rex urged.
“Nah, I wouldn’t want to scratch them since they’re so pricey.” I handed them back, pretty sure Doc had seen enough. I know I had after the first ten seconds Rex had walked back into my life.
One more peek at Doc won me a heart-warming smile, along with an eyeful of Doc in his jeans and dark green Henley. I crossed my fingers that vision would hold me over throughout my afternoon in Purgatory.
Jerry saw us off like a proud father watching his kids head off for college. I watched him waving in my rearview mirror.
The first house on Jerry’s route was Lilly Devine’s place. This morning I’d learned that the owner was having trouble selling it, so he was willing to rent. Mona had been the one to tell Jerry it had a reputation for being haunted, so going there was a three-pointer—Jerry’s words, not mine.
I figured it was going to be a waste of time on both accounts. Rex’s tastes had always been more upscale than the Devine house’s décor; and while Dickie claimed to have psychic powers, I was of the school of thought that believed he could talk to dead people when I heard it with my own two ears.
I stayed on script as we toured the house, making sure to give Dickie and Honey plenty of time to film the particular bedroom where Lilly’s boyfriend supposedly had killed her.
After spending some time walking through this house with Doc a couple of months ago, I had a different theory than what the police had suspected at the time of Lilly’s death. In my version of how the events took place, the murder occurred in the basement and the boyfriend dragged her body up to the bedroom. Why? Either for some twisted necrophilic fetish or to make finding her body more dramatic.
While Honey taped, Dickie spouted ideas for some scripts they could do while filming the house. Rex watched from his post holding up the bedroom door frame, his smile bemused. I had a feeling he believed in ghosts about as much as he did in being a good provider for his offspring.
I excused myself from the show prep and headed to the kitchen. Leaning against the sink, I watched the trees sway in the breeze outside the kitchen window. Every now and then a tiny branch took flight across the yard. What I wouldn’t do to take wing after one and escape.
I closed my eyes, practicing some yoga ohms in my head.
Remaining civil to Rex was draining my batteries. There were two voices playing in my head at all times—Violet the happy-go-lucky Realtor who enjoyed spinning in circles in a grass-covered field in the Swiss Alps, and Violet the raging mother who wished she’d brought a pocketful of threepenny nails to pulverize between her molars. I could only hold the latter in check for so long.
Maybe Detective Hawke was right about me. I was prone to violence. Rex sure seemed to bring out the beast, making me tug and pull at my chain, practically choking on my collar as I lunged for his throat time and again.
I ohmed that snarling dog vision away and focused on one of the good things in my life at the moment—Doc.
Tonight after the kids were tucked in their beds safe and sound I was going to sit down next to him on the couch and tell him my theory on Ms. Wolff being an albino. If anyone was going to buy into it, he would.
Then the two of us could put our heads together—and maybe some other body parts—after all, it’d been a while since I’d gotten to enjoy all of his anatomy. After I’d finished reacquainting myself with his skin and more, we could try to come up with a way to convey my theory to Cooper that wouldn’t make him want to use me as a punching bag.
“Violet,” Rex said from behind me.
My shoulders tightened at the sound of his voice. “Yes?” I said in my Swiss Alps version voice, since I didn’t know if he were alone or not.
“I bet I can guess what you’re thinking.”
Memories flooded through my thoughts. We’d played this guessing game often while dating. He had always been certain he’d known what was on my mind and had usually been wrong. “What am I thinking?” I played along, opening my eyes in time to see another small piece of tree branch sail past. I highly doubted he’d guess that my thoughts were focused on a dead woman with a shrunken skull.
“You’re wondering if I came to the Black Hills to get back together with you.”
“Hmm.” Not even close. I glanced over my shoulder at him to make sure we were not being filmed.
“I’ll admit,” his smile was predatory as his gaze traveled down my backside. “I do still find you attractive, in spite of the evidence in your hips that you gave birth.”
I gripped the sink, feeling the anger start to bubble in my stomach. I wasn’t going to plant my boot in his mouth. Calamity Jane needed today to go well. I had to take one or more for the team.
“I’ve thought about you often over the years,” he continued, “wondering what could have happened if you hadn’t gotten pregnant.”
Oh, did he mean with his freaking kids! My esophagus burned. He’d wondered what could have been? Hell, I wondered what could have happened if the bastard had paid me child support.
“We could’ve really had some fun, you and I.”
“What about Susan?” I let that slip out and then clamped my lips together, the traitors.
“She was a distraction that got out of hand.”
I whirled. “Why’s that? Because my sister was stupid enough to fall in love with you?”
He waved her feelings off like they were child’s play. “There is no such thing as love, only degrees of lust.”
I sure hoped Doc didn’t agree with Rex on that score.
“Since I’m stuck working here for the next several months and you’re still single, I’ve come to the conclusion we should continue where we left off.”
If that was his idea of a romantic proposition, he needed to back the truck up and start with some roses, maybe chocolate, and then shove both up his ass and leave me alone.
“You want to get back together?” I asked, confirming I’d heard him correctly.
“Only on a physical level, of course. No strings. Neither of us need that.”
“What about the offspring you produced?”
“What offspring?” One blonde eyebrow cocked upward. “I distinctly remember signing a paper relinquishing any claim to your children.”
“Yes, you did.” I closed in on him, smelling notes of cedar and cardamom in his cologne, as well as the leather from his jacket. I stood on my tiptoes and whispered in his ear. “So why in the fuck are you spying on us from my neighbor’s house?”
He scoffed. “You assume that’s the reason I was staying with Beatrice?”
“It’s a little too much of a coincidence that you just happened to be bunking across the street.”
“I suppose it might seem that way.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “She means nothing, I assure you.”
That probably explained why Miss Geary had attacked his car with a fire poker this morning.
“I wasn’t really spying,” he continued. “I was c
urious. I wanted to watch you go about your daily life.”
“Violet?” Honey called from the other room.
“I’m in the kitchen,” I returned, all sweet and helpful. Then I poked Rex in the shoulder, glaring holes through to the back of his skull. “We’re not some goddamned ant farm for you to watch through the glass.”
Honey breezed into the kitchen, video camera at her side. Dickie followed, reciting something under his breath.
“Are you two done in the bedroom?” I winced inwardly at how that sounded.
Honey chuckled, obviously catching my faux pas. “Yes. Dickie felt the brush of fingers on the back of his neck.”
“There’s a definite presence in that room,” Dickie took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “My EMF meter was all over the place.”
So was my ASS meter, thanks to Rex.
“We’d like to come back here again,” Honey said, “and try to capture some stuff on film. That room is hot with paranormal activity.”
Maybe Lilly Devine’s ghost was moving about the place, like Prudence had in the Carhart house.
“Are there any other rooms in this place we should film?” Honey held up her camera.
I really wanted to get this tour over and done with so I could wave Rex goodbye, but I had an idea about the basement. It was time to see if Dickie really was the medium he claimed to be on his show.
“I wanted to show Rex the space downstairs. It’s the nicest part of the house.” Holding open the door that led downstairs, I ushered them in front of me. “Dickie, would you mind hitting the light switch there on your left?”
The fluorescent lights down below flickered and buzzed. Rex held the door for me to follow Honey. The basement was the same as I remembered from the last time I had been down there—tan carpet with white paint on the walls. Bright and normal looking.
When I had been here before, Doc had refused to even walk down the stairs. The scent of whatever was down here had been so strong he’d paled at the top step. Being the dud that I was, I could have slept down here if I hadn’t known any better. Unfortunately, I did, and after too many scary ghost movies in my lifetime, I had to wonder if Lilly Devine was standing right at my shoulder, covered in blood, staring at me.
I hid my unease behind a polite smile, watching Dickie for any signs that he was picking up something else lurking down here. He walked around, his EMF meter out in front of him.
Rex looked around the basement. “This place has potential, but I don’t really want to put the work into it since I’ll likely be gone by next summer.”
I wondered if there were something I could do to speed up his departure.
“Are you sensing anything, Dickie?” Honey asked as she slowly spun in a circle with the camera rolling, careful to avoid Rex and me, as promised.
He shook his head. “She must stay in the bedroom where she was killed.”
Based on my last visit, I disagreed, but I kept that to myself. “If you guys are finished here, we can move to the next place on the list.”
While they filed up the stairs. I took one last look around. As before, the basement seemed fine, but I didn’t. Without my ghost bloodhound by my side, I felt blind, skittish.
The next stop was a new listing located on the south end of Main Street on the way to Central City. I hadn’t visited it before today, so I was as curious as the rest of my company.
Close to three thousand square feet, it was a Depression-era house with aluminum siding available for rent or sale since the owner had recently passed away. The décor was 1970s ornate with a gold velvet couch, white carpet, two chandeliers, and rich red curtains. Liberace could have lived there. The bedrooms came furnished with the latest fashions from that decade. Powder blue walls and lots of shag carpet. Even the kitchen was carpeted in a short loopy golden brown nap, reminding me of my grandmother’s house when I was growing up.
“What’s the story on this place?” Dickie asked me after our tour.
We stood in the kitchen while Honey went from room to room filming.
I leaned against the speckled Formica counter top, scanning my notes. “It’s affordable and recently vacated.” That was all I had on the cue cards. My script had been focused on the original antiques located throughout the house.
“Did the last owner die in here, too?” he asked.
“No, she was in the hospital. She’d lived here since the middle of last century, though.”
Rex turned up his nose. “It looks like it.”
“Dickie,” Honey yelled from upstairs. “Come up here and tell me what you think of this.”
He excused himself.
I was curious to see what she was talking about, but I was more interested in taking advantage of my moment alone with Rex. I waited until I heard Dickie’s footfalls cross overhead before turning on Rex. “You need to find another Realtor.”
“But I want you, Violet.”
I fingered Tiffany’s business card in my coat pocket. “You don’t always get what you want.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Did you really think you could walk back into my life and plant yourself in my bed, Rex?”
He strolled closer, his eyelids lowered, his expression flirty. “I still remember exactly how you like to be touched.”
I shuddered, repulsed by his attempt to turn me on. A plane ticket to South America with his name on it would really light my fire. “For you, it would require something longer than a ten foot pole.”
“There was a time when you couldn’t keep your hands off of me.”
“People change,” I said, backing into the corner between the sink and stove. “Young girl crushes die a horrible death.”
“I see the way you look at me, Violet.” He encroached on my space, much like Detective Hawke had earlier.
“Good. Then you’ve noticed the disgust and loathing hovering in this area.” I circled my face.
“I’ve noticed the passion boiling inside of you when you stare at me.” He leaned toward me, his mouth way too close.
I reared back, gripping a cupboard door to keep my balance. “Trust me, that’s not passion.”
He tipped up my chin. “The attraction is still there.”
This was turning into a B-rated Mexican soap opera, all pasión caliente and bad acting. I’d stomached about enough. “Rex, stop it.”
“It’s raging between us, Violet, burn—”
I slammed the cupboard door into his face, a trick I’d learned from an old Tom and Jerry cartoon. However, unlike Tom the cat, Rex’s face wasn’t as flat as a pancake when I pulled the door away. But his nose was bleeding.
I pointed at it. “Oops. You’ve got a little blood there.” A couple of drips splattered onto his white shirt. Or maybe a lot.
He pinched his nose and looked up to the ceiling, cursing. “God damn it, Violet! What’s wrong with you?”
“No means no, jerk,” I said, pulling a towel out of one of the drawers. I hoped the house’s selling agent hadn’t taken a towel inventory.
“Holy crap,” Honey said from the doorway. “What happened to him?”
Rex glared at me, continuing to hold his nose.
I shrugged. “I think it might have been the ghost of the old woman who lived here.”
Honey started to raise her camera to film it, but I shook my hand at her, reminding her of our agreement.
“You need some ice,” she told Rex. Setting her camera down, she went to the freezer. “There are no ice trays in here.”
Been there, done that, I thought. What was it about the senior citizens around here being anti-ice tray?
“Is it broken?” Honey asked, reaching toward Rex, who pulled away.
“Don’t touch it.”
“What happened?” Dickie asked, joining our bloody party.
“The cupboard might be haunted,” I told him, keeping a straight face. “It swung right open and slammed Mr. Conner in the nose. Maybe the ghost doesn’t like men.”
Dickie s
cratched his neck. “I did feel a bit nauseated upstairs a moment ago.”
“I felt nauseated a moment ago, too,” I said. “Right before that cupboard door swung open. How crazy is that?”
Rex grumbled through the towel.
“We should get him to the hospital,” Honey suggested.
“I’m fine. It’s not broken,” he shot me a snarl and then winced from wrinkling his nose. “It just hurts like hell.”
“Maybe we should drop you off back at your car,” she said.
That reminded me of Miss Geary going at it with a fire poker and gave me another idea.
“That’s probably for the best,” Rex conceded. “I’ll have to reschedule with you, Violet.”
“I’ll see if I can fit you in another time.” As in never.
I ushered everyone out the front door. “If you guys will give me a second, I need to make sure the upstairs toilet is turned off. Some ghosts have reputations for making toilets run and waste water.”
I closed the door behind them. Taking the stairs two at a time, I pulled out my phone. I hit the call button after looking out the window to make sure all three were in the car below.
“What do you want, Parker?” Cooper’s voice was as terse and sandpapery as ever.
“I need a favor.”
“You have the wrong number.”
“No, don’t hang up.”
He waited.
“I need a favor, please.”
“What?”
“There’s a black sports car parked behind Calamity Jane Realty. Both headlights are busted out.”
“What are you trying to do, get a badge for crime fighter of the week?”
I ignored his sarcasm because I really wanted him to deliver on this favor. “Will you send one of your men over there and ticket the driver for broken headlights?”
Silence again from Cooper’s end. Then I heard his chair creak. “Let me get this straight. You are calling Deadwood’s only paid detective with a request to ticket some driver with broken headlights.”
“Yep, that’s about right.”
He laughed, a genuine, gut-busting laugh. Had I been sitting across from him, I probably would have fallen over backwards in my chair in shock.
When he stopped laughing, he said, “You’re a funny woman, Violet Parker.”