by Ann Charles
“Of course,” Natalie said, snorting. “I think that’s one of the five responses they programmed him to say back when he was at the police academy.”
I chuckled. Nat had been bit by Cooper’s sharp teeth a couple of times herself. Weeks ago over a six pack of beer, we had concocted a theory—Cooper was half-robot, created by the evil emperor to destroy all cute and furry creatures when he wasn’t blowing up rebel bases.
“So where are you?” I asked her.
“Sitting on my back deck.”
“When did you get home?”
“About an hour ago.”
“How was Arizona?”
“Fun, lots of laughs, kind of crazy. My cousins are nuts.”
“You sure didn’t fall far from that family tree.”
“Take a train, peanut brain,” she said, throwing one of our childhood insults back at me. “So what have I missed here?”
“Let’s see,” I decided to skip the stuff about Ms. Wolff for the time being and get right to the heart of my frustrations. “Rex is fucking with my world through my job. He tried to make a move on me while I was showing him a house and I hit him in the face with a cupboard door.”
“That no good, piece of—”
“Parker,” Cooper barked from behind me.
I jumped and whirled. His expression was all tornadoes and hurricanes as he stormed up to me. Great, what had I done now?
“What?” I held the phone slightly away from my ear.
“You need to leave now.”
His demand was my wish. I could hear Natalie still ranting through the line.
Cooper frowned at my phone. He must have heard her voice, too. He pointed at it. “That’s not Nyce, is it?”
“It’s Natalie.”
He rubbed his hand over his jawline as if my response required thought. “She still down in Arizona?”
“No, she’s back home.”
“She is?” He nodded repeatedly, like a bobble-headed version of himself answering his own question. His gaze locked on my phone. As I watched, the weather on his face changed from stormy to partly cloudy to a chance of sunbreaks.
Then he looked up at me and the supercell formed again, swirling and dark, making his eyes narrow. “Tell her you’ll call her when you’re back in Deadwood,” he ordered, mistaking me for one of his subordinates. “I want those TV people out of here before someone gets stupid about being on camera and leaks something important.”
I glared at his stiff shoulders as he strode away, raising the phone to my ear again. Natalie was winding up her anti-Rex tirade, working on the T’s in her swear word vocabulary.
“Nat,” I interrupted. “Cooper’s kicking me out of here.”
She sniffed. “Well, you’d better leave then before he gets out the handcuffs again.”
Just the reminder of being cuffed and hauled into jail made me feel like kicking something, preferably something on Cooper’s body. “That still fries my patootie.” I started back toward the house. “Come to dinner tonight? Harvey mentioned something about grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.”
“Yum! I’ll bring the beer.”
I had a feeling that after today, I was going to need something stronger. “Make it tequila.”
* * *
Tuesday, October 9th
The Galena House looked benign in the late morning sunshine when I pulled up in front of it and shut off the Picklemobile. It was still in need of a little TLC and a whole lot of paint, but it reminded me much less of the House on Haunted Hill when thunder and lightning were not part of the backdrop.
“This pickup has an odd smell to it,” Cornelius said from the passenger seat. He sniffed a couple of times. “Like someone let a jar of petroleum jelly go rancid under the seat.”
I hadn’t smelled rancid petroleum jelly so I wasn’t sure which particular smell he was referring to—the one coming from the glove box, the seat cushions, or the vents. I was used to all of the truck’s unique odors, just as I’d grown accustomed to most of Cornelius’s eccentricities.
“Think of riding in the Picklemobile as a unique life experience. If that doesn’t help, roll down your window.”
“I don’t like it,” Cornelius said.
“Listen, until you get your rental fixed, this is what we have.” Cornelius had somehow managed to inadvertently disable his rental car’s electrical system again. I was beginning to think he should add “Electromagnetic Anomaly” to his business card in addition to Ghost Whisperer.
“I meant I don’t like the house.”
I sighed. It was that or hit my head against the driver’s side window a few times and forehead bruises were hard to hide.
I’d told Doc last night that moving the location of the séance was not going to sit well with Cornelius. He was set up in his hotel suite with all his gadgets and sensors. Leaving his outfitted ghost lab would put a monkey wrench in his ability to record all aspects of ghosts and ghostly chatter.
“Why don’t you like it?” I asked.
“There’s bad energy here. Look,” he said, pointing out the window at the house. “You can see it radiating from the roof.”
I peered at the roof for a moment. “Are you talking about the smoke coming from the chimney?”
“I’m talking about the blackness billowing up and out. It speaks of deep set decay in the heart of the house.”
Someone’s creative mind needed to be reined in and put back in its barn stall. “It’s more of a light gray, don’t you think?”
“There’s a cancer in that place, Violet, spreading from the inside out. It doesn’t smell right.”
“I thought you said it was the pickup that stunk.”
“Nor does it feel right,” he continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “If I go into a séance feeling this way, things will turn sour. I know this from experience. Did I ever tell you about my cousin and what happened to her?”
I knew a little about his cousin’s freaky death and Cornelius’s role as a suspect in it. All that aside, it wasn’t like Cornelius to be so negative and resistant to anything paranormal. Usually he jumped at the chance to chat with new ghosts.
“Did you drink your daily protein shake yet?” I asked.
“No. And my morning carrot was soft.”
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to an actual orange vegetable or a physical problem south of his belt buckle, nor did I want to risk clarification. I pulled out a protein bar I’d packed for my own lunch and unwrapped it. “Here, eat this.” He stared at it as if I’d pulled it out from the Picklemobile’s glove box. I shoved it under his nose and insisted.
“I’m allergic to blueberries,” he said.
“Those are chocolate chips. Eat it.”
He took a bite and nodded his acceptance.
“Okay,” I said, “let’s go meet the owner. She should be waiting for us.” Before he could open his door I grabbed his arm, his wool jacket scratchy to the touch. “Here’s the thing. She doesn’t know about your ability.”
“Which one?”
The one that allowed him to shoot webs from his hands, what did he think I meant? “Your ability to talk to ghosts.”
“Oh, that?” he said, as if it were his least important ability.
“Yes, that. So let’s keep that secret of yours between us.”
“Of course.” He shoved open the door. “I always try to lie low and blend in.”
I looked at his stovepipe hat, black wool coat, pointy goatee, and the walking stick he was unfolding as he stepped out onto the street. “Right. You’re a regular chameleon.”
We walked to the front porch, the clack-clack of his walking stick on the sidewalk echoing down the street in an otherwise quiet moment.
Freesia opened the front door, greeting us with a smile. “Good to see you again, Violet.” Her gaze climbed all of the way up to the top of Cornelius’s hat. The curves in her cheeks deepened as her smile grew wider, making her eyes sparkle. “And who is this tall drink of water?” she aske
d, her voice growing huskier than normal, breathier. She batted her long eyelashes at him.
I did a doubletake. Was she flirting with Cornelius? Could that even be possible? Had the magnetic poles switched places?
“This is Cornelius Curion,” I told her. “He’s a client of mine.” I turned to him, checking to see if he’d noticed he had an admirer. The bonehead was frowning down at his glasses, trying to wipe a dirt smudge away with wool. I cleared my throat. “Cornelius, this is Freesia Tender. She owns the Galena House.’
Freesia held out her hand.
Cornelius looked up at it and reared back a step. “I don’t shake hands. It can send my aura into a maelstrom.”
Her cheeks warmed at his rebuff. She pulled back her hand and shoved it into the pocket of her capri pants. “Your aura, huh? You must be into the spiritual world.”
“Yes. I’m a ghost whi—”
I elbowed him in the solar plexus, aiming to knock him off course. Instead I knocked the wind out of him. He gasped and coughed and gasped some more.
When he caught his breath, he grimaced at me. “That was unpleasant.”
“Oops,” I replied.
“What were you saying?” Freesia asked. “You’re a ghost what?”
I glared at him.
“That’s all,” he said. “I’m a ghost.”
She touched his chest, scraping her nail down the wool of his coat. “You feel like a real man to me.”
Oh, Lord, was this really happening? Had Freesia been brainwashed by an evil presence in the building? Was she looking for the ‘keymaster’? Was the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man going to come strolling down the street next?
Cornelius appeared oblivious to Freesia’s flirting, looking away to cough into his hand a couple more times. Then he took off his round-framed glasses and put them in the inside breast pocket of his coat. “Freesia,” he said, peering down the hall behind her at who knew what. “Did you know that your name is the same as a fragrant, delicate flower that is easily damaged by the elements?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Are you?” he asked, his gaze focusing back on her.
“Am I what?”
“Easily damaged?”
“Oh, no, darlin’. I’m hardy as a dandelion.”
Cornelius frowned. “You’re referring to the weed, right? Not a dapper lion or an herbal tea?”
Okay. We’d reached the end of the stage line. It was time for everyone to get off and move along. “Freesia,” I took her by the elbow and turned her toward the stairs. “Do you mind showing Cornelius and me around the building?”
“Sure. Would you like the same tour as the one you had yesterday with Mr. Harvey?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’d like to view the attic,” Cornelius said. “And the basement.”
I frowned at him but said nothing. I thought he was concerned about the evil billowing from the heart of this place. If so, why would he want to scope out the scariest parts of the house?
Freesia had a sexy hip-swing going as she climbed the stairs in front of us. “You’re welcome to take a peek,” she glanced back and winked at Cornelius. “I can show you my apartment, too, if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, raining on her flirt fest.
“Maybe another time,” she directed at Cornelius.
Criminy. She must have been sniffing glue before we arrived. “Is that the door to the attic?” I asked, moving us right along, wanting to get this over with so the world could return to its normal programming.
It was the door, luckily. We climbed upstairs and looked around at a couple of large rooms packed full of old furniture, stacks of books and boxes, and huge conglomerations of dust bunnies. Down in the basement, the musty smell came complimentary with the dirt floor. Old shelves lined the concrete walls, broken furniture was scattered here and there along with rusted paint cans and some paint-peeling doors.
Back on the first floor, we paused outside of Ms. Wolff’s door. The tape was still there, X-ing off the doorway. I frowned at it, thinking about Layne’s picture tucked into the mirror inside.
“Sorry, I still can’t let you in, Violet,” Freesia said.
“Why not?” Cornelius asked.
Freesia looked at me. “He doesn’t know?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know what?”
I opened my mouth to tell Cornelius about Ms. Wolff, but he covered my mouth with his hand. “No, don’t tell me, I’d rather find out later.”
“Find out later?” Freesia asked. She turned to me. “Are you thinking of sneaking inside again tonight?”
Cornelius gasped. “I can’t believe you came here at night without me?” He sounded hurt, which was ironic considering a short time ago he didn’t even like the place.
I shrugged at him. It wasn’t like we were ghost hunting partners. “Sort of.” I kept my answer evasive to protect Freesia in case Cooper came around asking questions.
“Did you find something?” he pressed.
“Sort of,” I said again.
“Is that why you want to have a séance in there tomorrow night?”
Lucky for him, I hit him with a glare instead of my foot.
Freesia’s eyes widened. “You want to have a séance in Ms. Wolff’s apartment?”
I hemmed, hawed, and then looked at my toes. “Sort of.”
Both Cornelius and Freesia were silent.
I looked up, expecting to meet resistance. “Listen, we don’t have to do it. It was an idea. I thought it could help the cops.” I grabbed Freesia’s arm. “But I didn’t plan to tell them about it, just kind of sneak in, try to talk to some ghosts—with any hope, Ms. Wolff—and then leave.”
“Are you both mediums or something?” Freesia asked.
“Or something,” I mumbled.
“I talk to ghosts,” Cornelius explained. “Violet acts as a conduit for me.”
I winced in anticipation of her blatant disbelief.
“How cool! I used to have fun in college with my girlfriends playing with a Ouija board. I swear that thing would move on its own sometimes.” Freesia’s smile had a conspiratorial feel to it. She leaned in closer. “I’ll tell you what. If you let me join you guys, I’ll sneak you into Ms. Wolff’s place tomorrow night.”
“There’s one more of us,” I said. “My boyfriend.” I risked a glance at Cornelius to see his reaction to me adding another attendee.
He nodded. “Safety in numbers.”
I’d heard that before.
“If I can come, he can come.” Freesia sidled up next to Cornelius, flirting with her body and smile this time. “We can make it a double date. I’ll bring some wine.”
“No!” Cornelius said.
I gaped at him. Damn it, he was going to blow this opportunity. If Freesia wanted some flirting in return for a night in Ms. Wolff’s apartment, he was going to have to suck it up and take one for the team.
“Wine dilutes the channel.” Cornelius pulled his glasses from his pocket. “Make it mead.” He turned to me. “And don’t bother with the elk steaks. I already tried them.” The way his nose wrinkled told me he felt the same about eating elk as my son.
“Are you saying you’re game?” I asked him, unsure if I wanted the séance to happen or not. If we got caught in Ms. Wolff’s apartment with candles and recording devices, Cooper would be all too happy to throw me in jail.
“Yes.” Cornelius put his glasses on and gave me that weird crooked lip thing he did in place of a smile.
“What changed your mind?”
“The ghosts. They have something they want to tell me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bighorn Billy’s parking lot bustled with post-lunch patrons ogling a group of mint 1940s era Mercurys. The fall sunshine reflected off the cars’ flawless paint jobs, lighting up the excited faces of their admirers. Unfortunately, none of them were fit for time travel. I really could have used a way to zip back in time and figure
out why Ms. Wolff had left that picture of Layne on her mirror and who had murdered her before Harvey and I got to her place.
Inside the diner, Dean Martin crooned about bedding down with his rifle and pony in a purple lit canyon. I recognized the song from Rio Bravo and puffed out my chest like the Duke facing down a mob of outlaws … or in this case, one particular bristly detective sitting alone in the back corner booth. As I stood inside the door, wondering if coming here was a mistake, Detective Cooper nailed me with his cop squint and waved me over. If I turned tail and ran, would he chase me down and tackle me? Could I call that police brutality?
I blew out a breath. Dang, I might as well get this over with. Amidst the scent of burgers, coffee, and all things grilled and deep fried, I joined him at the booth, dropping into the opposite seat.
“I’m surprised you agreed to come here,” was his greeting.
I shrugged off my jacket. “You did use the word ‘please’ for once.” His invitation to meet and chat was so polite and non-curse filled that at first I thought he’d called the wrong number. I glanced at him. “You’re not dying are you?”
“Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”
After I settled into the booth and the waitress stopped by to take our drink orders, I picked up the menu. “Did you order another salad for me?”
Cooper had a bad habit of ordering diet food for me if I ran late. He claimed he was watching out for my figure, but I suspected something more along the lines of payback for the heartburn I seemed to cause him most days.
“Not this time,” he said. “I thought I’d wait for you.”
I looked up from the menu. “Wait a second, who are you really? Are you Detective Cooper’s non-evil twin?”
“No. I’m still evil, but I’m tired of chasing ghosts.”
That was something we had in common. I lowered the menu. Taking a closer look at him, I noticed a patch of stubble on his jaw he’d missed with the razor, the tired lines around his eyes, and the tufts of hair pulled this way and that.
“Your eyes are red,” I said, focusing back on the menu.
“Yours are, too.”
“It’s called nightmares about dead people coming back to life. What’s your excuse?” Next we’d start trading scar stories.