by Ann Charles
That lit my son up like a Vegas marquee. He bounced toward the door, glancing back at Doc long enough to say, “Take care of Mom. She needs lots of crackers and soup when she’s sick.”
Doc saluted him. “I’m on it, chief.”
After one last worried frown at me, Layne followed his sister.
Aunt Zoe trailed the two of them, carrying a box filled with a container of chicken salad and a dish of green bean casserole, along with two pies, both cherry. I was sad to see them go—the pies and Aunt Zoe. I wondered if she’d notice if one of the pies disappeared before she left the house.
“Focus on what you need to do tonight, kiddo.” She leaned her cheek out for a kiss from me. “And remember, be careful not to let anything else come through when you open that doorway.”
I nodded. “You sure you need that second pie?”
She laughed. “Your brother is in town. He requested one cherry pie all to himself, and you know I can’t resist Quint when he’s being sweet and charming.” She sobered and turned to Doc. “Watch over her for me, Doc.”
“I promise.”
“Let me know when it’s over so I can sleep tonight,” she told me over her shoulder and stepped outside.
“Be careful around the bitch from Hell,” I warned from the porch as she walked down the steps. “She’s been known to bite.” Much like Caly, now that I thought about it.
“She only bites you, dear.”
Grumbling about Susan’s sharp teeth under my breath, I waved goodbye to Aunt Zoe and the kids as she drove away. My heart felt cloudy with a chance of rain when I closed the door. Then I looked across the room at Doc and the sun came out again.
“Cornelius called earlier while you were helping the kids pack,” Doc told me from where he still stood in the archway, his shoulder against the wall.
“Let me guess, he wants me to bring double D batteries tonight and two pints of bat’s blood.”
“Double D?”
“Don’t ask.” I patted him on the chest on the way into the kitchen, needing coffee and something to eat now that I didn’t have to pretend I had a stomachache anymore.
Doc stared at me, his expression mirroring Layne’s before he’d left. “Cornelius didn’t mention batteries or blood.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because he changed his mind about where he wants to hold the séance.”
“If he wants to go back up to Wild Bill’s grave, I’m out. It’s too damned cold.”
“Not Mount Moriah.”
I finished pouring the coffee and set down the cup. “Where?”
“The Hessler property.”
My hand went to my chest in surprise. “But that’s burned down.”
“Not the house. The root cellar.”
No! I took a step back, my butt bumping into the stove. No way. That was not going to happen. Not even drunk on a bet.
Last night, I’d had plain old dreams floating through my head while I slept. Happy dreams. There might even have been a unicorn and a rainbow in one of them. Not one nightmare had shown up to ruin my sleepy-time. But if I went down into that root cellar, I had a feeling I’d regress to waking up screaming and bathed in sweat for another month.
“Cooper will never go along with that location,” I told Doc, thankful for once that the detective was such a stickler for rules and his off-limits, “police business” mantra. “Besides, that would be trespassing, wouldn’t it?”
“Cornelius said he’d already contacted Coop and cleared it with him.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
He nodded. “I called Coop to confirm it, and it’s true. Apparently, Coop hasn’t closed the Hessler case yet. He’d been told to wait and see if any other local missing children reports could be tied to Hessler. So the police still have the keys to the lock on the root cellar door, and access has to be cleared through Cooper.”
“What about Detective Hawke?”
“Any possible related kidnappings are supposed to fall under Cooper’s jurisdiction, so he is the sole detective in charge.”
“But why would he agree to letting us go down there? That’s not like Cooper.” His first reaction was usually to reject such a request; his second reaction was to shoot whoever asked. “You think the lidérc has latched onto him?”
Doc raised his brow. “Are you looking for another excuse to beat up poor Coop?”
“I don’t need an excuse when it comes to that bossy mule.” I lifted my coffee, taking a sip and making a face.
“You forgot sugar.” He grabbed the jar off the table and held it out to me, but then pulled it back when I reached for it and snagged me by my robe belt, reeling me in. “I could use some sugar, too.”
“I’ll trade you.” I untied my belt and let my robe fall open, making room for his hands. “One sweet for another.”
He placed the sugar on the counter, his hands sliding inside of my robe as he backed me into the counter. “After abstaining all night with your curves pressing into me, I’m going to need more than just one sweet.” He kissed me. “You taste like coffee.”
I took the jar of sugar and sprinkled some onto my tongue. “There. Now I taste like sugar.”
He chuckled and kissed me again, skimming his palms down over the curves that had pressed into him throughout the night. “How about we go upstairs and make your bed creak?”
“What about tonight in the root cellar?”
“Well, I prefer your bedroom. It’s warmer and has a soft mattress. But if you’re into sex in creepy places, I’ll give it a whirl for you.”
I playfully pinched him. “You know what I meant.”
“First, come upstairs with me and let me take your mind off of tonight for a while.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll take a field trip down to what remains of the Hessler house and take a look around, get a feel for the place, see if we can get Cooper to join us and unlock the root cellar door for a peek inside.”
“You sound like you’re game to have the séance there.”
“It makes sense. That’s where I first met Wilda. It’s her home turf.”
“But root cellars are creepy. What if Wilda is one of many ghosts that we run into down there?”
“That’s why I want to go check it out. I’d like to try to be more prepared.”
I leaned my forehead against his chest. “I’m afraid that if we have the séance there, Wolfgang will show up. I don’t know if I can keep it together if he joins us.”
“You’re much stronger now than you were when you met him.” He rubbed his chin on the top of my head. “You’ll kick his ass if he tries to tell you how you’re his one true love and woo you into the afterworld.”
That made me chuckle. I looked up at him. “You’re just jealous that he beat you to the punch,” I teased.
“Maybe,” he played along. “Or maybe I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”
“With his dreamy blue eyes?”
“Dreamy, huh?” He laced his fingers through mine. “He bugged me from the start. A golden boy with diamonds up his sleeves. With him in the picture, I didn’t have a chance with you.”
“Au contraire, mon amour.”
“Tish, that’s French,” he mimicked Gomez.
I held out my arm for him to play along and kiss. Instead, he lifted me up and threw me over his shoulder, heading for the staircase with me laughing all of the way. When we got up to my room, he peeled off my robe. My camisole and underwear followed shortly and then his briefs. My laughter ebbed, lust taking over.
“Doc.” I pushed him down onto the bed and crawled on top of him. Skin on skin, I rested on his chest, our legs tangling.
His hands roamed down my ribs and over my hips. “What, Boots?”
“Don’t leave me tonight.”
His dark eyes met mine. “I’ll be right there in the root cellar.”
“I wasn’t talking about at the Hessler house. I mean afterward, if we make it o
ut alive and still sane.”
“You want me to spend the night here again?”
“Yes, please.”
“Is this going to become a habit?”
“Maybe.”
His smile strummed my heart strings. “Good, now kiss me, woman.”
I hovered over his lips. “One more thing.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“I like your sexy brown eyes way more than Wolfgang’s dreamy blue ones.”
“You sure?”
I nodded. “They’re like dark chocolate, very tempting, making my mouth water.”
“You don’t say?”
“Definitely.” I straddled his hips, brushing against him, teasing. “And I really love chocolate.”
“Show me, Violet.” His dark gaze held mine as he guided the way, sliding inside of me in a slow, smooth move that made me moan and want more.
I took over then, showing him several other things I loved about him, and forgot about creepy ghosts, haunted houses, and annoying cops … for a little while anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Later that night …
Natalie picked up Cornelius from his hotel and met Doc and me an hour before midnight in front of the Hessler house. We’d parked a block away in different directions in case Detective Hawke or any officers from the Thanksgiving skeleton crew decided to drive past the place.
For the second time today, I skirted the remains of the house, its stone block foundation littered with charred wood and twisted metal. Doc and I had visited earlier in the daylight, checking out the ruins. In the dark, I could barely make out the front porch with its steps going up to a partially collapsed floor. The burned remains of the back porch looked even more ominous in our flashlight beams. The footing pillars stuck up like round teeth through the debris.
I looked away from the blackened mess, trying not to think about what I was about to do here tonight so my legs would keep moving toward the root cellar instead of turning and sprinting all of the way back to Aunt Zoe’s place.
The air was still, like the cooler room in the makeshift morgue at Mudder Brothers. I could smell a tinge of wood smoke in it. The tall dry grass crackled as we walked, dead weeds grabbing at our pant legs. The world around us was heavily shadowed, the garage and root cellar door outside the reach of the nearest streetlight’s orange glow. The lack of moonlight made it feel as if someone had covered Deadwood with a thick bolt of black velvet bedazzled with starry diamonds. Every now and then a dog barked further up in the Presidential district, the sharp sound echoing off the steep walls of the gulch.
Cooper was waiting for us, stepping out of the shadows from behind the old garage that had survived the fire thanks to Reid and his crew. “I took off the padlock,” he said, leading the way over to the root cellar, which was partially hidden by dried grass. He reached down and flipped open the door.
We hadn’t bothered him earlier to let us inside the cellar, deciding to explore the place on our own without the tension he might add. Now as I stared down at the dark, gaping mouth daring us to enter, I sort of wished we had.
Doc went first, ducking under the low headframe, leading the way with his flashlight. I followed into the cramped, eight-by-ten room. Shelves lined the brick walls from floor to ceiling. I sniffed, detecting an odor mixed with the musty dirt, something rotten. Then I noticed the small pile of salt chunks in one corner and a wave of revulsion made me grab onto Doc’s coat and swallow fast several times.
“You okay?”
“I can smell them.”
“Ghosts?” His voice was laced with surprise.
“No. The dead …” I couldn’t say it, the memory of their decomposing faces still too clear.
Doc picked up on what I was saying and put his arm around me. “It’s in your head, Killer. I can’t smell anything.”
“Smell what?” Cornelius asked, joining us. He carried a hard shell suitcase, which he immediately unsnapped and started unloading onto the cobwebbed, dusty cellar shelves. He set out several fancy-looking meters and two EVP recording devices that he’d used in Harvey’s barn. Last was a bundle of dried sage and a video camera.
He knew my feelings on being recorded during a séance, but I reiterated my lack of love for the camera in case he’d had a brain fart.
“Brains do not emit methane gas, Violet,” he told me while stabilizing the camera on a tripod. “I’m surprised you weren’t aware of that.”
“Shush it and hurry up, ghost whisperer. The sooner we get this show on the road, the closer we are to me going home and watching some Bogart and Bacall from under the covers.” With Doc, I didn’t add, but patted his backside as he helped Cornelius set up his equipment.
Natalie came down next, carrying that damned, creepy clown cookie jar top. “Where should I put this?” she asked Cornelius.
“Bend over and I’ll show you,” I told her.
“Parker,” Cooper said from midway down the steps, “what is your fixation with shoving foreign objects into body cavities?”
“I don’t know.” I glared up at him. “It probably comes from getting the shaft from the Deadwood cops so many times.”
Natalie laughed. “You have to admit, Coop, that was a good answer.” She set the clown head on the shelf next to one of Cornelius’s recorders. I frowned at it, cursing that dang author, Terri Reid, under my breath for filling Natalie’s head with new ways of terrorizing me.
“I have a feeling it’s going to be a wild night in Deadwood,” she said, dusting off her hands.
“More like a wild fright,” I muttered.
“Shut the door,” Cornelius told Cooper.
A mewling sound seeped out of my mouth before I could clamp my lips together.
Natalie looked my way. “Did you swallow a cat on the way here?”
“More like a chicken.” I took a deep, calming breath, making a face at the hint of decaying flesh I swore I could smell even if Doc said otherwise. “Do we really need to close ourselves down here?” I asked Cornelius. “What if someone locks us in here?”
“Nobody will lock us in,” Cooper said, leaning against the support beam next to the steps. “Besides, if they do, I’ll shoot a hole in the door and then put a bullet in them.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I thought we agreed there’d be no guns here tonight.”
“You insinuated no loaded guns. Mine’s not loaded at the moment.”
Before I could argue further with Cooper, Doc pulled me over to one of the corners, his back to the others, giving us a sliver of privacy. “Listen, Killer, I know you are hell on wheels in other realms, but ghosts are my specialty. This could easily take a bad turn and careen over a cliff if we’re not careful, taking Cornelius with it.”
I nodded, my anxiety coating my skin with a layer of sweat. “How do we keep any careening from happening?”
“Don’t let Cornelius leave your side.”
“What are you talking about? We’re all in here, packed together like pickles in a jar.”
“Pickles?”
“Yeah, it’s a root cellar, so jars of pickles came to mind.”
His grin was short lived. “You’re going to leave the root cellar during the séance.”
“I am?” At his nod, I asked, “Are you a fortune teller in your off time?”
“No, a fortune seeker.” He glanced over my shoulder, nodding at someone and holding up his finger for them to wait. “After we get started, I’m going to open the door for you.”
“The root cellar door?”
“No, the door between now and then, where you’ll need to take Cornelius to find Wilda.”
“Shouldn’t we have discussed this plan before now?”
“You would have overthought it and made it tougher for me to do my part.”
“But aren’t you supposed to be the one freeing Cornelius from Wilda?”
“This is not a job for one medium, Violet. We have to work together.”
“Okay, so keep Cornelius with
me. But how do I get rid of Wilda?”
“Cornelius says that’ll become evident once you two are in there.”
“In where?”
“The Hessler house.”
I shook my head. “Don’t make me go in there again.” The mere thought of returning to that house of the dead made me almost pee my pants.
He placed his hands on my shoulders. “You can do this, Violet. You’ve destroyed far more dangerous things than Wilda.” He kissed me on the forehead and then stepped back.
“Okay.” I gave in, but my heart wasn’t really in it. The beating organ had locked itself in a closet inside of my chest and refused to come out until I stopped doing such foolish stunts.
When he stepped away, Cornelius turned to me and held out his broken-horned Viking helmet. “Put this on.”
“Are you serious?”
“It will make it easier for you to connect with Wilda.”
“I don’t want to connect with her. I want to boot her out of your life.” And mine.
“Just put the damned helmet on, Parker,” Cooper said, “so we can get this over with. I have work to do yet.”
“It’s Thanksgiving night,” I reminded him.
“Exactly. Nobody will be at the station to bug me.”
“Fine, but I draw the line at holding that stupid clown cookie jar top, so don’t even go there.” I put the broken helmet on my head. “Now what?”
Cornelius lit the end of the dried sage bundle, waving it around in the air and then handed it to Natalie. “Smother that,” he told her and took a seat in the center of the dirt floor. “Violet, sit with your back to mine.”
I did, leaning back against his black coat. The coolness of the packed dirt seeped through my jeans.
“Close your eyes, Violet,” Cornelius directed. “And this time, instead of picturing one candle, picture two.”
Two? I had recently done that very thing and along had come Caly. Maybe two was a bad idea.
“Use the flame of the first candle to light the second, then set them a hand’s width apart and focus on the dark center between the flames.”
“You don’t want me to pair the flames?”
“No. Not unless you want to catch an entity in the web the pairing creates.”