Rattling the Heat in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  I rubbed my chin, trying to make sense of what I was looking at. Whatever it was, it didn’t look quite human. I shivered in spite of the heat blowing out of Harvey’s vents.

  “I’m not sure what it is,” I finally answered him.

  He pulled into his own driveway, putting the pickup in park. “Let me have a look.”

  I handed him the picture, happy to be free of it. While he squinted at it, I checked the envelope again. A small piece of paper was tucked into the corner. I pulled it out, holding it up.

  “It’s back,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Harvey looked over at the paper I held out for him to read.

  “It’s back,” I repeated, reading aloud the words, frowning at the picture. “What’s this mean?” I gestured at the picture and the slip of paper.

  Harvey stared out the windshield at the dark clouds stacking up in the sky. “I reckon it means ya got a whole new set of problems, Scharfrichter.”

  Chapter Nine

  After debating if, how, and when we should tell Cooper about the envelope with the picture, Harvey and I didn’t talk much on the way back down to Deadwood.

  Harvey was of the opinion that we should send the picture anonymously to Cooper at work. I worried that no matter how mysterious we tried to be, the detective would dust for fingerprints and I’d be up shit creek with handcuffs locked firmly in place. However, telling the truth about where and when we got the envelope meant Cooper would figure out I’d slipped my leash, aka cell phone tracker, which opened the door for further distrust issues and hoosegow repercussions.

  In short, from where I stood on this slippery ledge, we were damned if we didn’t and pretty much screwed seven ways from Sunday if we did.

  I stared out the window at the twilight sky, the pine trees a dark blur. I slid my Cooper problem under the rug so I could brood about who had captured that shot of the creature. Since the voice on the phone had been male, I assumed the photographer was male, too, saying as much to Harvey. He refused to pick a gender, instead settling on the idea that the photo was taken by a hunter out checking traps and snares. Since one pine tree pretty much looked like all of the others, it would be hard to tell where. Was the creature hiding deeper in the hills? Back near the old mine? Or somewhere close to Harvey’s own ranch? Hell, we’d found two bodies there so far. Were those just the warmup for the fun and games to come?

  Man or woman photographer aside, why would they give the picture to Cooper? Had the detective posted his phone number on the old telephone poles back in Slagton? Or did the caller know Cooper personally? Maybe they’d connected on another investigation or a previous murder?

  Harvey dropped me off at work, where I found a message on my desk in Natalie’s writing explaining that she’d left my cell phone at Doc’s office for safekeeping. A second message—this one filled with Cornelius’s slanted scrawls—said that he needed me to come in early in the morning to witness an amazing feat. He included a list of groceries at the end of the message.

  I sighed at the list. An amazing feat would be Cornelius remembering that I wasn’t his damned personal assistant. I supposed this was the price I had to pay for his playing the part of my boyfriend in front of the devil’s concubine. Sheesh, the things I did for love—or rather in order to not lose Doc to a man-stealing skank. I drew the line at doing Abe Jr.’s laundry though, at least until I had some guarantee of long-term commitment from Doc.

  The Picklemobile wasn’t in the parking lot at quitting time, so I didn’t bother with trying Doc’s back door before heading home.

  I still wasn’t feeling chatty later that evening while making grilled cheese sandwiches in Aunt Zoe’s kitchen. The weight of the day’s shit-storms raining down on my happy place made my shoulders heavy, something Aunt Zoe picked up on when she came in from her glass workshop to help me set the table.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, washing up in the kitchen sink.

  I flipped one of the sandwiches, frowning at the blackened slice of bread. Oops, that was my third extra-crispy grilled cheese in a row.

  “You’re burning supper.” She took the spatula from me and hip bumped me aside. “What’s with your gloomy Gus mask? Did you have a fight with Cooper?”

  “No.” I leaned against the counter next to her, debating on whether to tell her about Harvey and my trip to Slagton. I frowned at the plates rounding the table. There was an extra one by my count. I pointed at the additional plate she’d set out. “You added wrong.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She grabbed several more pieces of bread, dipping a knife into the butter. “Reid’s coming.”

  Come again? “That’s funny. I could swear I heard you say that Reid Martin is going to join us for supper tonight.”

  “You heard me right, Violet Lynn.”

  I stared at her profile, speculating what her invitation to Reid meant in the grand scheme of their on-again/off-for-good past. “I hope you’re not planning on pouring hemlock in his lemonade tonight. I’m already in enough trouble with Detective Hawke for several other murders I didn’t commit.”

  She elbowed me in the side playfully. “Give me some credit. I’m not going to kill him.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Not tonight, anyway.”

  “What gives, then?” Normally, she’d sooner fill Reid’s backside with buckshot than let him cross the threshold.

  “I invited him.”

  What? “Is there a world-ending meteor heading for Earth?”

  “Not as far as I know.” She spread butter on one piece of bread and then another.

  I touched the back of my hand to her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.” I took her by the shoulders, inspecting her face. “Your pupils appear normal and your skin isn’t flushed, which leads me to one conclusion. Who are you really, and what have you done with my aunt?”

  Wrinkling her nose at me, she pulled free and returned to buttering bread. “We need to talk to Reid.”

  “By ‘we’ are you referring to your id, ego, and superego? Or is this more of a royal ‘we’?”

  “The latter. I was listening to the scanner out in my workshop earlier and something came across the airwaves that concerns me.”

  Since my childhood days, Aunt Zoe had kept a scanner in her workshop. Most of the time, the classic rock-n-roll blasting from her stereo overshadowed the periodic static bursts mixed with cryptic code words, but it was always fun to eavesdrop when the fire whistle echoed through the hills.

  “What did you hear?” I asked.

  Before she could answer my question, Addy slid into the kitchen in her socks. “Hey, Mom, can Kelly spend the night with me this weekend? Her dad said it was okay with him.”

  Of course Jeff Wymonds, Kelly’s dad, would be okay with his daughter sleeping elsewhere. Rumor had it he was still having kitchen-counter sex with his nipple-ringed girlfriend. Actually, it hadn’t been a rumor, more like a gloating declaration directly from the horse’s big fat mouth when I’d run into him at the grocery store last Saturday. Judging from the volume he’d used, he wanted the whole dang store to know about his sex-capades. My cheeks were still singed from the outraged gawk sent our way by a fellow cereal aisle visitor.

  Last month, I’d had the unfortunate experience of walking in on Jeff and his girlfriend doing the wild thing in his kitchen. Driving in for a touchdown had been their X-rated theme. The red thong underwear I’d witnessed flossing Jeff’s southern cheeks would forever haunt me. Now, whenever he saw me, Jeff liked to update me on his most recent “score,” and no amount of ear plugging seemed to derail the oversexed monkey.

  “Where will Kelly sleep?” I asked Addy. “Cooper is in your room and you’re in with me.”

  Addy chewed on her lower lip. “I know. You could sleep with Aunt Zoe. She’s got a big bed.”

  So did Doc. Too bad sharing his wouldn’t work since Cooper practically tucked me in at night with whispered threats about what would result if I were thick-skulled enough to try running away.

 
“Let me think about it,” I said, putting Addy off for now. Sleeping arrangements were low on my totem pole of anxieties tonight. Hell, as soon as Cooper found out Harvey and I had picked up a package for him (and taken a peek at its contents while at it), he’d probably throw me in jail. Caging me at the police station would open up my bed for both kids and remove Cooper’s need to keep me on a leash.

  The doorbell rang.

  Aunt Zoe and I exchanged frowns. That would probably be Reid. She motioned for me to answer the door.

  The porch was dark and empty. I was wrong about it being Reid, unless Aunt Zoe had previously filled him with lead unbeknownst to me and invited his ghost to supper.

  I turned on the porch light, pulling my cardigan sweater tighter around me as I stepped out into the chilly night air. There were no cars parked in the drive or out front. No signs of life anywhere. A freezing gust whistled past, rattling the wind chimes hanging at the end of the porch. Either someone was playing doorbell-ringing games with us or the wiring was on the fritz.

  I turned to head back into the warm house and noticed a box leaning against the wall in the corner. Another glance at the street to double-check for a mail or delivery truck came up empty. Maybe one of Aunt Zoe’s neighbors had dropped it off. I kneeled to get a better look, making out my name in the dim porch light. It was handwritten with no address below it. The box was big enough to hold a violin and sealed shut with a line of clear tape. Not a single dent or dinged-up corner marked the brown cardboard.

  Grimacing, I shivered in the cold. I hesitated to take the box inside. The last time a box had come for me personally with no address, it’d contained a war hammer that looked to have been popular sometime during the Middle Ages. I’d grown wary of gift horses after my adventures with that damned hammer.

  The growl of a diesel engine cut through the quiet night. I looked over my shoulder as Reid parked his red dually pickup at the curb. His door slammed, echoing through Deadwood’s Presidential District.

  “Hey, Sparky,” he said as he crested the porch steps. “What are you doing down there?”

  In his thick flannel shirt, stocking cap, and blue jeans, Reid Martin looked like he should be carrying a wood ax over his shoulder. I knew of a spare one out in Slagton just waiting for the right psychopath to stop by and gear up for a killing spree.

  Reid would make a fine serial killer, since he was a middle-aged version of Sam Elliott with a deep voice to match. He’d probably have no trouble luring a woman, young or old, back to a remote cabin in the hills. Lucky for me and Aunt Zoe, he’d decided long ago to focus on fighting and investigating fires instead of murdering innocent townsfolk.

  “Someone left me a box,” I told him, beginning to shiver. I crossed my arms, trying to hold onto my warmth as another gust blew my curls in my face.

  “You need help carrying it inside?”

  “No, I got it.” I didn’t move, though, still kneeling next to it. “Aunt Zoe’s waiting for you. I’ll be right in.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “You okay?”

  I hadn’t been “okay” since I’d met Wolfgang Hessler back in July and my world had flipped upside down. “I’m fine, I just need a minute to clear my head.”

  He started to open the door, then pulled it shut again, leaning closer. “Is Zo doing okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “She’s not on her deathbed or anything like that?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Did she recently hit her head really hard?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You would tell me if she’s waiting in there for me with both barrels of her damned shotgun loaded, right?”

  “Sure.” I grinned. “Unless she made me pinkie swear to secrecy.”

  With a growl, he muttered, “You Parker women are hard on men.”

  “Maybe.” I patted his pant leg. “But we soften up with the right liquor.”

  “Thank God for that.” He left me alone, closing the front door behind him.

  No sooner had I focused back on the package, the Picklemobile pulled into the drive. I waited while Doc closed the door and made his way up the porch steps.

  “What are you doing down there, beautiful?” His gaze moved from me to the package. “What’s in the box?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” I stood, moving closer to touch him because I could. After my cold lips brushed his much warmer ones, he took off his coat and draped it over my shoulders. I pulled the warm leather around me, soaking up Doc’s scent.

  Doc pointed his thumb at Reid’s dually. “That’s Reid, right?”

  I nodded. “Aunt Zoe invited him.”

  “I hope he borrowed a bulletproof vest from Coop on the way over.” Doc drew something out of his pocket and held it out to me.

  “He did inquire about her shotgun before stepping inside.” I looked down at my cell phone, taking it from him as Cooper’s police Durango pulled in behind Reid’s truck.

  “Natalie told me to tell you she fixed the problem,” Doc said, “whatever that means.”

  “She didn’t explain what she was up to?”

  “I told her I didn’t want to know.”

  I frowned at the stony-faced detective stepping out of the Durango, sliding the phone into the front of my yoga pants. “She didn’t fix my problem from where I’m standing.”

  “Coop’s just trying to help you.”

  “Tracking me like a wild bear via my phone is taking things a little far.” Next he’d want to stick a tag through my ear.

  “Maybe, but would you rather it be Hawke?”

  I growled in response to Doc’s question as Cooper climbed the steps. “What’s going on?” he asked, his cop glare scanning my face and then Doc’s.

  “I’m enjoying a moment alone with Doc,” I said. “I’m surprised your phone tracker didn’t report how many times I’ve kissed him so far today.”

  “That reminds me, what were you doing this afternoon at the Old Prospector Hotel?”

  I opened my mouth to inform him that his tracker had my location wrong, but suddenly realized that whatever Natalie had done to my phone had showed its location in the Old Prospector Hotel instead of Doc’s office, where she’d left it. “I was looking for something.”

  “What?”

  “Cornelius.”

  “You’d better be careful, Parker. The last time you looked for Mr. Curion, you ended up in jail.”

  “He has a good point,” Doc said, chuckling.

  After jabbing Doc in the ribs, I glared at the man who had put me behind bars. “Bite me, Cooper.”

  “I wouldn’t want to risk rabies.”

  “Lower your weapons, you two.” Doc pulled me back against him, his hands spanning my hips. “Ay yi yi, Tish. Are you wearing yoga pants again?”

  An exasperated snort came from Cooper. “You two are like rabbits. Don’t you dare start speaking French, Parker. After the shit I’ve dealt with today, I don’t think I can watch Nyce revert to a lovesick fool.”

  “I was about to beg Violet to offer up a oui or deux when you drove up,” Doc said, wrapping his arms around me. “But your timing sucks, as usual, Coop.”

  Cooper rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell, I’d sooner be down at the Purple Door drinking whiskey than babysitting Parker.”

  Babysitting? Like I wanted a freaking watchdog nipping at my heels day and night. I snarled at Cooper, retaliating with, “Don’t you mean you’d rather be pining away at the Galena House?” As in where a certain brunette lived these days.

  His eyes narrowed. “Why? Are you planning on breaking and entering again?” He sidestepped my jab, delivering one of his own.

  “We used a key.”

  “Next time, use better discretion instead and don’t go in that damned apartment at all.” Cooper looked back toward the street. “How long has Martin been here?”

  “A few minutes,” I said, stepping away from Doc’s warmth.

  “No gunplay yet?”<
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  “Aunt Zoe invited him,” I explained.

  “You don’t say?” Cooper turned back to us. “Did she skip her meds today?”

  Doc picked up the box. “Let’s go inside before Zoe comes to her senses and loads her shotgun.”

  Cooper held the door open, closing out the cold behind us.

  “You want this box in the kitchen?” Doc asked.

  I shook my head, shooting a worried glance at Cooper’s back as he hung up his coat. “Leave it by the stairs for now. I’ll open it later.” As in when a certain detective wasn’t standing within hearing distance.

  We filed into the kitchen. Reid was at the stove flipping grilled cheese sandwiches while Aunt Zoe poured lemonade. I looked from one to the other, my brow tightening at the Norman Rockwell scene. Something smelled too cheesy about this hunky-dory scene and it wasn’t what was for supper.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Aunt Zoe.

  “I’m pouring lemonade.” She picked up an empty glass and demonstrated. “What’s going on with you? Reid says you got a package.”

  “Yeah, I did.” I changed the subject before Cooper sunk his teeth into the subject of that darn box. “Should I get the kids ready for supper?”

  “I already did.” Aunt Zoe pointed at the table where bowls of tomato soup sat steaming. “Sit.”

  I did, joined by Doc and Cooper after they washed their hands. Addy and Layne came shortly after, scooting up to the table as Reid carried over the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. His and Aunt Zoe’s bread was a lovely golden color compared to my charred versions now piled next to the stove, likely headed for the trashcan. While the kids chattered about school and the upcoming holiday program all the classes were performing, I picked at my sandwich and stirred my soup repeatedly.

  Doc’s knee nudged mine under the table, his brow wrinkled.

  I gave him a crooked smile. I wished I could spill about the lack of response at Ms. Wolff’s apartment and the trip to Slagton, along with that hair-raising picture, but instead I shook my head. Cooper appeared to be listening to the kids, but I knew better. His glances my way told me he’d picked up on my lack of appetite, too. The damned detective saw too much.