Rattling the Heat in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  “But you’ve been under a lot of stress. Have you been sleeping well?”

  “That’s none of your damned business.”

  “I can’t help you when you’re being so hard-headed.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why is your cheek red?”

  Because I’d let my guard down around Prudence.

  “I scratched it.” I took a step toward him, testing.

  He backed up three more steps, warding me off with his index fingers crossed. “Stay back!”

  He was confusing his witches with vampires now. “Detective, calm down. I didn’t do anything to you.”

  “You lying bitch!”

  I took another step just to watch him stumble in fear. The power was quite heady. No wonder Prudence liked to play her games.

  “You knocked on the door, Hawke, and I opened it.”

  He scratched his head. “I sort of remember knocking.”

  Interesting. Prudence must have still been in the process of taking control at that point. “You came inside, asked me a bunch of questions, and then said you needed to go. When you walked out onto the porch, you tripped over your own feet and fell down the steps.”

  His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t remember asking questions.”

  I changed course. “What do you remember?”

  He stared toward the mine, creases rippling over his face like clouds on the prairie. “It was so dark. Something was pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. There was this claustrophobic feeling that I couldn’t shake.”

  Cooper had mentioned a similar feeling after his one-on-one with Prudence. “Stress can do weird things to the body and mind. Maybe you should go see a doctor.”

  His gaze held mine for several seconds, then his upper lip curled. “Fuck you, witch.”

  He stalked over to his cruiser without another word. The slam of his door echoed out over the Open Cut.

  I should have let Prudence take the idiot’s tooth.

  Gravel flew when he reversed onto the road, followed by the squeal of his tires.

  I flipped off his taillights, cackling away.

  When I quieted, I looked up at the attic window.

  The white lace curtains swayed.

  * * *

  I managed to keep my wits about me the rest of the afternoon.

  Barely.

  As soon as I’d returned to my desk, I’d expected a phone call from Hawke, accusing me of more witchcraft, but my phone lay dark on my desk. I imagined Hawke tattling to Cooper then, and waited for an angry text message from my roommate, chastising me for taking his partner up to see Prudence. But that didn’t come either.

  I sent Doc a couple of texts, really needing to talk to him about the lock of hair, Prudence, and all I’d learned about Hawke. Fifteen minutes passed with no reply, which meant he was busy with a client. Crappity crap!

  The afternoon dragged on, my frustration steaming and billowing. I pretended to research listings for Cooper and a few of my new clients that Jerry’s sexpot billboard had hooked. But truth be told, I was focused on listening for sounds underfoot in between spinning wild theories about that damned lock of hair. Theories ranging from being set up by someone from that demon-worshipping group with the goat-pig tattoo, to Mr. Black, Ray, Tiffany, Cooper, and even Detective Hawke himself.

  By the time five o’clock finally rolled around, I’d made an executive decision about the Ms. Wolff situation.

  I called Aunt Zoe, telling her I needed to push supper back an hour while I took care of something. She took it in stride, confirming only that I was okay and not headed to jail for another crime I hadn’t committed.

  Then I sent a text to both Cooper and Doc, telling them to meet me at the Purple Door Saloon in a half hour.

  A group-reply text from Cooper came through ten minutes later as I crawled into my Honda.

  The Purple People Eater?

  I frowned and typed: What are you talking about?

  Where in the hell is the Purple People Eater? Is that some kind of stupid joke?

  You’re a stupid joke.

  Real mature, Parker.

  Doc entered the texting conversation: She means the Purple Door Saloon.

  Then why didn’t she just say that? Cooper wrote.

  I did!

  No, you didn’t.

  I scrolled up my screen. Damn it, he was right. For some reason, my phone had changed the words to Purple People Eater.

  Whatever, Cooper! Just get your ass to the bar, pronto.

  When I hit the Send key, the word ass turned to cat. “Stupid phone,” I muttered, shaking it.

  I’m busy, Parker. Some of us don’t have cats. We’re too busy solving murders to live the good life.

  I rolled my eyes, texting back: I know your big secret, Cooper. We need to talk now!

  That should get his “busy” cat-ass moving in my direction.

  Twenty minutes and half a shot of tequila later, Cooper stormed into the Purple Door Saloon. His steely eyes searched the bar one table at a time, finally finding me tucked into a corner by the pool table.

  I nodded once.

  He shook his head and walked over to the bar.

  While he waited for his drink, Doc came in. His gaze homed in on me immediately, as if I were strapped to a homing beacon. He said something to Cooper on his way past the bar. His dark hair glistened under the bar lights. The weatherman must have gotten the sleet prediction right this time.

  “Hey, Killer.” Doc’s hand was cool when he took mine, but his lips were warm on my cheek, which I knew from a mirror check no longer bore Prudence’s red mark. “How was your day?”

  “Disturbing.” I pulled him down for a second kiss, this time on the lips, showing him how much I’d missed him. I didn’t care who was watching tonight.

  “Damn, Boots. Do that again and I’ll drag you upstairs for more.” He grinned, slipping off his coat. “Why was your day disturbing? Did you see Ray in the buff again?”

  That surprised a laugh out of me.

  Cooper slammed his glass of whiskey down on the table, silencing all sounds of happiness. “All right, Parker. You have us here. Now spill. What’s this so-called secret of mine you think you’ve figured out?”

  “I paid a visit to Prudence this afternoon.”

  His forehead pinched. “I thought we’d decided that was a bad idea.”

  “We never pinkie swore to anything.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “How are Zelda and Prudence getting along?” Doc asked, pulling out the chair next to me.

  “Zelda wasn’t there.”

  Doc stilled. “Then who acted as the medium?”

  I swirled the tequila in the bottom of my glass before tossing back the last of it. “Detective Hawke.”

  Cooper’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Parker. Are you insane?”

  “Only on Tuesday afternoons in December. Tell me something, Mr. Know-it-all Detective.” I crossed my arms, preparing to lock horns. “Who the hell is trying to set me up for murder?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In the history of epic battles of will, my stare-off with Cooper didn’t quite reach the magnitude of the long, bloody standoff between the German and French in the Battle of Verdun, but it did dry out my eyes.

  He blinked first, uttering a defeated “Christ, Parker.” He grabbed his whiskey and drained the glass. The ice clinked when he set it down. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

  “I believe you’ve said something along those lines before.”

  Doc hailed a passing waitress, ordering refills for Cooper and me, and a beer for himself. After she left, he drilled me with his dark eyes. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

  I hesitated. “But if I tell all …” I thumbed in Cooper’s direction, and whispered, “He’s a cop, remember?”

  “He’s here to listen only, aren’t you?” Doc challenged Cooper.

  Cooper looked back and forth between us, finally giving a nod.<
br />
  It was a begrudging nod, if you asked me. I shot Cooper a one-eyed squint. “You solemnly swear not to repeat anything I tell you here today?”

  “Sure.”

  “Or use it against me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In or out of a court of law?”

  “Parker!”

  “Swear it, Cooper.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. I thought we were going to go for Round Two of our battles of will, but then he held out his hand, pinkie raised.

  I locked mine with it.

  “Would you look at that?” Doc chuckled. “You two are so cute when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

  “Kiss my ass, Nyce.” Cooper pulled his pinkie free.

  “You’ll have to speak French to me first,” Doc shot back.

  A grin cracked the detective’s granite face. “I’ll leave the French to Tish here. She has a way with words, just ask Hawke.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Cooper. “Before we get rolling, I need to use the restroom.”

  After a short, tequila-sponsored pep talk in front of the mirror, reminding myself not to say the wrong thing in front of Cooper, I returned. The waitress was dropping off our drinks as I parked my caboose next to Doc’s again at the tall bar table. Somebody had pumped change into the jukebox, lighting it up with Creedence Clearwater Revival warning me to run through the jungle because the devil was on the loose. I couldn’t agree more with them. Looking back was way too scary these days.

  I waited for the waitress to move out of earshot before recapping my visit with Prudence, starting with the phone call I’d received that inspired my visit.

  As I relayed the caller’s words, Doc stared at his beer, the lines on his forehead carving deeper, multiplying.

  “But you never got a name?” Cooper asked, interrupting me.

  “You mean of the caller?”

  “Any of the players involved.”

  “Nope.” Well, besides Mr. Black, but the mystery caller had never confirmed he was involved. I’d purposely left out the whole bit about saying his name during the call, along with my Darth Vader comparison, when replaying what was said to Doc and Cooper. If the cops learned about that name, I didn’t want it to be traced back to me. Rumor was that Mr. Black had a fetish for body parts. What that fetish was exactly, I had no desire to find out, especially not first-hand just because I’d run my big mouth.

  “Tell me again what was said about the death of a timekeeper,” Doc ordered.

  I pulled out the note I’d scribbled during the call. “Something about the death of a timekeeper doesn’t stop the …” I paused to check my notes. “The ‘vonderer’ and ‘yeager’ was what it sounded like.”

  “Vonderer,” Doc repeated, scratching at something on the table.

  “Yeager?” Cooper asked, typing on his cell phone. “Like the beer?”

  Doc looked across at him. “Jägermeister.”

  “That too.”

  “That’s what it sounded like,” I told them both. “Only there was a ‘dare’ in front of it.”

  Doc stopped scratching. “It sounded like dare vonderer and dare yeager?”

  “Bingo.” I sipped the tequila he’d ordered for me, taking it slow since I hadn’t eaten in a while and wanted to keep my head vertical tonight.

  “If I remember correctly,” Doc said, “der Jäger means ‘the hunter’ in German.”

  “Vonderer is ‘wanderer’ according to this.” Cooper pointed at his phone.

  Doc rested his elbows on the table. “So, per your caller, the death of a timekeeper doesn’t stop the wanderer or the hunter.”

  “There you go,” I slapped my palm down, sarcasm pouring out through my lips. “That sure clears everything up, doesn’t it?”

  “I miss the good ol’ days,” Cooper muttered, taking a drink.

  “You mean when murder was just plain old homicide?” I asked.

  “Yeah, as in life before you came to town.”

  “Uh, correct me if I’m wrong, but when I came to town you already had a serial killer on the loose.”

  “At least he was human and didn’t magically disappear in smoke when stabbed.”

  “It’s more like a superheated flash, not smoke.”

  “Shut up, Parker.”

  “Violet,” Doc tapped on my arm, disrupting our bickering. “The caller said something about timekeepers not working for anyone, only maintaining the balance between here and there, right?”

  “I think that was the gist of it.”

  “Give me that piece of paper you scribbled on.”

  I gave him both the paper and a pen from my purse.

  While he was writing, Cooper asked me, “What in the hell prompted you to invite Hawke up to see Prudence?”

  I shrugged. “I called Zelda and learned she was out of town. She offered her spare key. I was in the midst of deciding whether or not to face Prudence on my own when Hawke called and said he wanted to ask me questions about some pictures.”

  “What were his questions? Which pictures?”

  I thought about the whole scene and scoffed. “You know, he never got around to asking me anything or showing me any pictures. Prudence pulled the rug out from under him.”

  “Did you tell Prudence about the clock?” Doc asked.

  “Yep.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember all she said. “She mentioned something about me being a chosen one.”

  “Chosen for what?” Cooper asked.

  “She never said exactly, only that I was in grave danger.”

  Doc cursed under his breath, taking a swallow of beer.

  “What happened then?” Cooper asked.

  “She smacked me. I mean Hawke did with her help.”

  “What?” Doc’s drink hit the table hard enough to spill some beer over the rim. “That son of a bitch hit you? Where?”

  “Prudence hit me,” I corrected. “I don’t think there are any bruises.”

  “Where, Violet?” he pressed.

  I pointed at my cheek. He took me by the chin, turning that side of my face toward the stained-glass light over the pool table.

  “Wait,” I said, thinking about the conversation. “Prudence didn’t smack me after telling me I was a chosen one. She smacked me the first time she told me I was in grave danger.”

  Doc let go of my chin, capturing my fingers in a soft squeeze. “What prompted her to lay a hand on you?”

  “I laughed.”

  “To clarify,” Cooper said, slipping into detective mode. “Prudence used Hawke to smack you because you laughed?”

  “I may have been a little hysterical at that point in our conversation.”

  Doc lifted my hand, kissing my knuckles. “Sweetheart, you need to start at the beginning, before Prudence smacked you.”

  I resisted the urge to hold out my other hand for him to kiss, followed by other body parts of mine in dire need of attention from his lips. Instead, I backtracked, telling him about my pre-Hawke moment in the foyer with Prudence, and then how I opened the door to find that she’d already turned him into her puppet.

  Cooper grunted at that point, mumbling something indistinguishable, and then took a gulp of whiskey.

  I continued with Prudence’s comment about Hawke’s mind being full of nonsense.

  “She actually used the word nonsense?” Doc asked, a hint of a grin on his cheeks.

  I nodded, skipping the part of our conversation about the word snollyguster and my ignorance of its definition. “She said that Hawke thinks I killed Jane and Lila Beaumont.”

  “What!?” Doc sounded as outraged as I’d been at the allegation. “You’re clearly innocent of both.”

  “Not crystal clear,” Cooper said. “There are some foggy spots.”

  I nailed Cooper with a glare before returning to Doc. “Get this, Prudence claims Lila’s death was no accident.”

  “According to your and Wanda Carhart’s statements,” Cooper said, “Lila fell on a glass shard.”

  �
��I remember what I said, Cooper.” He’d only made me repeat my story three damned times that night while he wrote in that stupid notebook of his. “But truth be told, I didn’t actually see the glass jam into Lila’s throat. She fell with her back to me. When I rolled her over, the glass was there. Today, Prudence informed me that she stuck the glass shard in Lila’s neck.”

  Cooper shook his head slowly.

  “She killed Lila to help you?” Doc asked, distracting me from trying to figure out if Cooper believed me or not.

  “That’s what I initially thought, but of course Prudence had a more logical reason than saving my ass. She said something about preventing my blood from being used to summon a demon to our plane. According to her, an executioner’s blood can cause a demon frenzy.”

  “This is insane,” Cooper said.

  “A demon frenzy?” Doc took another swallow of beer. “Christ. What else did Prudence the Wise have to say?”

  “That Hawke thinks I beheaded George Mudder.”

  “Yeah,” Cooper said with a smirk. “Hawke hasn’t been able to let that one go since the first day he read your report on the events that took place that night at Mudder Brothers.”

  “I didn’t kill George,” I told him, just as I had Prudence.

  “Too bad you had to execute the one who did.”

  “It was an accident.”

  A bark of laughter escaped from Cooper’s lips. “Parker, slicing your finger with a kitchen knife is an accident. Driving a giant pair of scissors into a criminal’s back isn’t on the same level.”

  “He was going to kill Doc.” I defended now as I had then. “Besides, I didn’t know he would disappear like that.”

  Doc patted my shoulder. “Let’s get back to Prudence.”

  I sent another frown in Cooper’s direction before continuing. “After the bit about George Mudder, she said something about me interacting with a guardian.”

  “George was a guardian?” Cooper asked.

  “I don’t know,” I told him. I thought about that part of our conversation. “Wait. No. I don’t think she meant George, because she said something about how guardians blend in with humans now, but that they’re still really nasty.”

  Cooper took a drink. “So who is the guardian then?”

  “She got distracted before we got to that part.”