by Ann Charles
“It’s like a graphic novel with all sorts of pictures of different warriors and their weapons and kills. It’s really cool.”
“And in this book that you borrowed from your mother,” Cooper continued his interrogation, “it tells about one of the warriors killing a lidérc?”
He nodded. “But there was one weird thing about the book.”
Only one? A voice inside my head started laughing hysterically until I slapped it into silence.
“What’s that?” Doc asked, his eyes on me instead of Layne.
“All of the warriors were women.” Layne smiled at me. “A couple of them reminded me of you, Mom.”
* * *
Monday, December 3rd
I woke up the next morning with a bruised shin and sore rib.
“How did you sleep?” Aunt Zoe asked me when I joined her at the coffee maker while the kids got dressed for school.
“Addy should try out for soccer this spring.”
“That girl does like to kick in her sleep. She must have been a mule in her past life.”
“She’s a mule in this life, too.”
Aunt Zoe harrumphed. “Reminds me of her mother,” she teased, dodging my rib-poke with a laugh.
I was going to have to put a pillow between Addy and me tonight. While I loved my daughter with my whole heart and then some, I liked sleeping with Doc more. Silly me, I preferred being kissed to kicked all night long.
“Where’s Cooper?” I asked, grabbing a cup from the cupboard. Addy’s door had been open when I limped past on the way to the bathroom, her bed empty and made.
“He’s already left for work.” She set my phone down on the counter in front of me. “He said to tell you he put something on your phone that will track you 24/7, so you don’t need to check in each hour today.”
He did what? I gaped at her, my face burning. “That son of a bitch.”
“Now, Violet, I know you probably feel like this is a violation of your privacy and you’re right.”
I sputtered, eventually spitting out. “You’re damned right I’m right!”
“However, consider this—you have to deal with Coop or Detective Hawke. There is no other option until Coop figures out who killed Ms. Wolff.”
“Or I do.”
Oops. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
It was something that I’d decided in the middle of the night while my shin throbbed. A way to return my world to its cockeyed version of normal and evict my newest roommate—Cooper, not Cornelius.
Aunt Zoe’s dark blue eyes locked onto me. “What does that mean, Violet Lynn?”
“Nothing,” I said, pouring coffee into the cup, avoiding her. “What should we have for dinner when my parents come? Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding?” That was one of my father’s favorite meals.
“What does that mean?” she repeated slowly, as if I were having trouble comprehending English.
I blew out a breath and turned to face the music. “I’m going to figure out who killed Ms. Wolff.”
“What makes you think you can find the answer?”
I tapped my temple. “I have a bigger brain than Hawke.”
“What about Cooper?”
“My feminine instincts are better than his bossy male ones.” That may or may not be true, but I was going to run with it for now.
Aunt Zoe shook her head. “This is a bad idea, Violet.”
“No, it’s not.” I walked over to the fridge. “Besides, I’m going to have help.”
“Oh, really? Who?”
“Doc, for one. And Harvey. Maybe Prudence and Cornelius. Probably Natalie.” I grabbed milk from the fridge and smiled at her with a mouthful of my teeth showing like I used to when I was a kid. “And you.”
She snorted. “You need to include Cooper.”
“Bzzzt. Wrong answer.” I unscrewed the milk cap. “Why are you on his side on this? Just because he owns a gun … or ten?”
“It has nothing to do with his arsenal.”
“Then what?”
“You need him.”
My laugh had a sharp ring to it. “Yeah, I need him like I need a throbbing, swollen hemorrhoid.”
“I’m serious, Violet.”
I poured milk into my coffee. “So am I. He is a pessimistic disbeliever who fights me at every turn.”
“But he believes you’re innocent.”
I placed the milk back in the fridge. “Sure, until the wind shifts in the other direction.”
“I don’t believe that’s true and neither do you in your heart.”
“My heart doesn’t know shit about Cooper. It gets distracted by his guns and handcuffs whenever it thinks about the overbearing detective.” I shut the fridge, returning to the counter. “I’m not telling Cooper my plan. Period. And you’d better not say anything about it either, or …”
“Or what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something threatening later.” I lifted my chin. “Something to do with Reid.”
She took me by the chin, leaning in so that we were almost nose to nose. “I’d strongly advise against it, child.”
“Okay, fine. Just please don’t tell Cooper yet.”
She kissed my forehead and then released my chin, stepping back. “Do you realize how hard it will be to hide this from him when he’s living under our roof and tracking your phone?”
Swallowing a sip of coffee, I frowned. “There will be sticky moments, but I’m a slippery fish.”
She smiled. “That you are. So, what’s your first move?”
“Me walking out the front door this morning without falling flat on my face on the icy porch steps. After that, I’ll wing it.”
“Oh, dear. This has the potential to go nuclear.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but not doing anything and ending up in prison for a murder I didn’t commit is a worse fate.” A glance at the clock made me squeak. “I need to get dressed. I forgot Jerry wants me in a little early this morning to discuss a strategy for the potential influx of new customers. You sure you don’t mind taking the kids to school?”
“Positive.” She pointed toward the dining room. “Now get out of here.”
“Thanks, Aunt Zoe.” I gave her a quick hug.
“Tell that male chauvinist pig your aunt is going to kick his ass for using her darling niece as man bait.”
Bait … that reminded me of my last run-in with the lidérc. Something else flitted through my mind about that Hungarian devil, but I didn’t have the time to catch it.
“Sure,” I told her. “I’ll do that very thing as soon as I sell a couple of million-dollar properties and don’t need a paycheck anymore.”
I raced up the stairs, throwing on a god-awful pink mohair sweater dress that Jerry had made a point of telling me was a game-winner at the office. While I didn’t play basketball with him at the Rec Center like Ben, and I couldn’t talk smack with him about professional ball players like Ray, I could mimic Mona and dress for success … at least Jerry’s version of success.
After kissing the kids good-bye, I hit the road, shivering and scratching my nose all of the way down the hill to the parking lot behind Calamity Jane’s. This dress might be soft to the touch, but it tickled my nose and filled my throat with pink fuzzies. After a day of wearing it, I half expected to hack up a pink hairball.
The Picklemobile was parked in Doc’s usual spot. I thought about swinging by his place before going into work and broaching the idea of finding Ms. Wolff’s killer, but Ray Underhill, my coworker, pulled up next to me and proceeded to hate me loud and clear through his window.
I rolled my eyes at the overtanned, slick-haired buffoon who had despised me since the first day I’d set foot in Calamity Jane Realty. Poor Ray had issues. Besides the fact that I’d seen him naked and hadn’t been impressed, I’d saved his bacon from being fried one night at Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor. My playing heroine had irritated his overinflated ego and made his old-boys’ mentality break into hives. On top of that, wh
ile he was currently the top seller at work, his knees quaked at the idea of a woman besting him at the job—namely me.
Due to these issues and a few others, Ray and I suffered from an instantaneous allergic reaction to each other when placed in the same room for too long—he would start sneering and jeering uncontrollably, which triggered me to threaten to repeatedly cram my boot in his stupid pie-hole. We’d agreed to play nice while in the company of clients and our boss, but outside of the ring, there were no rules.
This morning, however, I didn’t feel like exchanging blows with the ass-clown. For one thing, I’d promised Cooper last night that I wouldn’t inflict bodily harm on anyone else until I was cleared of this Ms. Wolff mess. For another, it was cold enough to freeze my shadow to the pavement.
I’d made it halfway across the parking lot before Ray caught up with me.
“Hey, Blondie.” His voice alone made my hackles rise up and start swinging.
“I’m not talking to you, Ray,” I said without looking back.
“Good, that’s how I prefer blond bimbos.” His fancy Tony Lama cowboy boots clomped behind me.
“Go fuck yourself, Underhill.”
“Better myself than that public glory hole you call a vagina.”
I stopped and whirled on him. “Really, Ray? Jeez, man. You seriously need to pick up a thesaurus and come up with more educated and entertaining insults if we’re going to keep up this relentless hatred through the winter.”
He frowned. “ ‘Glory hole’ is a perfectly good insult.”
“Sure it is … if we were thirteen and you followed it with snapping my bra, you pompous, patronizing prick.”
His cheeks reddened. “Oh, like that’s any better.”
“It’s like one thousand times better because it’s a funny use of alliteration.”
When his forehead wrinkled even more, I exhaled in disgust. “You know, alliteration, as in using the same letter or sound at the beginning of several connecting words. Like mewling meddlesome monkey-butt or puny repugnant pignut.”
His whole face scrunched. “Whatever, Blondie. If you don’t like my insults, maybe you should find another job.”
I tipped my head to the side. “How many times do I have to flush before you go away?”
Before he could reply, I left him standing there.
“Toilet humor is immature, Blondie,” he called after me.
“Keep talking, Ray. Someday you’ll say something intelligent, I just know it.”
“Oh, yeah, how about this? I ran into Tiffany last night over in Spearfish. She knows you’re out to steal her clients and she’s going to tear you a new asshole.”
I didn’t look back. I didn’t dare, because I wasn’t sure I could keep my face schooled enough to hide the ripples of panic coursing over it at the confirmation that Doc’s super competitive ex was now out for blood—mine.
“That’s great news, Ray,” I lied through my chattering teeth. “I was getting tired of putting up with my current ‘asshole,’ along with his fake tan, lousy insults, and Tony Lama cowboy boots.”
Before he could take another stab at my self-confidence, I slipped inside and walked straight to the safety of my desk, flashing Jerry a thumbs-up as I passed. Mona had taken the day off, and Ben was out with a client according to the note he’d left on the whiteboard behind his desk. Lucky me, it was just the coach and the jackass hanging out at the office today. That sounded like the makings for an old Disney movie.
Ray came in behind me, slicing me to pieces with his eyes when Jerry wasn’t looking. I winked back and buried my head in the stack of messages on my desk.
A half hour later, I looked up, literally. I stared at the ceiling for several seconds, listening for the sound of Cornelius walking around overhead, but heard nothing. Where was he this morning? Jerry’s office had been dark when I’d raced by on the way to my desk. Maybe he was sleeping in this morning. Did that mean Jane had kept him up all night?
My phone chirped.
I cursed under my breath. What did Cooper want now? I thought the tracking deal was supposed to relieve me of his hourly harassment today. I lifted my phone, my breath catching.
Tiffany Sugarbell had sent me a text. It was short and sweet:
Game on, bitch!
Lowering the phone, I glanced at Ray. The jerk was leaning back in his chair while fiddling with his pen, talking to some client on the phone about a ranch in the western hills near the Wyoming border.
What were the chances of Ray just happening upon Tiffany a day after my billboard went up? I clenched my fists under my desk. Call me paranoid, but I’d bet Cornelius’s lucky cannon that Ray “Dickwad” Underhill had made a point of telling Tiffany about Jerry’s plan to pit me against her in the billboard strumpet contest.
I needed to talk to Doc before my head exploded and I leapt over Ray’s desk and pummeled him to a stinky rotten pulp.
Grabbing my purse, I told Jerry that I needed to run out for a bit to check on a potential property for Cooper and beelined out the back door. Without breaking stride, I made a right turn and opened Doc’s back door, scurrying inside.
“Doc?” I called, my voice quivering with a mixture of fury and worry. I marched out front. “You know what Ray …”
The sight of my sister, Susan, lounging in the chair across from Doc’s desk made me and my tongue stumble to a stop.
The evil bitch wore an impossibly tight sweater. It would take a hydraulic shoehorn to extract her from it. My gaze moved lower. Where in the hell had she bought that black miniskirt? Whores-R-Us? Criminy, if she shifted just right, her hoo-hah could play peekaboo. Hell, if it were another half-inch shorter, patty-cake would be an option. Thigh-high “pleather” boots with spike heels finished off her pole-dancing attire. Or should I say man-stealing outfit?
Oh, hell. Here we go again.
“Hello, big sister.” She emphasized the word big as usual, poking fun at my much curvier frame. Her smile had a feral bite to it, meant to shred my hide and leave it in tatters. “Look who I found.” She tossed her long, straight brown hair over her shoulder, like she was trying out for a part in a shampoo commercial. “Your new boyfriend.”
In my head, my neck creaked as I slowly turned toward Doc’s chair, my heart rat-a-tat-tatting like one of Al Capone’s tommy guns in my ears.
The man sitting behind the desk gave me a crooked smile.
“Good morning, my fair-haired Juliet,” Cornelius said, stroking his goatee. His cornflower blue eyes returned to Satan’s concubine. “Wasn’t it kind of your genetically diverse littermate to visit me on this winter morning wearing such tiny clothes under her long coat?”
Chapter Seven
“What in the hell are you doing here, Susan?” I didn’t waste breath on playing nice. I’d learned from past experience with Satan’s concubine that it was best just to drive the stake straight through her heart and call it a day.
“I came to invite Doc to our family dinner this Saturday.”
Liar, liar, hot pants on fire. “How did you know this was Doc’s office?” Someone had leaked information.
“Addy told me Doc works next door to you.”
Dang Addy and her innocent-but-blabbing mouth.
Susan inspected her talons, faking nonchalance. “It didn’t take a genius to find his office. When I peeked in the front window, here he sat, working away.”
The sound of long bony fingers tapping on keys made me frown at Cornelius. He was typing on Doc’s laptop, his black brows drawn as he focused on whatever was on the screen. Apparently, he was finished with us boring mortals.
Where in the hell was Doc? I could smell his cologne in the air, and the Picklemobile was still parked out back, but contrary to what Susan thought, Doc was not here.
“Well, then.” I turned back to Susan, my eyes narrowing again at the sight of her overly made-up face. I couldn’t help it. Instant loathing was a side effect of brushing too close to her. “You’ve stated your invitation, now you c
an leave.”
“But your boyfriend hasn’t agreed to join us yet,” she said in that whiny voice she thought sounded sexy. Pig squeals were less cringe-inducing.
“Cornelius,” I said, and then flinched, realizing my mistake three syllables too late. When he didn’t look up, I cleared my throat. “Hey, Doc?” I knocked on the desk twice, gaining his attention.
“Why do you go by ‘Doc’ if your name is Cornelius?” Susan twirled a strand of hair around her finger.
I stared at his forehead, trying to put words in his brain via a telepathic sledgehammer.
“What kind of a question is that?” he asked her.
“I don’t understand.” She stopped twirling.
“Is it meant as a convergent question or divergent question?”
“Uhhh, divergent?”
“Excellent. My favorite.” He leaned back, steepling his fingers. “In that case, we could theorize many different answers. Violet, you go first.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said to Susan, who shook her head slowly. “I can’t believe you don’t remember Dr. Cornelius the archaeologist from Planet of the Apes.”
“That was one of Quint’s favorite movies,” she said, saying our brother’s name with a wrinkled upper lip. “Not mine.”
What had Quint done to piss her off lately? Susan had always fawned over him when she wasn’t gutting my teddy bears or hiding spiders in my bed sheets.
I shrugged. “Your loss.”
“So your kids call Cornelius ‘Doc’ because of some stupid archaeologist monkey on a movie?”
“Chimpanzee,” Cornelius corrected her. “He was also a renowned historian.”
“Same difference.”
He leaned way over the desk, studying her long bare legs for several seconds. “Tell me something, Violet’s sister,” he said, “are those your real knees?”
Susan blinked several times and then turned to me. “Is your boyfriend always this weird?”
I had yet to have a completely rational conversation with Cornelius, but that was my business, not hers. I kept a straight face and took a card from Cornelius’s deck. “Is that also a divergent question?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s a convergent.”