Better Off Dead in Deadwood (17 page)

I opened Calamity Jane’s back door and walked into a cloud of cologne. Whoa! Jerry’s sniffer must be going bad.

Jerry’s office light was on, but his desk sat empty. I heard the low thunder of his laughter coming from the front of the office. The shoulder scrunching sound of Ray’s followed.

The sight of Benjamin Underhill sitting on the corner of my desk stopped me in my tracks. He wore a Black Hills State University T-shirt and gold gym shorts.

Instead of my stapler, a basketball sat on a stack of papers and fliers next to my keyboard, acting as a paperweight. Why hadn’t I thought of that? A ball was perfect for throwing at Ray when he made one of his snide remarks. Although, it wouldn’t leave a dent on the asshole’s forehead like my stapler would.

“Hi, Violet,” Ben said, practically vaulting from my desk. He held my chair out for me to sit—always the gentleman.

Jerry didn’t move from his perch on Mona’s desk. His gaze traveled down my emerald green tunic and navy slacks like I was a mannequin in a Fifth Avenue window, his forehead creasing. I resisted the urge to grab the long black raincoat I kept hanging in the corner and wrap myself in it.

I met Ray’s curled lip head-on and returned my own love for him with an eat-shit-and-die glare.

“How have you been?” Ben asked as I dropped my purse on my chair.

“Great.” Considering my day so far, I figured I should keep my answer monosyllabic but tried to make my smile at least look real.

Ben and I had a complicated history.

He’d gone from secret admirer to stalker to possible child kidnapper to creepy dinner date to friendly dinner date to his current label—nice guy who might accidentally steal my job out from under me.

At our last dinner date—the friendly one—he’d mentioned becoming something more than friends. I figured we already had four labels too many going for us.

Ben had his colored contact in today, which made his eyes both look blue instead of one of them being green. Unfortunately for Ben, he looked like a younger version of his uncle. While that made him attractive to many women, it made me want to snap him with a dish towel whenever I saw him.

Picking up the basketball, Ben grinned. “Jerry and I are going to go shoot some hoops over at the Rec Center. You want to come over and cheer us on?”

That explained why Jerry had on cargo shorts and a T-shirt so big I could have worn it as a dress.

“Sounds like fun, but I need to look up some listings,” I lied. “Did you play basketball in school, Jerry?” With his height, I imagined he was a shoo-in for deep in the key.

Ray laughed, loud and ugly. “She has no idea who you are,” he said to our boss.

Jerry shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve been on the sports page.”

I felt a fool’s blush creeping up my neck. “What does he mean?” I asked. “Who are you?”

“He’s Jerry Russo, Violet,” Ben said, as if that should make it crystal clear. “You know, Jerry the Slammer?”

“Slammer? Were you a professional wrestler?”

A month ago, I’d met another ex-wrestler who went by the name of the Jugularnaut because of the constricting leg hold he’d lock onto his opponents’ necks. He’d reminded me of a leather-covered refrigerator when I’d met him and his biker-babe wife. Unfortunately, they’d set their sights on the Carhart house up in Lead, which was temporarily off the market because of an attempted murder within its walls—mine.

Jerry had a similar build to the Jugularnaut, only taller.

“You’ll have to forgive Violet, Jerry,” Ray said. “She was too busy popping out kids to pay attention to your all-star ball career.”

I had two children, not a clown-car’s worth. Besides, if I had his age guessed right, I was still a kid when Jerry was running up and down the court on national TV. At least I assumed “Slammer” referred to a slam dunk now that I knew he hadn’t been throwing aluminum folding chairs around inside a wrestling ring.

“Jerry played pro-basketball for over a decade,” Ben explained in a much friendlier tone. “Until a shoulder injury ended his career.”

“I could have gone back, but I didn’t want to spend my sunset years with an arm I couldn’t lift over my head.” He stood and stretched said tree limbs, reaching toward the ceiling. “That’s when I hooked up with Janey girl, bought a house from her, and convinced her to start a realty shop together—putting her brains together with my marketing potential as a local athlete. The business took off at a full court sprint.”

“I bet,” Ben said, all smiles. Admiration lit up his eyes.

I’d have to go online and look Jerry up after they left to play ball, see what he’d looked like in his younger years, read up on his history. Now that Ben and he were going to be basketball playing buddies, I needed my own angle on getting him to like me enough to keep me, more so if the hotel deal crashed down around me. I doubted being his clothes shopping pal was going to cut it.

I heard the back door shut. Turning, I met Mona’s smile. She was in her normal form today with her long red hair coiffed, her lipstick subtle yet sexy, and her white sweater just tight enough.

The last time I’d worn a white sweater I’d ended up with handprints on my chest—Addy’s. The silly girl had been trying to catch the toad she’d brought inside and handed to me without warning. I still worried about getting warts on my boobs after the thing jumped down the front of my shirt and got stuck in my bra.

Mona’s eyes widened at the sight of Jerry standing there in his shorts, her focus holding on his legs for a moment. Then she turned away so fast she almost gave herself whiplash.

Jerry stared back at Mona and her white sweater, only he wasn’t so fast to look away. He had no forehead creases this time either, damn it.

Ray’s eyes were doing that wide, dreamy thing, just like Elmer Fudd when Bugs Bunny got all dolled up for him. “Is that a new sweater, Red?”

My cell phone rang. It was Doc, saving me from having to watch the drool start dripping down chins. I stepped outside, closing the door behind me.

“Your car isn’t in the back parking lot,” I said as a way of answering.

“I know. It’s at the library.”

“What’s it doing there?’

“Waiting for me while I look at black and white newspaper pictures of The Old Prospector Hotel.”

Knowing Doc as I did, I suspected he was trying to identify some of the ghosts who pretty much ran him over during our séance there a couple of weeks ago. “You usually walk to the library.”

“I have an appointment with a client soon, but there’s something I want you to see.”

“With or without clothing?”

He chuckled, all deep and husky in my ear. “Without, Boots, but we’ll get to that later.”

A shiver rippled down my skin.

“I found a picture in a late fifties issue of the
Black Hills Trailblazer
that concerns me,” he said.

I shook off all thoughts of Doc naked and focused on what he was saying. “What’s the picture of?”

“The manager of the hotel back then.”

“Is there something weird about him?”

“No, but he’s standing in front of another picture on the wall that you and I need to see in person.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain later. What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“Going clothes shopping with my boss.”

Silence came from the other end of the line for several seconds.

“Did you say ‘clothes shopping’ with your boss?”

“Yes, he wants to make me look more like your ex-girlfriend.”

Again, silence.

“
MY
ex? You mean Tiffany?”

“The one and only.”

“Oh, man. How’s that working for you?”

“Guess.”

“Why does he want you to look more like her?” he asked.

“For marketing purposes. Tiffany’s company is using her in a bunch of their ads.”

“And you’re letting him?”

I kicked a pebble into the street. “It’s that or hit the unemployment office.”

“Did he say that?”

“Not in those exact words, but I can see the writing on the wall.”

“Is he blind? You’re ten times more beautiful than Tiffany without even trying.”

I smiled up at the sun peeking through the clouds. “Such flattery will lure me into your bed.”

“It’s not flattery, and I was hoping to get you into my shower, too. What time does the shopping extravaganza start?”

“We haven’t set a time yet.”

“Good. Tell him you have an early appointment and can’t be there before ten.”

The Adams Museum clock chimed three times. “Where is my appointment?”

“At the hotel your ghost whispering pal is buying. You and I are going to find that framed picture that’s visible in the background of the newspaper article.”

“And then what?”

“I’m not sure. First we have to find out if what I fear is true.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“I know. I gotta go, Violet. Call me later.”

And then he was gone.

I peered inside Calamity Jane’s plate-glass windows. Jerry and Ben must have left for the Rec Center. Ray had his boots off and his polish out. Mona’s fingers flew over her keyboard, her rhinestone reading glasses partway down her nose.

The scene reminded me of a Norman Rockwell painting. I’d title it:
Just Like Old Times
.

My heart squeezed a little. Damn, I missed Jane.

* * *

Tuesday, September 4th

The next morning dawned bright and sunshiny, and I didn’t trust it one bit.

I met Doc in the parking lot outside of The Old Prospector Hotel. He was leaning against his Camaro SS when I sputtered up next to him in the Picklemobile and backfired to a full stop.

“I missed you last night,” he said, looking quite rakish in his dark brown khakis and cream-colored button-up shirt. Some days I really couldn’t believe this guy wanted to see me naked on a regular basis. He must need glasses.

“Harvey came over for supper and never left,” I explained. “He claimed he needed some company, but I think he just wanted to spy on Miss Geary. We fell asleep watching
Hondo
.”

“I liked the book better.”

“Me, too. Aunt Zoe was cooking pancakes for the old buzzard when I left. He’s going to drop my kids off at school this morning for me.” Of course, his offer was in exchange for a full report of what Doc showed me in the old hotel this morning. Nothing from Harvey came without some sort of a deal attached.

“Why was he spying on his girlfriend?” Doc asked, capturing my hand as we walked toward the front of the hotel.

“She left him for another man.” I shot a sideways glance down Main Street, on the lookout for Natalie’s pickup. This paranoia about being seen with Doc had to stop, but until Natalie broke her silence and told me she wasn’t going to hate me for eternity, I couldn’t help it.

“Harvey’s pretty obsessed with this new guy,” I said. “He kept grumbling about a younger stallion pawing the ground around his favorite mare.”

“Well, a good mare is hard to come by,” Doc said, grinning, and ushered me through the hotel’s glass doors with his hand on my lower back.

I heard him inhale and did the same thing myself, sniffing the air. A blend of flowery perfume and stale cigarette smoke made my nose twitch. Deadwood’s non-smoking policy inside of the casinos was still recent history. Cornelius would need to replace the worn carpet and gold wallpaper to get rid of the years of cigarette smoke embedded in the building.

Doc led me past Socrates, the full-size stuffed mule with a balding nose from too much petting over the decades. We leaned on the reception desk where my favorite hotel employee, whom I’d nicknamed Safari Skipper, was running the show.

She smiled wide when she saw us, her eyes lighting up. “Hi, you two! Are you here for another séance?” she asked loud enough to draw several stares from the sprinkling of slot machine gamblers within earshot.

“No,” Doc said in a much quieter voice. “We’re here to see the manager. I made an appointment with her.”

“Be right back,” Skipper bounced off.

I looked up at Doc. “She’s way too cheery for this time of the morning. Someone must have spiked her Cheerios.”

Skipper came back alone carrying a ring of keys. “My boss is on the phone right now, but she said I can show you the storeroom. I have to stay and watch you, though.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “Lead the way.”

We followed Skipper past the elevator.

“You doing okay?” I asked him.

Doc had been overrun by ghosts more than once in this hotel. While all previous encounters had been on the upper floors, and he claimed to be able to brace himself after that initial contact for the second go-around, I was always a little antsy about having him keel over at my feet.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing here right now.”

“How did you convince the manager to let you look in their storage room?” I whispered.

“I told her I’m Cornelius Curion’s financial manager and I needed to take stock of the antiquities in the building for valuation purposes.”

“Oh, you’re good.”

He winked at me.

Safari Skipper led us down a set of wide, carpeted steps to the finished basement equipped with a sound stage and microphone, walnut bar, and tables and chairs.

“We rent this out for receptions and parties,” she explained.

I didn’t bother telling her that I had already peeked down in the basement along with Cornelius when we’d first toured the building with Tiffany, Doc’s lovely ex, who represented the seller.

Skipper took us down a narrow, concrete-floored hallway to a set of double metal doors at the end. Unlocking the deadbolt, she pushed one open and slipped inside. Light flickered on within.

“Here you go,” she said, holding the door open for us. “If it’s cool with you, I’ll be out by the bar. I can’t get good cell reception back here.”

“That’s fine,” Doc said. “We’ll try to make it as quick as possible.”

I followed him through the doorway. “So, what exactly are we looking for in here?”

He frowned as he looked around the cluttered storage room. “I think I’ve uncovered something hellish.”

I laughed.

He didn’t, which sobered me up real quick.

“What do you mean?” I asked.