Better Off Dead in Deadwood (22 page)

“Spill it, girl,” Harvey said. “I’m all ears.”

I glanced over to see him watching me, his gaze searching. “You have to promise to tell no one.”

“My lips are glued tight.”

“I mean absolutely nobody. Not even that dog of yours.”

He snorted. “Old Red is a vault, and I swear on my uncle’s sacred firewater that I won’t let out a peep. Now grease your tongue and let ‘er rip.”

My gaze returned to the Open Cut, now shadowed thanks to a cloud covering the sun. “Remember that albino I told you about who chased me down at Mudder Brothers?”

A couple of days after the whole Mudder Brothers ordeal, I’d given Harvey an edited version of what happened, ending it with just a disappearing act rather than a miraculous puff of black smoke.

“The one Cooper is on the lookout for?” he asked.

I nodded. “When the albino and I were in the autopsy room, he pulled a barbed hook out of his suit jacket and threatened me with it.”

“Like a Captain Hook hook?”

“No, a little bigger and covered in multiple sharp points, like it’d been wrapped with barbed wire minus the wire.”

Harvey grimaced. “Sounds hair-raisin’.”

“Cooper found that same hook somewhere near the body.”

“How do you know?”

“A picture of it was on his case board.” I looked at him. “There was blood all over the hook in the photo.”

“Did you see pieces of flesh on it?”

I winced. “I didn’t look that closely.” I hadn’t wanted to.

“Was it the exact same hook or just a look-alike?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, your albino pal may still be slinkin’ around town even though you embedded those big scissors in his back.”

“Possibly.”

He stared out at the Open Cut. “You need to start sleeping with Bessie.”

“I’m not sleeping with your shotgun. I’ll blow my own toes off.”

“Does Doc know all about this?”

“Yeah.”

“Then he should be sleeping with you.”

“I have kids.”

“Even more reason to have him there with you. Or y’all with him.”

“We can’t sleep at Doc’s.” I wasn’t going to force him into having an immediate family, using his need-to-protect against him like that. That was a sure-fire way to make him kick up dust on his way out of town. “Besides, the kids don’t know about us.”

“What’s the big secret? Natalie knows now, why don’t they?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You’re just one big bowl of ‘complicated,’ girl.” He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “If you won’t sleep with Bessie or Doc, then I’m going to have to share your bed.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, I’m not sleepin’ on the hard floor at your feet.”

“Harvey, I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah, you do, but you’re too mule-headed to realize it.” He pointed toward the mine. “My thinkin’ is the murderers came out through one of them there mine drifts in the side of the pit and somehow launched her onto the bottom. Maybe they used one of those pumpkin chuckers I’ve seen on TV.”

My eyes welled up. We were talking about Jane like she was someone we hadn’t known, someone whose perfume I could still smell if I thought about it.

“Unfortunately,” Harvey continued, “Cooper was one of the first on scene, and he ain’t tellin’ what condition she was in when he found her.”

I swiped at my eyes, hoping my mascara wouldn’t give away my tears. “Where do those mine drifts lead to?”

“Homestake, one way or t’other.” He jutted his chin toward the tall shaft buildings that covered the elevator pulleys up on the hill on the other side of the Open Cut. “These northern hills are honeycombed with drifts, shafts, and the like thanks to Homestake.”

“So you think whoever is behind this has access to Homestake’s main shafts?”

“Yep. Could be the killer works for that big science lab they built under Homestake.”

According to Layne, my little scientist, the neutrino lab was located 4,850 feet under the gold mine. He’d ridden his bike all of the way up to Lead in July to hang out at the science festival that the research facility put on each year. Later that night, he’d filled my head with all sorts of words like “dark matter” and “mass” until my eyes glazed over.

Harvey frowned through the fence at the Open Cut. “Something’s goin’ sour in the Hills.” The gravity in his tone made me frown along with him.

“You think Cooper can stop it?” Whatever
it
was.

“I sure as hell hope.” He patted me on the back. “Now let’s go have us some tea and crumpets with Wanda and that chatty ghost of hers.”

Chapter Twelve

I could see Wanda’s silhouette behind the white lace curtains in the front window. At least I assumed it was Wanda who was watching us.

Harvey and I climbed the front porch steps. The paint on the Carhart house was several weeks old but still smelled fresh under the warmth of the mid-morning sunshine. The door inched open as I raised my knuckles to knock. I half expected Vincent Price’s low-pitched, creaky-sounding laugh to echo around me.

“Hello?” I said, pushing the door wide, stepping inside.

Wanda stood at the other end of the foyer filled with Tiffany-style stained glass sconces and twin lamps. Pastel shades of red, yellow, green and blue light dappled over her faded yellow gingham dress with several bees embroidered above her ample bosom. Her long gray hair was secured in a single braid that draped over her shoulder. She looked the same as she had the last time I’d seen her over a month ago, except for her smile, which took up her whole face. The mouse-like woman who used to study my feet the whole time I talked to her seemed to have been sent away along with her whack-job of a daughter.

“Good morning, Miss Parker,” She slipped past me and Harvey to shut the door behind us. “I see you brought my old friend.”

At the sound of the deadbolt clicking, I froze, my chest tightening, my breath getting all tangled up in it. The foyer shrunk around me, too narrow, full of too many people.

Harvey nudged me. When I didn’t move, he pinched my lower back, down where I was storing up a decent supply of fat for the upcoming winter months. I jerked away, aiming a glare his way. The ornery bird needed to come up with some non-bruising ways of pulling me back from the edge of panic.

Harvey chuckled as I rubbed where he’d pinched, then he turned back to our hostess. “Good mornin’, Wanda. You’re lookin’ like you feel good enough to dance the hokey pokey all by yourself.”

Wanda tittered. A month ago, she was screeching at her own shadows, cringing in corners. Apparently, having her cruel and abusive family members all killed or shipped off to prison had lightened her disposition. Go figure.

She led us out of the foyer and into the sitting room with its birch flooring. The place smelled of vanilla, just like I remembered. The caramel wood tones and islands of cream-colored shag carpet were still plush, the ambiance still serene with a touch of old-time elegance. One would never know of the violence the room had witnessed.

A new rug covered the area where Lila had bled out while staring at me with her sightless eyes. That much blood had a way of staining memories long after it was all mopped up and gone. I knew from experience because the dark pool was still fresh in my mind, the coppery scent lingering in the back of my nose.

“Would either of you like something to drink?” Wanda asked. “I have tea, coffee, or snake oil.”

Snake oil? For breakfast? Seriously? I was tempted. It might keep my shoulders from riding piggy-back on my earlobes until we left this place. But I doubted my new boss and fashion consultant would be giddy if he smelled anything stronger than coffee on my breath when I got back to Calamity Jane’s.

“I’ll just have some tea,” I said, then remembered Wanda’s previous obsession with a lack of ice when I was here last month. “Unless you have ice water.”

Wanda’s brow wrinkled. “I’m sorry, Miss Parker, but the freezer is broken.”

Had that been the reason for the lack of ice all along? Something that simple? If so, why had Wanda been so uptight about it?

“What about you, Willis?” Wanda asked.

“Nothin’ for me.” Harvey grinned wide enough for his gold teeth to show. “I’m not touchin’ your pa’s homemade snake oil again. One tip of your flask during Haskell’s funeral and I nearly fell ass over teakettle into the casket.”

Wanda snickered. “Daddy’s recipe always gives a good kick. I’ll be right back.” Her long dress swished as she walked away.

“Is this where you saw Millie Carhart and her long-legged girlfriend French kissing?” Harvey asked, taking my mind off Wanda’s lack of ice cubes. He crossed over to a window that looked out onto a small flower bed, the same window I’d peered out in the past.

“Yeah, but that’s all I’m going to say about it, so don’t expect a play-by-play.”

“Fine, killjoy.”

“Get over here and sit next to me.” I patted the burgundy leather sofa.

“I need to scout out everything if I’m gonna be your bodyguard. Where did you and the spitfire get into the wrestlin’ match?”

There’d been no wrestling, more like a claw and scramble ‘til the death duel.

“Over there.” I pointed at the sideboard where Lila and Millie Carhart’s collection of macabre knives had been laid out. The chair I’d been tied to was gone, of course, as was the grandfather clock I destroyed in my struggle to escape Lila and her sharp blade. A fleeting memory of the malicious glee that had lit up that crazy bitch’s face made me shudder.

Harvey dropped onto the couch cushion next to me and patted my leg. “How about you take me out to lunch today?”

“I already took you out once this week. That fulfilled our deal until next week.”

“That one didn’t count. I was off my feed.”

I snorted. “It’s not my fault your tummy was sad about Miss Geary finding a new boyfriend.”

“First of all, darlin’, men don’t have tummies. Second, if my memory serves me right, you ordered me to come to breakfast with you to act as backup with Coop.”

“But you fell down on the job,” I reminded him.

“That don’t matter none. I showed up for the dance, that’s what counts.” He rubbed his stomach. “All of this Sherlock Holmes business works up an appetite.”

Wanda entered the sitting room carrying a tray with one mug and a plateful of blonde brownies. I could hear Harvey’s lips smacking as he reached for a couple. My hand was right behind his. We shared groans of appreciation for creamy icing and moist brownies. If it wasn’t for the dead woman who was supposed to be floating around the place and my recurring nightmares of hooded figures slicing me open in this very room and feeding my blood to an orange-eyed demon, I could have sat here happily stuffing my cheeks all morning.

I took a sip of the lukewarm tea, tasting a hint of nutmeg and something spicy that I couldn’t place. After a couple more sips, I shoved another brownie in my mouth as a sweet chaser.

“Miss Parker,” Wanda said, lowering into the matching burgundy leather chair next to the sofa, “I’d like to hire you again to sell my house.” She leaned forward, looking eager, as if she hoped I’d pull a For Sale sign out of my ass and plant it in her front yard this very moment.

I stopped chewing and stared at her. Had she been tipping her infamous flask in the kitchen? Had she forgotten that the last time I’d put this house on the market, I’d almost ended up hanging out with Prudence the ghost for all of eternity? Did she think I could just waltz through here with potential owners and not have flashbacks that would send me racing back outside gasping for air?

“You don’t have to give me your answer right this moment,” Wanda said. “But I’d be willing to pay you a higher percentage than normal, just like before.”

Just like before, huh? “How much higher?”

“An extra ten percent.”

Harvey whistled. “That’s mighty generous.”

Wanda clasped her hands together. “Well, I’m getting along just fine now what with the inheritance I got, so money isn’t as much of a concern. I’m gonna miss Prudence’s company, but this house is filled with memories that are far from happy—memories I’d like to try to bury so I can enjoy my sunset years.”

“Prudence won’t pack up and travel with you?” I asked, serious. I wasn’t quite sure how this ghost thing worked for Wanda. Hell, I wasn’t sure of anything having to do with the ectoplasmic crowd, but after all of the inexplicable events I’d witnessed over the last few months, I was open to learning.

“No. This was where she raised her son, where she and her husband enjoyed many happy memories. She’s too attached.”

“Isn’t it also the place where she died?” I asked, curious to hear from Wanda if her version of what happened to Prudence might be different from the horrific demise Doc claimed to have experienced while sniffing around in Prudence’s memories.

Wanda didn’t answer. Instead she looked down at her clasped hands. I was about to ask my question again when she nodded and said, “Yes, but she wants me to tell you those men can’t hurt her anymore.”

“Prudence is here right now?” I asked, glancing at Harvey to see if I could read any doubt or disbelief on his expression.

He was too busy licking the frosting off a brownie to even notice my attention had shifted to him.

“Of course,” Wanda said, as if I were being a silly ninny. “She’s here all of the time.”

Harvey reached for another brownie.

I knocked my knee against his leg, frowning at the half-empty brownie plate. He scooted further away from me, dropping crumbs on the white shag rug in the process, and then dove into his brownie.

Focusing back on Wanda, I asked, “How does Prudence feel about your leaving her?”

Wanda went quiet again, staring at her hands. I kept expecting her to do something with them, something David Copperfield-like that resulted in a white dove poking its head out from her cupped palms.

But nothing happened.

The clock ticked.

Something
tinked
over by the front window.

Harvey chewed, swallowed, and then licked his fingertips.

“She’ll be sad,” Wanda finally spoke, “but she understands it’s time for me to move on.”

“Move on to where?” Harvey asked.