Better Off Dead in Deadwood (36 page)

I peeked down the hall, wondering if Prudence were standing there waiting for us. “Doc, do you realize how absurd I would have found this conversation back when I first met you?”

When I looked back, Doc’s smile was tight. “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

“Yeah.” Considering what I’d witnessed at the Mudder Brothers with the albino, I’d have preferred being in the dark about it still. “You feel up to climbing a ladder? It’s the only way into the attic.”

“Onward ho,” he said without gusto.

I lifted an eyebrow. Maybe if I kept things light and playful my panic wouldn’t run rampant. “I may be easy, big boy, but I’m no ‘ho.’”

He followed me into the hall. “Oh, you’re not easy.”

I stopped below the attic trap door. “Really? What am I then?”

“Complicated.”

“Hey!”

He tweaked my nose. “As in not boring. Complex works, too.”

“If we’re going to stick with C-words, I have a better one. How about ‘charming.’ As in irresistibly charming. Or charismatic.”

His face had taken on a grayish hue, but he played along. “How about ‘confusing’? As in spinning me every which way, keeping me guessing.”

He was one to talk, but I resisted punching him in the shoulder since he looked about ready to keel over.

“I prefer more positive adjectives,” I said, grabbing the long-handled hook I’d learned about a month ago when Millie had sent me up into the attic to get what turned out to be Prudence’s box of goodies. “Like ‘captivating’ and ‘compelling.’”

Even Millie had known about Prudence. She’d first described the ghost in her attic as:
The old lady who lives up there. The dead one.
Back then I’d had to bite my lip not to smile, thinking she’d been optically deluded. That was long before Prudence had made a point of changing my mind.

I hooked the metal ring in the trap door and pulled it open. Dust floated down, circling us, carrying the scent of old cardboard and musty dropcloths.

“You’re forgetting one of my favorite words for you,” Doc said, wiping at the sweat beading on his upper lip, a telltale sign that we were close to the source, aka Prudence. He pulled down the rickety ladder attached to the door.

“You mean ‘cute’?” That word always made me feel like a puppy with floppy ears. I pointed at the ladder. “I’ll go first,” I offered, in case I needed to lend him a hand up.

At his nod, I climbed. I’d forgotten how dust-blanketed the attic was. Wiping my hands off, I glanced around and groaned. What kind of an idiot wore black pants in a dusty attic?

Doc came up after me, his complexion almost waxen. I caught him by the arm and tugged him up the last few rungs. The thought of getting him back down if something went wrong with this experiment made my chest tight.

I looked around the room, trying to ignore my anxieties. If Millie was right and Prudence had been up here for most of her after-life—what a dreary place to spend eternity.

“Well, you are often quite cute,” Doc said, picking up where we’d left off. He swiped at the spider webs trying to ensnare him. “But I was thinking of ‘caring.’”

“Caring?” I rasped around the dust coating my vocal cords. “You like that I’m caring?”

“Oh, shit,” Doc gasped. He leaned down, bracing his hands on his thighs, his eyes closed, his breathing labored.

I touched his back, bending next to him. “Let’s go back down.”

He shook his head.

I rubbed his tense muscles. “What can I do?” My gaze darted around the attic, trying to see what I couldn’t. Where was she? How close? I tried to shield him with my body even though I knew it was useless.

“Show me where you got the box of teeth,” he said.

I’d forgotten that he knew I’d found them up here. I’d hidden that tidbit from Harvey and from Cooper, who now had possession of the teeth.

I zigzagged through the half-rotted cardboard boxes, the dropcloth covered furniture, past the dust-coated baby crib frame and old chests, making my way over to the shadowy corner of the attic where the cupboard leaned against the wall. My mouth now tasted like attic. I should have brought a water bottle along. I could have used it to splash Doc back to the present.

Doc followed, stumbling several times but catching himself, his skin now ashen.

“Here,” I said, opening the cupboard door. “This is where I found it. Millie said it had been hidden here since she was a child.”

Millie was no spring chicken, so I guessed the box with the teeth and other goodies had been stowed away for at least a half century. Unfortunately, Millie would be spending the other half-century of her life behind bars. I wouldn’t be writing any country ballads about Millie’s life since she’d been more than willing to sacrifice me in order to appease her girlfriend, the bitch from hell.

Something thumped heavily behind me. I whirled around and found Doc on his hands and knees.

“Doc,” I raced to his side, squatting next to him, holding him steady. “Doc, talk to me.”

“I need to lie down.”

“No!” He might never get back up.

“Just for a minute.”

Panic rose from my gut and started climbing my esophagus. “Let’s go back downstairs, Doc. We can do this another time.”

“No better time,” he whispered, and collapsed into me, knocking me back on my butt with his weight.

“Doc?”

His body went limp in my arms, half draped over my lap. I pulled my legs free and rolled him onto his back. Kneeling over him, I lowered my ear to his heart.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Whew!

Gulping a mouthful of dust, I used my sleeve to wipe away the sweat on his face and began to count under my breath. “One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand.”

I grabbed his hand, his skin felt so cold! “Five-one thousand. Six-one thousand.”

Using both hands, I tried to use friction to warm him up. “Nine-one thousand. Ten-one thousand.”

Behind his closed lids, I could see his eyes moving rapidly back and forth. I checked his pulse; it raced, matching mine. “Thirteen-one thousand. Fourteen-one thousand.”

Shit!
How was I going to wake him? I should have talked to him more about that. “Fifteen-one—”

Doc’s hand squeezed mine. His eyelids fluttered open, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

I could have cried in relief. “Oh, Doc. Thank God you woke up.”

“Violet,” he said, only his voice sounded off, higher, strained. “You have taken too long.”

“What do you mean? It’s only been fifteen seconds.”

“It may be too late.” His mouth was moving oddly, like a ventriloquist’s doll. “Too many have been freed.” His voice had taken on that mid-Atlantic Eastern accent I’d heard come out of Wanda’s mouth days ago. Fear scuttled up my spine on spider legs.

I froze, my breath wheezing from my throat. “Who am I talking to?”

“You know who I am, Violet Parker.” Doc’s hand squeezed mine harder. “Time is fleeting. We must not play such games.”

Holy fuck!

“Prudence?” I squeaked.

Chapter Nineteen

I once had a blind date with a good-looking guy who met me at my parents’ front door with his ventriloquist’s dummy in hand—or rather
on
hand. Trying to be an optimist, I looked forward to an evening full of puppeteer jokes and followed him to his car. I smiled through our three-way conversation over mini-corn dogs and put up with the dummy’s suggestive whispers in my ear through the barbecued ribs. But when the apple pie à la mode was served and that plastic hand started moving up my thigh under the table, I knocked my chair over in my haste to escape to the bathroom, where I scrambled out the window and called Natalie to come rescue me.

Kneeling there in the Carhart’s attic next to Doc while Prudence used him like her own wooden dummy, I fought that same impulse to scramble out the nearest window and call someone to come to the rescue.

But that someone would be Doc.

I was on my own here with a ticking clock and a dead woman.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, wondering if this were just another nightmare I’d wake from any minute.

Doc’s mouth moved before the voice came out. “You need to find the timekeeper.”

Time keeper? Did she mean a watch? We had found a locket in that box from the cupboard, along with some cufflinks, wooden toys, and the teeth. But no watch of any kind.

Doc’s body jerked, then began to shudder so hard that his heels bounced on the floor.

Damn! How long had it been since he went under? Fifty seconds? A minute? I had to get him back here with me.

“Doc, wake up.” I tugged on his hand that still clutched mine.

He twisted away from me hard enough to pull me down on top of him, my nose bumping into his jaw. I pushed up, trying to tug free of his hand so I could catch my balance and start pinching and elbowing or whatever it took to drag him out of there.

His eyes were closed, his face scrunched in pain.

“Doc!” I yelled. “Open your eyes.”

The shudders grew more violent. I tried to force his mouth open, afraid he’d bite his tongue or swallow it, but his jaw was locked tight.

“Come on, baby,” I said, yanking my hand from his and straddling him.

Shit! Shit! Shit!
What should I do?

An idea hit me. I straddled him and planted my knees on his wrists to restrain his hands. Leaning down, I held his face as still as I could and kissed him. His mouth shook and trembled under mine but gave nothing back. For a second, as I tried to coax his lips to life, I thought I smelled something slightly floral and sweet-scented coming off his shirt, like irises. After a couple of seconds of no response I sat up, searching his face for some clue that he was coming back to me.

His eyes flashed open wide.

“Doc?” I bent closer, trying to see clarity and recognition in his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Bring me the librarian!” Prudence’s higher voice commanded.

I screamed and slapped Doc across the cheek hard enough to knock his head sideways.

His shudders stopped. Between my thighs, I felt his muscles relax, his body sink into the floorboards.

My palm stung. I closed my fist around the pain, ready to swing again if Prudence sat up to bite me.

“Doc?” I whispered, afraid to lean down near his face.

He groaned and mumbled something.

“What did you say?” I asked, cringing at the sight of the red mark spreading across his cheek.

His head turned slowly, his dark eyes blinking open. “I said,” he spoke in his usual deep voice, “my cheek hurts like a son of a bitch.”

I chewed on my lower lip. “Yeah, I, uh, tried something new this time.”

“No shit.” He grimaced. “Could you kindly remove your knees from my wrists?”

“Oh, sorry.” I crawled off and kneeled next to him. “Do you think you can stand?”
Because I want to get the fuck out of this attic!

He pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his wrists and then touching the pads of his fingers to the red splotch on his face, wincing. “Yes, but give me a second.”

My gaze darted around the attic, wondering where Prudence had gone. While I couldn’t “feel” her presence, something told me that she hovered nearby. As much as I wanted to help Doc stand, I was afraid to hold his hand until we stepped outside of this damned place.

Over by the cupboard where I’d found that box a month ago, I saw a broom with a wooden handle and pushed to my feet. I carried the broom back to Doc and held out the handle for him to grab.

He frowned at the broom for a moment then turned to me with the same expression. “I know it’s dusty up here, but I’m not really feeling up to sweeping at the moment, thanks.”

“It’s to help you stand up.”

“Did I somehow contract cooties while I was out?”

“No, but I don’t want to touch you right now.”

“First you punch me, then the only way you’ll touch me is with a four foot pole.” He managed a grin, albeit a shaky one. “I feel like we’re growing apart more and more every day, Violet.”

I lightly jabbed his shoulder with the end of the broom. “I didn’t punch you, smartass. I just slapped you.”

“You
just
slapped me. See, like I said earlier, you’re so caring.”

I shook the broom handle in front of his smirk. “Here, grab it and I’ll pull you up.”

He latched on and I pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, but held onto the broom handle and steadied himself.

Lowering the broom, I noticed his trembling hands. “How are you going to get back downstairs?”

“The ladder seems like the best plan of action, unless you plan on flying us out of here on that broomstick.”

“Keep it up and I’ll beat you with it.”

“What are the warning signs of an abusive relationship again?”

I waved him off and walked over to the ladder. “You’ll understand better after we’re out of this house and I explain what happened.”

I also wanted to hear what else Doc had found out, if anything, when he switched places with Prudence.

“How about I climb down first,” I said, tossing the broom down before me and then putting my foot on the first rung. “Then maybe I can help you … somehow.”

I climbed down the ladder, grabbed the broom, and looked up at his face as he peered down through the trap door.

“Violet, you need to remove that broomstick from the equation while I’m climbing down.”

Good idea. I tossed it aside.

He started down the ladder, pausing partway to rest his head on one of the rungs.

I reached up to help, but hesitated, wondering aloud, “Maybe I can touch your butt,” and manage not to open the door to more one-on-one time with Prudence.

Doc looked down over his shoulder. “I’m definitely going to be touching yours.”

I grabbed him by the hips, wincing in anticipation of more ghostly chit chat. As soon as he had both feet on the floor, I stepped back out of reach and told him, “Wait over there and I’ll close it up.”

He didn’t argue, just leaned against the wall and watched me with his red cheek and labored breath.

We made it down to the foyer without stumbling or touching. I held the door for him and then locked up afterward, pocketing the key with a sigh of relief.