Nearly Departed in Deadwood (11 page)

      “It has potential.”

      Sure, as a nightmare. “You want to check out the basement?”

      “Lead the way.”

      I did. A light switch at the top of the stairs flooded the room with florescent light. I’d reached the bottom step before realizing Doc wasn’t following me. I turned around and found him still standing at the top of the stairs. His face looked pale. Maybe it was the lighting. “Aren’t you coming down?”

      “No.” His nostrils flared and he stepped back away from the top step until I could only see his head.

      I sniffed. No gardenias, just the usual musty basement smell. What could possibly be wrong with that? “Why not?”

      “I changed my mind. Come back up here.”

      I glanced around at the remodeled room, white-washed cement walls, dark blue carpet. “You should check this out, Doc. It’s the nicest room in the house.”

      “Get up here now, Violet.” His tone was edged with alarm.

      Suddenly, I had a big hankering for fresh air. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” This sniffing business was for the birds—or the dogs.

      Back in the lava-lamp living room, I asked the obligatory, “Are you interested in placing an offer on it?” A waste of breath, certainly, but part of the routine.

      “Not at the moment, but I might want to come back here again.”

     
Really? To this shithole? Why?
“We’ll leave it as a ‘maybe’ then.”

      “Good. What else do you have?”

      Not much, unless a miracle occurred in Deadwood—or a mass exodus. I had one or two more up my sleeve, and then we’d have to discuss whether he’d consider commuting from a Lead or Central City zip code. “Let’s go see.”

      Outside, I welcomed the warm blast of pine-scented air. My lungs felt like I’d spent a couple of hours leaning on the craps table in Vegas. We climbed into the Bronco.

      After initially leaving the office, we had covered all of the small-talk subjects I could think of on short notice. Now the bouts of silence were heavy and made me want to drum my thumbs on the steering wheel.

      Emboldened by his earlier smiles, I turned over the engine and asked, “How long have you been in Deadwood?”

      “A while now.”

      Vague, but a start. “Are you renting a house or apartment?”

      “Neither.”

      An RV? A pup-tent? A cave? What? Maybe I was going about this wrong. “What brought you to Deadwood?”

      “A rumor.”

      I let that one sit for a breath to see if more was to come. Nope, nothing. I moved on. “Where are you from?”

      “Back east.”

      “Like the East Coast?”

      “Not that far.”

     
Jesus!
Prying open a can of pork and beans with my teeth would have been easier than getting a plain, clear answer from Doc. Whoever wrote the How-To book on forming open relationships with clients hadn’t met D.R. Nyce. Was he hiding something? Or just toying with me for shits and giggles?

      I idled at a stoplight behind an exhaust-belching, 1950s Ford pickup, searching for something to talk about. Then I remembered the scene in his office involving the mole and the magnifying glass. “So, Doc, what exactly do you do for a—”

      In my rearview mirror, I saw my blonde-haired daughter riding her bike along the opposite sidewalk with a white chicken tucked under one arm. The rest of my question leaked out my ear.

      Feathers floated behind Addy as she raced around the corner and pedaled hard out of view up a side street.

      A honk from behind jerked me out of my stunned state. I hit the blinker and whipped a U-turn in the middle of the intersection, ignoring several more honks from on-coming cars.

      Doc reached for the dashboard. “What are you doing?”

      “Hunting chickens.”

      “What?”

      I made a hard right onto the street Addy had ridden up.

      “Is that a metaphor for something?” Doc braced himself as I floored it to the four-way stop.

      “No.” I looked left and right, no sign of Addy. Then I saw a white feather, floating across the road about half a block in front of us and I hit the gas. A BMW with a Michigan license plate shook his fist at me as I cut him off.

      “It was my turn!” I yelled at him through my closed window.

      “Remind me to drive next time we go out.”

      I ignored Doc’s sarcasm and jammed on the brakes at the next Stop sign. Still no Addy. “Do you see any feathers?”

      “What does that even mean?”

      “There!” I pointed to the feather drifting toward the ground in the parking lot up ahead on the left and gunned it.

      “Violet, are you on any kind of medication I should know about?”

      “No.” I should be, though, I thought as I rammed into the parking lot, and yanked the wheel to avoid careening into an Impala backing out of its spot. Another horn followed in my wake. I could see Addy’s blonde hair ahead on the other side of the line of parked cars.

      An RV rolled out of an alley and across my path.

      “Hold on!” I stomped on the brakes.

      Doc swore under his breath.

     
Son of a peacock!
I was going to lose her. As the RV cleared out of the way, I cranked down my window and yelled, “Adelynn Renee! Stop right there!”

      Lucky for Doc’s blood pressure, my daughter heard and obeyed. I zig-zagged through a couple of empty parking spots and pulled up next to where she stood straddling her bike, holding the chicken against her chest.

      I slammed my door and rounded the Bronco’s grill. “Where do you think you are going with that chicken?”

      Addy’s cheeks darkened under the red spots already coloring her skin. “Ummm, home?”

      A second door shut behind me.

      “No, you are not. You take that chicken right back where you found it.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Why not?”

      “Who are you?” Addy asked Doc as he approached.

      “Never mind who he is, Adelynn. Why can’t you take the chicken back?”

      “Because I rescued it.” Addy looked at Doc again. “How long have you known my mom?”

      “A few days,” Doc answered.

      “Rescued it from where, Addy?” I had a bad feeling about this. Like last year when she’d sneaked that white mouse home in her lunchbox after her school field trip to the Reptile Gardens.

      “From the chicken farm,” Addy said, as if there were chicken farms on every corner in Deadwood. Her gaze returned to Doc. “Mom’s single, you know. My dad ran off while she was pregnant, so you don’t have to worry about him interfering.”

      My neck roasted, and it had nothing to do with the heat rolling off the asphalt. I grabbed Addy’s chin and turned her face toward me. “Addy, dear, focus on me here.”
And quit trying to pimp me out!

      She sighed and made glaring eye contact.

      Had she not been of my own flesh and blood, I might have taken her to the post office right then and shipped her to the moon. “What chicken farm?”

      “They were going to chop off her head, Mom. I just know it. I couldn’t let them do it. She’s too pretty. Please, can I keep her? She can share a bed with Checkers.”

      “Who’s Checkers?” I asked.

      “The kitten you said I could keep.”

      “I never said you could keep one of the kittens.”

      “Did too! You said, ‘Yes, siree’ last night when you were on the back porch drinking beer with Natalie.”

      “I said, ‘We’ll see.’”

      A muffled chuckle from Doc won him my testicle-withering stare. He squeezed his lips tight and brushed some pine pollen off the hood of the Bronco.

      “Please, Mom? Please, please, please.” Addy used the sweet, innocent child voice she thought still worked on me.

      Unfortunately, with Doc as an audience and the clock ticking on our afternoon of house viewing, I didn’t have the time to deal with today’s Addy-emergency. “Take the chicken home and put it in the garage. But—” I interrupted her whoop of victory, “that doesn’t mean we are keeping her. We’ll discuss this in more detail when I get home.”

      Addy frowned, but kept quiet. A wise child, considering that my head was about to explode. She climbed on the bike seat and adjusted the chicken tighter in her arms, receiving a squawk of protest in return. “Okay, Mom, but do me a favor.”

      I just stared at her, my hands clenched at my side.

      “Try to keep an open mind about this.”

      This time, Doc’s laugh was outright.

      Addy smiled at him. “Mom loves daisies, peanut-butter fudge ice cream, Captain Kirk, and anything having to do with Elvis. Good luck!”

      “Addy!” I yelled at her as she rode off.

      A chicken feather floated to the ground between Doc and me.

      “Sorry about that.” I had trouble meeting his dark eyes, so I focused on the cleft in his chin.

      “She’s cute. Reminds me of someone.”

      “Me?”

      He chuckled. “Are you fishing for a compliment?”

      This time, I blushed so hard my knees roasted.

      “No, I just thought you were ... I mean, I thought when you said she reminds you of ... that you were offhandedly referring to ...” I bit my tongue to stop it from talking gibberish.

      “Ready to go?” I didn’t wait for his answer and rushed around to my side of the Bronco.

      Doc grinned as he slid in next to me. “Of course she has your good looks, but she’s the spitting image of someone else I’ve seen.”

      Did Doc just say I was good-looking? I turned the key, breathing easier in the air conditioning even though Doc’s off-handed compliment reminded me of Jeff Wymonds earlier comment about Addy’s looks. “Maybe you’ve seen my son around town. They’re fraternal twins, but they share some features.”

      “No, that’s not it.”

      “Someone on TV?”

      He frowned out the front window, shaking his head. Then his forehead smoothed. “Oh, it was—” He paused, swallowed, then said, “Never mind.”

      “Who?”

      “Just someone I saw before.”

      Now he really had my curiosity standing at attention. “Come on, who?”

      He looked at me, searching my eyes for who knows what before exhaling. “The girl from Deadwood who disappeared last summer.”

      Goosebumps soared up my arms.

      * * *

      Leaving the chicken feathers behind, I headed for the last available house within the city limits. I knew it was a bust from the moment I pulled into the driveway and Doc saw the pink paint and elaborate gingerbread gable ornaments.

      I hesitated. “You want to go inside?”

      “Sure.” Although I could tell by his furrowed brow and the stiffness in his shoulders that he wasn’t comfortable in the frilly surroundings, complete with window boxes brimming with pansies and shutters etched with ribbon-curls.

      Not that I could blame him. As I unlocked the front door, I half-expected Hansel and Gretel to skip up the sidewalk and join us.

      The interior reminded me of a doll house my father bought Addy for her fifth birthday. A bachelor pad, it was not. We tooled around inside for a bit, him sniffing, me still fuming about my daughter, the chicken lover.

      “Well?” I asked without enthusiasm as we climbed back into my Bronco.

      “I don’t think so.”

      I shifted into gear.

      “Do you mind stopping at that gas station up ahead?” Doc asked when we neared Main St. “I’m thirsty.”

      I turned into the parking lot of Jackpot Gas-n-Go, coasting past a Toyota pickup fueling up at the pumps. My breath caught when I saw the “Wish You Were BEER” bumper sticker stuck on the tailgate.

      Crap! Jeff Wymonds—the last person I wanted to see.

      I parked in a spot near the corner of the building, putting as much distance between Jeff’s pickup and me as the lot allowed.

      “Be right back.” Doc hopped out.

      Through the passenger-side window, I watched him stride along the walkway to the front glass doors. He pushed inside, and when the door swung back, Jeff stepped out. My heart dropped to my toes.

      I cranked my rearview mirror to the side so I could spy on Jeff as he crossed the lot and climbed into his pickup. He looked less Neanderthal-ish with his hair damp and combed back, but he still sported the stained white T-shirt and blue jeans, the same facial scruff. As he rolled toward me, I slunk way down in my seat, my fingers crossed that he didn’t recognize my Bronco.

      I waited for the growl of his engine to disappear, but it didn’t. Instead it rumbled up next to me, idling just outside my door. I heard his door slam.

     
Oh, fuck
! I hit the door lock button and then waited for his face to appear in the window next to me.

      Twenty seconds later, I was still waiting.

      I inched my way up in my seat, peeking out the window. Jeff was marching toward the Dumpster in the back corner of the lot, carrying a big black garbage bag. As he neared the Dumpster, he looked left then right and then over his shoulder. Then he lifted the Dumpster lid and tossed the bag inside. I saw a hint of something pink before the lid crashed down again.

      Someone knocked on the passenger-side window. I yelped and jerked, hitting my knee on the underside of the dash.

      Doc stood on the other side of the glass, staring down at me with a furrowed brow.

      I unlocked the doors and sat up, straightening my dress, avoiding eye contact as he climbed in next to me and held out a bottle of water.

      “Oh, thanks. Let me give you some money.”

      He waved me off. “You feeling okay?” I could hear a hint of laughter in his tone.

      “Yeah. Sure. I’m great.”

      The slam of a pickup door to my left drew my attention out my window. I looked over and ran smack dab into Jeff’s gaze.

      His eyes narrowed to a squint as he stared back.

      My mouth went dry.