Nearly Departed in Deadwood (14 page)

      I needed a change of venue. Somewhere far from Ray and his taunting smirk, somewhere I could forget about needing to sell a house for a bit, somewhere I could hide while I focused on a part of my life where I had some control—like with my daughter.

      * * *

      I parked in front of the public library, a stately nineteenth-century gray-stone building fronted by four huge pillars. Perched just a block uphill from the historic Franklin Hotel and its stately front entrance, ornate decorations, and vintage furnishings, the library watched over Deadwood, chronicling transformations as the town cycled between seasons of bloom and wither.

      The noonday sun sizzled my roots as I stepped out of my Bronco. A lone pickup shared the parking area with me, the surrounding streets quiet except for the faded growl of a chainsaw.

      Last night, after a couple of glasses of wine, I had time to dwell on the kidnappings some more. The physical similarities between Addy and two of the three missing girls were not only undeniable, but also had my stomach twisted like a tie-dyed shirt. Until the police announced that they had a prime suspect sitting in their jail with indisputable evidence to back them up, my kid was a sitting duck.

      I decided to take action, starting with reading up on the girl who disappeared in January, finding out if Addy was three for three. Since my budget didn’t allow a computer at home yet, my options for finding information were limited. I could either try to sneak online at work, with Ray and Jane looking over my shoulder, or pay a visit to the library. The latter seemed my best bet.

      Head down, I strode up the concrete sidewalk, my heels clacking up the steps. Next on the docket would be some sleuthing on Jeff Wymonds to see if I could tie him to each of the missing girls. The memory of sad-faced Kelly waving goodbye from her porch in the forefront of my thoughts, the picture of her best friend, Emma, in last August’s newspaper a close second.

      When I pushed open the heavy door, the smell of leather bindings, aged paper, and wood varnish welcomed me.

      A pretty, young brunette sat behind the counter at the side of the room, her skin blotch- and wrinkle-free, her chest perky in a low-cut dress covered with plums. Compared to her, I was a saggy prune. It sucked getting older.

      “Hi,” I whispered as I approached the counter.

      Miss Plum looked up from a celebrity-filled magazine she’d been perusing. “Can I help you?” Boredom edged her tone.

      “How would I go about finding an old article in the
Black Hills Trailblazer
newspaper?”

      “You need to fill this out.” She handed me a piece of paper. “Then set up an appointment with us to come back later for a viewing.”

      Crudmongers. Did everything in this freaking town require paperwork and wait times?

      “Oh, I forgot to mention,” Miss Plum turned the page in her magazine, “there’s also a search fee.”

      Of course there was. I stuffed the paper in my purse, wondering if Abe’s Alehouse was serving hard liquor already.

      “Unless you just wanted to view an article on microfilm. Then you can do it now for free.”

      It turned out that getting soused for lunch wasn’t predicted in my horoscope for today after all. “That works.”

      “Cool. Follow me.”

      She led me past a table covered with computers and printers, through a narrow corridor lined with ceiling-high, book-laden shelves. Pausing in front of a closed door with a sign on it that read
South Dakota Room
, she asked, “Have you ever used a microfilm machine?”

      “Sure.” No, but how hard could it be?

      Miss Plum pushed open the door and stepped into a small room. I followed, screeching to a halt at the sight of Doc sitting at a table, books stacked around him.

      He looked up, his eyes widening when his gaze hit me.

      “Hello, Violet.” He shuffled some papers around, doing a rotten job of being discreet while trying to hide whatever it was he’d been reading.

      Damn. The last thing I wanted right now was company, especially someone as distracting as Doc. I worked up a smile for him. “Hi, Doc. I didn’t see your car out front.”

      “I walked here.”

      “It’s hot outside.”

      “I took my time.”

      “They’re calling for rain this afternoon.” I sounded like an idiot. If I’d been wearing socks, I’d have taken them off and shoved both in my mouth.

      “The hills could use the water.”

      “I hope you brought an umbrella.”

      “I dry easily.”

      I nodded, out of silly things to say about the stupid weather.

      His dark eyes probed mine, making me squirm in my heels. What was it about this guy that made me feel like my bra was cinched too tight? Something that I couldn’t put my finger on even if I wanted to—which for some reason, I did.

      “How is the chicken?” he asked.

      “Still a problem.”

      “And the kittens?”

      “Up for adoption. You interested?”

      He grinned, shaking his head.

      I wondered if he had a girlfriend stashed away somewhere. Then I wondered where in the hell that thought had come from and why I cared.

      Miss Plum cleared her throat. “Here’s the machine.”

      I welcomed the interruption with my full attention.

      She beckoned me over to the corner of the room.

      Peeking at the stacks of books in front of Doc as I passed, I saw the words
Register of Deaths
and
City Directory
. What was he looking at those for? Researching his genealogy? Digging into Deadwood’s infamous past? Or was he checking out estate sales? Looking up possible real estate investments?

      Miss Plum pointed at a cabinet filled with tiny drawers, each labeled with a year. “When were you interested in?”

      “Last summer,” I murmured, keeping my back to Doc. I didn’t want him to learn that I was chasing a paper trail for something that could just be a coincidence on Jeff Wymonds’ part and a bit of over-reaction on mine.

      Miss Plum pulled out a small spool and handed it to me. I stared at it like it was a toad waiting for a kiss.

      “Here, let me help you.” She plucked the spool from my open palm. I watched as she stuck it in the machine and clicked a switch. A backlit newspaper page appeared on the screen. “There you are.”

      With a nod of thanks, I dropped into the seat and set my purse on the floor at my feet.

      “If you need anything else, I’ll be at the front desk.” She left, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone with Doc.

     
Chapter Ten

      I could hear Doc breathing in the silence. The back of my neck tingled as I pretended not to notice that he sat less than six feet away.

      Staring down at the microfilm machine, I tried to keep focused on the task at hand—finding an article on the second “Missing” girl, the one who disappeared last January.

      I pushed a big, green button on the front of the monitor.

      Nothing happened.

      I spun a knob just below the green button.

      Nothing happened.

      I pushed a button with a plus sign on it beside the knob.

      The screen widened. At least I got a response that time.

      I moved a lever under the knob to the left and right.

      The screen’s focus shifted left, then right.

      The back of my eyeballs started to ache. Technology and I made cantankerous bedfellows. One of us usually stomped off in a huff after smashing the other into pieces with a club.

      I tried to turn another knob that looked like a wagon wheel, but it wouldn’t budge.

      “Damn it.” Maybe I could read the spool of film by holding it up to the light.

      “Need some help?” Doc asked.

      Not from him. “Yes, please.”

      As he came around behind me, I kept my gaze glued to the monitor, catching his reflection in the screen. He leaned over my shoulder and grabbed a knob on the side of the machine.

      I glanced at him, his cheek mere inches from mine. I hadn’t remembered his eyelashes being so long. 

      “You smell good today,” Doc said, his tone low, his voice just above a whisper.

      He did, too—like sun-dried sheets instead of his usual woodsy cologne; but the fidgeting elephant parked on my chest kept me from telling him ... and breathing. He was so close. Too close.

      He inhaled. “Mmmmm. Makes me hungry.”

      I gulped. Had I heard him right? Was he really flirting so blatantly with me? I locked my fingers together and stared at a jagged scar below his elbow. It’s not like I was new to flirting. I mean, I did have two children who weren’t conceived due to any miracles. However, Doc was different, dangerous. I got the sense that behind his dark eyes lurked a beast I dared not pet, let alone poke.

      “Do you have a date?” he asked.

      How did he know about my dinner date with Wolfgang? My cheeks warmed, my skin tight and uncomfortable. “Umm, yes, but not until this evening.”

      The weight of his stare made my shoulder twitch. “Violet?”

      I met his lazy grin. “Yes?”

      “Am I making you nervous?”

      “No.” Standing so close, he had to be able to hear my heart pummeling against my ribs.

      The brush of his fingertips across my wrist made me jump. His chuckle came from deep within his chest. “Liar.”

      Frowning, I whirled on him. “Listen, you’re a nice guy.”

      He raised his brows. “Gee, thanks.”

      “And if you’re the one who sent me the daisies, I appreciate the kind gesture.”

      His grin widened. “Daisies are your favorite.”

      “But getting personally involved with clients goes against my principles.” Well, except when it came to Wolfgang—and Harvey—but he was just a friend.

      “I didn’t send you any flowers, Violet.”

      “Oh. Well, then good. I wasn’t sure, being that Addy told you I like daisies.”

      “If I were going to send you flowers, they wouldn’t be daisies.”

     
What would they be?
I clamped my teeth together to keep my tongue locked up.

      “I agree with you,” he continued. “We need to keep to the business at hand.”

      “Uh-huh.” Roses were too cliché for Doc. Maybe he’d send tulips? No, too common.

      “Sleeping with my Realtor is off-limits.”

     
Sleeping with
... His words sank in and my eyes widened. The image of our legs entangled in sheets, his whiskers scratching my bare stomach, his deep baritone voice groaning my name, whispering his wants and needs in my ear—all bundled in one breathtaking flash—ricocheted through my skull. My interest in Doc hadn’t veered that far off the pavement. Until now.

      He turned the knob on the side of the machine, the screen flickered with rolling images. “I’m not even sure what I’m doing that has you so skittish.”

      The heat in my cheeks spread down my neck, now fueled by embarrassment. Hold up! He was the one who started this. “You said I smelled good.”

      “You do.”

      “Then you said I’m making you hungry.”

      “You are.”

      I crossed my arms and glared at his profile. “How is that not coming on to me?”

      He spared me a glance. “You smell like French fries and bacon, and I haven’t had lunch yet.” His stomach growled next to my shoulder, as if on cue.

      “Oh.” The skin on my upper chest burned with mortification, too. “But you asked about my date tonight.”

      “I asked if you have a date.”

      “Same thing.”

      “A
newspaper
date for the article you’re looking up.”

      I closed my eyes, wishing Scotty would beam me up right then. “Oh, crud. I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t worry about it.” The squeeze he gave my shoulder would have made me feel better if I could’ve run out of the room and avoided him for the next year. “So, you have a date?”

      “Yes.” My gaze now intently focused on the screen. “Last August.”

      He spun the knob faster, the images a blur. “Did Addy set you up?”

      “What?”

      “With your date tonight?”

      “Oh. No.” I peeked at him, noticing a second scar, this one very faint, above his eyebrow. “He asked me on his own.”

      “So, this is a first date?”

      “Uh, yeah.”

      “I need more details.”

      What? Why was he so interested in my social life? Yet, my tongue kept rolling. “Well, I met him earlier this week, so I don’t know much about him. He seems nice, though, and polite.”

      Sheesh. That made Wolfgang sound like Wally Cleaver.

      Doc’s body vibrated next to me, his laugh almost hidden by the whir of the microfilm machine. “I need more details about the article, Violet. Like what to look for in a headline.”

      My whole body broke into a sweat that reeked of humiliation. Sitting so close to Doc was scrambling my brainwaves. I lunged out of the chair and put several feet of air between us. “I want to read about the girl that disappeared last winter. All I know is it happened sometime in January.”

      “It was January 10th.”

      The certainty in his tone froze my fiddling fingers. “You remember the exact date?”

      He nodded.

     
Why?
“Did any other girls disappear prior to last August?”

      “Not recently. Not from Deadwood. No blondes.”

      I watched Doc as he scanned headlines, now turning the side knob much slower as he searched. Not only had he noticed the similarities between Addy and last summer’s missing girl, he also knew the timeframe of the second girl’s disappearance. Again, why?

      “Here you go.” Doc stepped back from the machine. “It looks like this one goes into a good amount of detail on it.”

      “Thanks for your help.” I slid back into the seat, waiting until I heard Doc’s chair scrape across the wood floor before letting my shoulders relax and diving into the article.