Optical Delusions in Deadwood (12 page)

      I thought of Junior, the rolling pin, and the shotgun. “Yes, the owners are very mild mannered.” At least the ones left were.

      “Zelda is a librarian,” Zeke told me as he leaned against the door frame. “She likes to try to get a read on people based on their books.”

      A librarian and an ex-wrestler. Interesting. How had that happened?

      “Is it okay if I check out the room next door? It’s the perfect size for my office.”

      I nodded, happy that he was daydreaming about what could be. If they decided to put a bid on the place, I’d be able to do some daydreaming of my own.

      After Zeke left, Zelda pulled out one of the books and opened it. Dried rose petals drifted to the carpet. “Oops.” She squatted to pick them up.

      I dropped onto one knee to help and noticed a book shoved under the bed. Millie must have missed it when she was prepping for our arrival. I pulled it out, noticing the texture on the tan-colored cover seemed more rough in some spots than usual for a book, and handed it to Zelda to stack it on the shelf with the others.

      “What’s this?” As Zelda flipped the book open, its spine creaked softly. “Look at the old-fashioned style of binding. And it’s in Latin. This is old. I mean
really
old.”

      I leaned closer, inhaling a whiff of Zelda’s leather, and perused the pages with her. “What? Like a hundred years old?”

       Maybe it belonged to the original owner. Jane’s words from yesterday replayed in my head ...
She had on a pale, high-collared dress stained dark with blood from where her neck had been slit open.
I shivered at the gruesome image that popped into my head, then cursed Jane mentally for planting that little seed.

      “No, double that and then some.”

      “You’re kidding me.” What was it doing stuffed under a bed in Lead, South Dakota?

      “I never lie about books. That’s sacrilege.”

      I watched as she flipped through the pages, pausing at pictures with pentagrams and other wince-inspiring symbols and drawings. “What’s it say?”

      “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t read Latin.”

      “Zelda,” Zeke interrupted from the doorway, making us both jerk. “Come here, you have to see this.”

      Frowning, she handed me the book. “Be careful with that. They should probably store it in a special air-tight container.” She pushed to her feet and followed Zeke’s footsteps.

      I had every intention of putting the book away, but curiosity stalled me. Whose book was this and why had it been shoved under the bed? It was obviously about some kind of unusual religion. There was way too much symbolism scrawled on the pages for it to be otherwise. Had Junior been reading it before he killed his father? Had the words on the pages compelled him to commit murder?

      I fished one of my business cards and a pen from my pocket and scrawled the Latin title on the back of my card.

      A hissing sound behind me made me whirl in surprise just in time to see Lila rush me, claws extended, lips curled back from her dagger-like canines. With nowhere to go, I cringed, frozen, shielding my face with the book.

      She ripped the book from my hands, my card drifting to the carpet between us. “How dare you!” She growled under her breath so only I could hear, clutching the book to her chest. “This is mine. Never touch it again.” She shoved in close, nose-to-nose. Her pupils were dilated wide, big black holes, creepy as hell. “You have no idea what I can do to you.”

      I dislodged my heart from the top of my mouth and swallowed it back down to its rightful place. I scooped up my business card, stuffed it in my pocket, and backed out of the room, holding Lila’s unnerving glare until I’d closed the door behind me.

     
Holy fuck!
That woman needed to work on her anger management skills. As much as I wanted to pull on a pair of chain-mail gloves, throw open the door, and go slay that crazy bitch, I didn’t dare. I had customers to impress—and not with my cat-fighting skills. But Lila and I weren’t finished yet. I didn’t like the way she’d treated Wanda, and I certainly didn’t appreciate her hissing at me.

      I found Zeke and Zelda cooing over the upstairs view of the gaping hole in the earth next door.

      “Are you two ready to see the kitchen?”

      “Definitely.” Zelda’s excitement made her whole face light up. Quite the opposite expression from what I’d just witnessed behind Door Number One. She walked over and squeezed my forearm. “Violet, this house is so beautiful.”

      I told everyone so! “Isn’t it?”

      She nodded. “And so vintage. I just wish it was haunted. I’d love to have my very own ghost.”

      After I picked my jaw up from the floor and hinged it back into place, I led them out of the room.

      * * *

      Later that evening, with minutes to spare before seven o’clock, I sat in the parking lot of The Buffalo Corral giving myself a get-back-in-the-dating-ring pep talk, Rocky Balboa style.

      But in my hand, I clutched my cell phone—my white towel of surrender. Natalie’s phone number was already queued up, just waiting for me to push the Call button and tell her I couldn’t go through with it.

      Labeling what I was about to go through as a “blind date” was a misnomer. A truly blind date would mean one—or both—of us was actually blind, or at least temporarily masked with a blindfold for the duration. So, at no point would we both be able to look into each other’s eyes and experience that awkward, tongue-stumbling, heart pattering moment of
see
-sickness when one of us would itch to race off to her bedroom, alone with a tub of peanut butter fudge ice cream, to hide out from the male half of the world.

      Doubt demons had my insides churning. I stuck my key back in the ignition.

      On the other hand, I liked men. I liked to look at them and touch them. I liked being liked back by them. And if I didn’t drag my sorry ass out of my Bronco and into that restaurant, I’d have to keep settling for fantasies instead of the real flesh-and-blood deal. I was tired of waking up in the morning with my arms wrapped around empty tubs of Ben & Jerry’s and my cheek glued to the pillowcase with dried ice cream.

      I grabbed my keys, shoved them and my phone into my purse, and climbed out into the warm evening air. After a quick straightening of my lucky green snap-up jean dress and a swab of gloss over my lips, I marched across the parking lot, chin held high, reminding myself that I was a successful Realtor and could smile and fib my way through just about anything.

      Just as I had earlier today, when I’d told Zelda the Carhart house was haunted and made up a story surrounding the woman with the slit throat. The other house I’d shown them, the so-called haunted one belonging to long-dead Lilly Devine, had elicited even more excitement and interest. Shame on me for playing up the ghost angle, but I had a child who needed new glasses I couldn’t afford.

      I approached the hostess. The smell of barbecued meat saturated the lobby. I couldn’t tell if the pang in my stomach was hunger or nerves. “I believe someone is waiting for me.” I really should have found out my date’s name.

      “You must be Violet,” said the petite hostess. Natalie must have told my date mine. “Follow me.”

      We weaved through tables, her leading, me searching table-by-table for a set of eyebrows and nose I’d spend the next hour or two staring at while pretending to make eye contact. Johnny Cash’s “Burning Ring of Fire,” audible under the low din of conversation, seemed fitting for a restaurant popular for its seared meat.

      “Here we are. Enjoy your meal.” The hostess stepped aside and I found myself looking into a pair of familiar blue eyes.

     
No. Fucking. Way.
“Ben?” I blinked. Then blinked again. “You’re my blind date?”

      “Hi, Violet.” Benjamin Underhill, Ray’s nephew and the man who would be my replacement at Calamity Jane’s should I not land another sale soon, rose from his seat and took my limp hand, raising it to his lips. “You look lovely, as always.” He kissed my knuckles then pulled out the chair for me.

      I fell into my seat, smashing my purse under my left hip. Something beeped as I yanked it out from under me and shoved it under the table. I frowned across at the man who’d sent me a slew of creepy “Roses are Red” anonymous poems and several bouquets of daisies a few weeks ago in hopes of winning my affection. “You’re wearing your colored contact.”

      Ben’s eyes were different colors—one icy blue, the other light green. Tonight he’d covered the green eye with a blue contact.

      “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

     
Uncomfortable?
Just the sight of Ben’s face would have been enough normally to make me wring my hands and perspire. Not that Ben was unattractive. Quite the opposite, actually, even though he had a strong resemblance to his jerk of an uncle, minus the fake tan, jowls, and ugly sneer. Tonight, Ben’s black hair was cut shorter than it’d been a few weeks ago when he’d lured me to The Wild Pasque, Deadwood’s finest restaurant, with a cryptic poem in which he’d tossed around my daughter’s name.

      “How’s work?” Ben asked.

      I shot him a suspicious look, but his white-toothed smile seemed genuine.

      “It’s good,” I lied. “Things are looking up.” Might as well pile it on thick while I was at it. “So, how do you and Natalie know each other?” Next time, I’d ask Natalie this question
before
agreeing to a blind date. Wait! On second thought, there’d be no next time. Three strikes—she was out.

      “I worked for her grandfather for awhile when I was younger.”

      Natalie’s grandpa had owned a contracting business for decades. That was how Natalie got her start in the handy-woman business. She’d grown up working for him every summer out of Nemo.

      “After I quit helping him,” Ben continued, “I became a home inspector and sent work his way whenever possible. He in turn spread my name around the Hills. That was before he sold his business and moved south.”

      The grumpy old codger had fallen for the owner of some R.V. park in Arizona and left the Black Hills for good, taking Nat’s cousin, Claire, with him.

      “Are you still inspecting homes?”

      “On the side, until I build up my real-estate business. How’s working with my Uncle Ray going?”

      “Great. Just wonderful.” I’d rather spend each day skimming the solid matter off the top of sewage ponds.

      “He can be a little hard-headed at times, I’m sure.”

      “Oh, he’s a real gem.” More like a petrified turd.

      The waiter stopped by and asked to take our drink orders. When he left, I said, “So, did you purposely arrange this so-called blind date with me?”

      “No and yes. Initially, when Natalie offered to set me up with her best friend, I didn’t know it was you. She didn’t mention a name. It wasn’t until last week that she told me it was you.” 

      That took away a layer of creepiness, but I was still squirmy inside about Ben. Those poems of his had red-lined my wacko stalker meter. I tried to focus on something more comfortable. “Natalie tells me you are a Star Trek ...”
nut
. “Fan.” 

      He grinned. “I’m not a Trekkie, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just enjoy science fiction books and movies.”

      Me, too. “Weren’t you just at a comic book convention?”

      “Is that what she told you?” He laughed outright. “No, I went to a conference in Sioux City for home inspectors, and while I was there, one of the museums was featuring a science-fiction exhibit, including some old comic books and a lot of Star Trek memorabilia.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me about the home inspection business when we had dinner last month?”

      He shrugged. “I was trying to impress you—agent to agent. Why didn’t you tell me you pine for Captain Kirk?”

      “Oh, God.” My cheeks burned. “Natalie has a cavernous mouth.”

      His grin cooled the heat from my cheeks. “Okay, how about we stop trying to be something we’re not and start over. No pressure, just friends.”

      “Just friends?” I squinted at him, not quite trusting yet. “You mean that?”

      “Sure. And if something builds from that, so be it.”

      There’d be no building. Ben’s method of wooing women was just too weird. Apparently, I preferred Doc’s no-dating-allowed method. “Deal.”

      Thirty minutes later, we were neck deep in Tribbles and Captain Kirk imitations while waiting for our steaks when Natalie crutched and creaked up to the table.

      “Violet! Imagine finding you here.” She winked at me so broadly I’m sure the folks in the restaurant across the street witnessed it. “Oh, hi, Ben.” Her wide-eyed, wide-mouthed expression was a sad, sad attempt at faking surprise. “That’s right. Tonight was your date. I’d forgotten you were meeting here.”

      Wait a second! Tonight was her so-called date with Doc. My stomach queasy all of the sudden, I jumped out of my chair. “Ben,” I said without looking at him, “Will you excuse us for a minute?”

      Dragging Natalie and her crutches a few tables away, I whispered, “What are you doing here?”

      “You called me.”

      “No, I didn’t.”

      “Yes, you did.”

      “When?”

      “About forty-five minutes ago. You didn’t say anything, but I figured that was because you couldn’t.”

      I remembered the beep when I’d sat on my purse upon arriving at the table. Crap, I must have butt-dialed her number. “That was an accident. Besides, you were supposed to call me back, not show up.”

      “Yeah, well, I came up with a better rescue plan. Something more fun.”

      That couldn’t be good. “What do you mean ‘more fun’? It’s a rescue, not an adventure.”

      She smiled over my shoulder and waved. “A double date.”

      An anvil fell from the sky and landed smack-dab on my chest. “No.”

      “Come on, Vi. It’ll be a blast. We haven’t double-dated in years.”