Optical Delusions in Deadwood (19 page)

      “So, let me get this straight,” I said to Harvey, who had planted himself in my desk chair. “Claudette Perkins told you straight up that Wanda murdered her husband.”

      “Yep.”

      “And you worked this so-called admission out of her during sex?”

      He shook his head. “Russell didn’t put out any old flames last night—at least not with Claudette.”

      “Who’s Russell?” Doc asked from where he held down the corner of Ray’s desk.

      Harvey’s two gold teeth gleamed. “Russell, the one-eyed love muscle.”

      Doc laughed outright this time.

      I squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to keep on task in spite of my mind’s desire to join in the puns and fun. “My point is, Claudette was a bit distracted when she made this accusation.”

      “And busy. She’s a handy girl.”

      “Really?” Doc said. “She sounds a little
mouthy
to me.”

      I grinned at Doc, who winked back at me and waited for Harvey to stop wheezing before he continued. “She was distracted, and yet you believe her?”

      “Yep.”

      “Why?”

      “Because the night before Wanda smashed in her old man’s skull, Old Man Carhart had asked Claudette to go to Florida with him.”

      That made me blink. “On vacation or to move there?”

      “I doubt it was to get their picture taken with Mickey Mouse.” Harvey leaned back. “According to Claudette, Carhart said something like, ‘I’m gonna take that dipshit’s money and we’re going to leave these hills for good.’ One day later, Carhart was dead.”

      Doc crossed his arms over his chest. “What makes you think Carhart was referring to Wanda?”

      “Wanda has a nest egg that only one other person besides Claudette knew about, and now he’s pushing up posies.”

      “She does?” And here I’d figured Wanda had needed to sell the house for financial reasons.

      “Turns out some old maid aunt of hers died last fall and left Wanda everything. Claudette doesn’t know how much ‘everything’ adds up to, but Carhart seemed to think it was enough to pay for a nice retirement in Florida—for two.”

      Claudette’s story sounded hackneyed to me. I needed a second opinion from someone who hadn’t been dipping his toes—and then some—into the witness pool. “Doc, do you believe Claudette’s story?”

      He rubbed his neck. “I’m not sure. I haven’t met either woman. I only know what the newspapers said, which included nothing about an inheritance and adultery. Do you believe her?”

      “I don’t know.” My gut still sided with Wanda’s innocence, but my brain toed the line.

      Harvey snorted. “Well, while you two hem and haw, I’m gonna keep an eye on Wanda.”

      “So, Claudette—and now you—think Wanda found out and snapped?”

      “Yep. After puttin’ up with all of his steppin’ out and abuse over the years, Wanda probably didn’t need much of a nudge. A rolling pin would’ve just about evened the score for her.”

      “But Wanda’s a church mouse.”

      “Little critters bite, too.”

      Maybe so, but they didn’t bash skulls. “Do you think Cooper knows about this?”

      “I’m guessin’ so,” Harvey said. “Coop’s no bumblin’ gumshoe.”

      I tossed the hot potato back to Doc. “But didn’t the paper say the police had confirmed Junior was the killer?”

      “Yes. But, knowing Detective Cooper’s tenacity, I’m betting there’s an unspoken ‘for now’ hiding between the lines.” Doc shot a frown toward the back door, sniffing and then stiffening.

      I peeked down the back hall and sniffed, too, seeing nothing and nobody, smelling old varnish and a hint of Ray’s cologne. Same old story, so I returned to the here and now. “What do you mean an unspoken ‘for now’?”

      “You know what double jeopardy is, right?”

      “Sure. You can’t be tried for the same crime twice.”

      “Exactly,” Doc said. “So if the cops didn’t have enough evidence to nail Wanda, they might not have wanted to risk a trial yet.”

      I focused back on Harvey. “So even though Cooper told us the case is closed, it might not be. He could’ve been leading me astray on purpose.”

      “Yep. Coop may be lousy at holdin’ his liquor, but the boy can hogtie his tongue tighter than a road-foundered calf-roper.”

      I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment, not sure what the hell Harvey meant. “So, what do we do now?”

      Doc sniffed, his skin pale, his grimace now aimed in the general direction of the coffee pot. “We could walk away and let the police handle this.”

      “Yeah, we could,” I agreed. “But that probably isn’t going to happen.”

      “I don’t like it when you nose into trouble, Violet.” Doc rubbed his thighs, squeezing, his knuckles white, his gaze still locked on the back of the room.

      At the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing, I reached for his shoulder. “You okay?” Twice now, he’d keeled over on me just after he’d gone all pale and sweaty like this. I didn’t relish cushioning his fall again.

      “I’m fine.” His dark eyes shifted back to me, but his forehead stayed creased. “Why can’t you just walk away from this Carhart mess? And don’t tell me it’s about the sale. ”

      “Something weird is going on over there, but I can’t put my finger on it—yet. I’m worried about Wanda.”

      “She could be the killer,” Doc said.

      My gut still disagreed with that. “Or she could be the next victim.”

      “So could you, and that’s a problem for me.”

      The intensity in Doc’s stare made my determination to find the truth waver. Maybe I should just focus on selling the damned house, leave well enough alone, and let the police do their job—if they were still planning to.

      I looked at Harvey, who was leaning way back in my chair, watching the two of us with raised brows. Digging into the Carhart mystery was not only dangerous for me, but for Harvey, too. The snooping around I’d asked him to do could piss off the wrong person—someone with their own version of Bessie the shotgun, for example.

      But there was that kiss.

      “When I was at the Carhart house at lunch today,” I told them both, “I saw Lila and Millie kissing.”

      “What!” Harvey almost tipped over backward, catching himself before he tumbled out of the chair ass over belly. Righting himself, he leaned forward, bug-eyed. “Tell me more.”

      “There was tongue.” I glanced at Doc, who seemed to have a little more color in his cheeks now. “And groping.”

      “Well, we’re sure shittin’ in high cotton now. I ain’t seen girl-on-girl action since last year’s biker rally.”

      “Oh, please,” I said. “What do you call the bikini mud wrestling bouts you frequent over at the Prairie Dog Palace?”

      “A beautiful work of fiction. This is the real deal.” Harvey stroked his beard. “You know, Doc is right. You might land in some hot water over at the Carharts’. You shouldn’t be going over there alone, anymore.”

      “Let me guess, you’re going to volunteer to be my bodyguard again.”

      “It’s my civic duty.”

      Where had I heard that before—oh, yeah, from my own lips. I was about to pooh-pooh his offer when an idea hit me. “Maybe you should pay Wanda a visit on your own. Work your charm on her.”

      Harvey recoiled back into my chair. “No way, darlin’. I draw the line after Claudette. Wanda’s a sweetheart, but I like my women curvy, not doughy.”

      “I’m not asking you to have sex with her, just talk to her. She’s scared to death of me, but you two go way back. She may open up to you.”

      “And what? Confess?”

      “No. Tell you about her home’s previous owners. I have a list of their names, but I need more details.”

      “What’s that have to do with her killin’ her husband?”

      “Probably nothing.”

      “Then why waste time on it?”

      “Because I need the information to sell Wanda’s house.”

      “What’s in it for me?” Harvey asked.

      “My loyal friendship.”

      He grunted at my sarcasm.

      “An extra free lunch,” I added.

      “Okay, I’ll give her a whirl. But I’m keeping my pants on this time.”

      “Thank God for that.”

      The front door opened and Layne hesitated just inside the threshold, a rock hammer in his hand, his eyes bouncing back and forth between Doc and me. “What’s going on?”

      I waved him over and he handed the hammer to me. “We’re just wondering what might be in this box. Now that you’re here, we’ll find out.”

      “What’s the big deal with this box, anyway?” Harvey lifted it, turning it over, shaking it.

      I grabbed it from him and set it back down on my desk, keyhole up. “It was in the Carharts’ attic.”

      “But how did
you
wind up with it?” Doc asked, his skin normal and olive-tinted again.

      I skirted the attic-tromping details. “I told Millie I have some interested clients who want more information on the previous owners before they’ll officially place an offer on the house.” At Doc’s cocked head, I added, “It’s the truth. I have the messages from Zelda on my cell if you want to listen to them.”

      Raising the hammer, I said, “Here goes nothing,” but Harvey stopped me mid-swing.

      “Girl, you either need a bigger hammer or a smarter locksmith. Now give me that box.” He pulled a screwdriver from his back pocket.

      I frowned at it. “Were you sitting on that this whole time?”

      “Naw, it was off to the side.”

      “So, you just carry a screwdriver around with you at all times?”

      “Sure. A man never knows when he’ll need to do some screwin’. Ain’t that right, Doc?”

      I pointed the rock hammer at Doc, who grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t answer that.”

      Layne dropped into my chair, taking Harvey’s place. “You mean like screwing around, Harvey?”

      “I mean like—”

      “Keep it PG, old man,” I warned.

      “Uh, sure, kid. That’s one way of putting it.” Still snickering, Harvey jammed the flat end of the screwdriver into the crack where the lid connected with the bottom, grabbed the hammer from me, and with one hit broke the box open. The lid fell open and two cufflinks spilled out onto my desk. The rest of the treasure trove stayed put in the storage box.

      He handed the hammer back to me. “It’s a good thing you have me around.”

      “The jury is still out on that,” I said with a smirk.

      “Look, Mom! One of those Chinese puzzle boxes.” Layne plucked out a funky wooden box with loose-looking blocks on two of the ends. There was nothing written on it, nothing painted, no design work. “This is like what Uncle Quint used to bring me.”

      “Who’s Uncle Quint?” Harvey asked.

      “My older brother.”

      “I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he down in Rapid?”

      “No. He’s gone on location. He’s a photojournalist.” I glanced at Layne. “Careful, kiddo, that’s old.”

      Flipping the storage box upright, I picked up a yellowed, lace-edged handkerchief from the top of my desk. Who had left such finery behind? This kind of handiwork was usually passed down through generations.

      Harvey reached in the box and withdrew a palm-sized wooden horse. He turned it, rubbing his thumb over it. “This is hand-carved. Someone knew their way around a knife.”

      Something touched my hair. I looked over my shoulder. Doc held up a piece of cobweb. “You need to stop playing around in attics, Nancy Drew.”

      He let the web fall in my trash, then slid his palm down my back as he lifted an oval locket out of the box with his other hand. Again, a master at multi-tasking. He needed to give me lessons—private, of course. Clothing optional.

      His fingers drifted even lower, brushing over the curve of my hip before he stepped back and broke contact. Such teasing was going to be the undressing of me.

      Blowing out a breath of pent-up frustration, I collected the pair of cuff links that had scattered on my desktop when the lid came loose. They were pearl with a gold inlaid
B
.

      “What do you guys think?” I asked my fellow treasure hunters. “Millie told me this box was there when they moved in.”

      Doc handed me the opened locket. “I think the horse and cuff links might have belonged to these two.”

      Each side of the locket held a black and white picture—one of a dark-haired man with a long, curly-ended moustache; the other of a young blond boy, probably about Layne’s age, with a bowtie at his neck.

      Did the handkerchief and locket belong to the wife and mother? I handed the locket to Harvey. “Are these two familiar to you at all?”

      “Dammit, girl! I may be old, but I’m not ancient.”

      “Just look and tell me if you recognize one of their descendants in their features.”

      He took the locket and peered down at the pictures, closing one eye, then the other. “Nope. They look like the same people in all the other old pictures hanging on the walls of the buildings and casinos around here.”

      “Got it!” Layne cried from the chair behind me. “Mom, I figured it out.”

      I spun around, bending close as he opened a slat door and pulled out an open-topped drawer from within the puzzle box.

      “Holy cow.” Layne whispered.

      I took the drawer from him. “What in the hell—I mean ‘heck’?”

      Harvey lowered the locket. “Come on. Show and tell.”

      “What is it?” Doc touched my shoulder.

      “Canine teeth.” Layne beat me to the punch.

      Sharp ones, at that. Turning, I held out the drawer in front of me like an offering. “A box full of dog teeth?”

      “No, Mom.
Human
canine teeth.” 

      * * *

      Layne counted 187 sharpened canine teeth, which equaled out to one tooth shy of forty-seven mouths. Who would be storing all of those teeth in a Chinese puzzle box, and why? And how did they get them all?

      None of us could come up with a logical, sensible reason for collecting that many teeth. My suggestion of an over-achieving tooth fairy won a trio of groans. So much for trying to make light of a squirmy situation.