Optical Delusions in Deadwood (20 page)

      After Layne put the puzzle box back together with the teeth trapped inside again, Doc excused himself, claiming another so-called appointment. I had a feeling his need to escape had more to do with the return of his pale skin, sweat-glistened brow, and glances toward the back door.

      Before hightailing it out the front, he requested my list of the previous Carhart home owners, offering to do some research at the library to see what he could find out. I amended the list to include the Latin title of that creepy book I’d found under the bed in the Carharts’ upstairs bedroom. He raised his brows at my fib about how I stumbled across the book, but didn’t push for the truth. Promising to give me a call later, he left. I wasn’t holding my breath for delivery on said promise.

      Harvey headed home to take care of some chores and check his traps—the illegal ones. Cooper had told him he could no longer use them, but Harvey intended to plead hard-of-hearing if he got caught. His parting comment about finding a pair of gutted porcupines back in his family’s old cemetery changed my squirminess to queasiness. After hearing that little tidbit, I decided that if he wanted to bend the law about those traps, I wasn’t going to give him any argument.

      I sent Layne home with the rock hammer and the box from the attic with instructions not to touch anything in it until I got home. Then I settled into my chair and let out a big groan. My mind was a whirligig, spinning out of control. I needed to find solid ground and plant my feet. But where and how? And what came next?

      Grabbing my cell phone, I punched in Natalie’s number and waited for her to pick up.

      “Nat’s taxidermy shop. You snuff ‘em, we stuff ‘em,” Natalie answered with a typical smartass greeting.

      “Hey, Nat. I need your help.”

      “Does it involve a man?”

      I thought of Junior Carhart, all ripe and buggy in his grave. “Sort of.”

      “Then I’m in. What kind of trouble are we getting into now?”

      She knew me too well. “I need you to meet me at Mudder Brothers this evening.”

      “I thought you said it involves a man.”

      “You didn’t clarify that he had to be breathing.”

      “From here on out, it’s an implied qualification.”

      I smiled. “Duly noted.”

      “So whose funeral this time?”

      “Junior Carhart’s.”

      “You’re about six months too late. There’s no way I’m going up front with you to view the body.”

      “I need you to ask George Mudder if Junior had a tattoo.”

      “Why don’t you just ask Wanda or Millie Carhart?”

      “Two words: Lila Beaumont.” My upper lip curled just saying her name.

      “Who’s that?”

      “Junior’s fiancée.”

      “Ah, the infamous fiancée. You afraid of spurring more waterworks?”

     
Not quite.
“Something like that. And while we’re there, we might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

      “Are we ordering matching caskets?”

      “No. Your taste is too expensive for me. I want to take a peek in that storage room. The one behind those one-way glass windows.”

      “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that room.”

      “Nope. My body may be going to hell in a handbasket, but my mind is still holding on. According to the paper, Eloise Tarkin’s viewing is tonight. Did you know her?”

      “Contrary to what you think, Vi, I don’t know everyone in town.”

      “Oh, right.”
Bullshit.
“So, how did you know Eloise?’

      Natalie chuckled. “Her husband used to deliver our mail when I was a kid.”

      “Perfect.” I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll see you at Mudder Brothers at seven.”

      “What if I said I have a date tonight?”

      I’d have heard about it three times over by now if she did, especially if it involved another attempt to land Doc. “I’d say you should go jump in Robaix Lake because your pants are on fire.”

      “Fine, but you owe me. I hate funerals.”

      “Put it on my tab.”

      After I hung up, I picked up Mona’s note with the number for Douglas Mann, the Big-Shot city councilman from Lead. Ray clomped in through the back door as I punched in the number, his cologne triple-coating his skin and making my eyes water. He greeted me with his usual scorn-filled sneer. I returned with my customary middle-finger warm-and-fuzzy.

      After five rings, Douglas’ voicemail picked up. At the tone, I said, “Hi, I’m calling for Douglas Mann. This is Violet Parker from Calamity Jane Realty, and I received a message that you wanted to talk to me.”

      I glanced at Ray just to keep an eye on the snake and felt all sunshine-and-lollipops inside at the sight of his narrowed glare and scrunched forehead. I gave him a little wiggly-finger wave as I spoke my cell phone number into the receiver. “Feel free to call me back at your convenience.”

      “What on earth would Doug want to talk to you about?” Ray asked after I disconnected the call.

      “Well, being that I’m a Realtor—”

      Ray scoffed. “One sale makes you a lucky amateur, not a professional.”

      “—he probably wants to talk to me about a property to buy or sell.”

      “No. It’s your tits.”

      “What? No.” His comment caught me with my pants down. When had we descended to the next level of crassness? And why?

      “You’re new in town, Blondie. You don’t know Doug. His wife carries his balls in her purse, but Douggie Junior roams the countryside, searching for willing girls with welcoming arms and open legs.”

      “He doesn’t even know me.” At least I didn’t remember meeting him.

      “He called. That means he at least knows of you. And he probably knows all about your situation.”

      “My situation? You mean that I’m single?”

      “I mean female, blonde, and desperate—Doug’s favorite perfume. On top of it, you have small tits. Doug likes small—”

      “I’m not small.” I picked up my stapler, intending to pound that fact home.

      His gaze slid down to my chest. “You’re what? Maybe a B-cup with a wad of toilet paper stuffed around the edges?”

      Try C—including a smidgeon of padding, but that was my secret. “That’s something you’ll
never
know.”

      I was done discussing breast size with this over-tanned, sexist Neanderthal. I was done sharing an office with him for the afternoon as well. “Don’t you have any appointments this afternoon you need to slither off to?”

      He leaned back in his chair, resting his Tony Lamas on his desktop. “Nope. It’s just you and me, babe.”

      I grabbed my purse and shoved my phone into it. “No, it’s just you.”

      “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “I have an appointment,” I lied, hoisting my tote onto my shoulder. “Oh, and when Douglas calls me back, I’ll be sure to let him know how kindly you spoke of him. What was the name you called his penis? Douggie Junior, right?”

      “Don’t even think about it, Blondie!” Ray bellowed at my back as I sashayed out the back door, whistling.

      Layne must have shown his sister the box of teeth in spite of my instructions not to, because when I pulled into the drive, Addy greeted me at my Bronco’s door. On the trip up the front walk, she informed me of her expert status on dental matters after having brushed many animal teeth in her “long” life. I decided not to ask her how many of those times she’d used my toothbrush without telling me. Her ruling on the teeth coincided with Layne’s—they were definitely human.

      “You didn’t touch them, did you?”

      “Ummm, why?”

      That didn’t bode well. “You don’t know where those teeth have been, Addelyn.”

      “Layne said you told him they’d been in an attic for a long time.”

      Of course she’d take me literally. “I meant before that.”

      “Mother, you’re overreacting. Just relax.”

      Rather than sentence my daughter to her bedroom for eternity, I searched for my Zen. “Where’s Aunt Zoe?”

      Addy shrugged, popped her pink bubble gum, and then skipped off toward the living room where the television blared. 

      I found Aunt Zoe in her workshop. Handing her the locket, I asked if she recognized the man or the boy, or saw any kind of resemblance to a potential modern-day relative. But like Harvey, she didn’t have a clue about either one’s identity.

      Another dead end. Lovely.

      I spent the rest of the afternoon sorting teeth with Addy and Layne—all of us wearing gloves this time—and speculating to myself about the teeth’s origin and purpose, still baffled. The pointy canines reminded me of another enigma in my life, also one with whom I needed to wear gloves when handling: Lila.

      Douglas Mann hadn’t called me back by suppertime. I checked my messages, just to be sure, but came up empty. After Ray’s not-so-glowing raves about Douglas, I contemplated turning my phone off. But there was always the chance that Doc would call, dying with some animalistic need for me, craving my touch.

      Yeah, right. Oh, look, there’s a flying pig.

      Chuckling at my own sarcasm, I silenced the ringer instead, putting it on vibrate mode.

      Over a crispy, peppery chicken-fried steak, I asked Aunt Zoe, “Do you mind watching the kids for an hour this evening while I attend Eloise Tarkin’s viewing with Natalie?” Asking was more of a formality. Aunt Zoe’s gallery was closed on Mondays. On top of that, she and the kids loved to catch some National Geographic show on Monday nights, watching to see if my brother’s name showed up in the credits, which it did sometimes.

      “Sure. Eloise’s husband used to deliver mail out Natalie’s way, didn’t he?”

      “Yeah.” I mentally shook my head at how small Deadwood could be and chewed on my last savory bite.

      “Don’t hurry home.” She sipped on her glass of homemade lemonade. “The kids and I have a date with some snakes tonight.”

      What a coincidence. I’d discussed bra cup sizes with a snake this afternoon.

      “You and Natalie should enjoy a girls’ night out.”

      “Aunt Zoe, it’s a viewing.”

      “Well, don’t feel like you have to rush home. The kids and I will be just fine on our own.”

      “If I ever win the lotto, I’m splitting it with you even-steven.” I dropped a kiss on her head and then raced up the stairs to don my black. 

      At five minutes after seven, I parked my Bronco on the street in front of Mudder Brothers. Apparently, Eloise Tarkin was a popular lady because there were no spots free in the parking lot. After one last check in the rearview mirror to refresh my lipstick and tuck in hairs that had escaped from my French knot, I climbed out into the early evening air.

      Even though the sun was heading out for the night, leaving behind long shadows, warm waves of air still rose from the pavement, heating my ankles and calves. The rumble of motorcycles drowned out the usual summer early evening sounds of humming lawnmowers and laughing children. The smell of exhaust mingled with pine trees, cut grass, and baked asphalt. I crossed the parking lot, Mudder Brothers open front doors beckoning.

      Natalie’s pickup was nowhere to be seen, so when she called my name, for a moment I thought I imagined it.

      “Violet! Over here.”

      Natalie sat on one of the little bench seats next to an ashtray-trash can combination on the far right side of the porch. The acrid smell of burning tobacco brought me to an abrupt stop several feet from her. “Are you smoking?”

      She nodded, picking up the cigarette and drawing on it.

      “Why?” Natalie had quit smoking three years ago after a decade-long battle. As I stared at her, her eyes filled with tears. I dropped down next to her on the bench, my gut clenching in anxiety. “What’s wrong, Nat?”

      She blew her lungful of smoke away from me and swiped at her eyes. “It’s nothing, really. It’s silly. I feel stupid.”

      “What?”

      “I mean, we never even had anything real.”

      “Tell me.”

      “I’ve come to realize it was all in my imagination.”

      “Natalie, you’re killing me. What?”

      She leaned her head on my shoulder and sniffed. “It’s Doc.”

      The chicken-fried steak Aunt Zoe made for dinner threatened to revisit my back molars. “What about him?”

      “He’s not in love with me.”

      “You’re not making sense.” Had Doc talked to her about us?

      “I saw him tonight.”

      “And?”

      She sighed. “I parked over next to his office, thinking I’d drop in on him and say hi if he was working late.”

      Hands clenched, I hung on her every word.

      “He was working late, but he wasn’t alone.”

     
Come again?
“Who was he with?” I tried to sound like a concerned friend instead of a jealousy-crazed lover. “And where?” In his back room?

      “I don’t know who she is, but she has gorgeous red hair and a tight little ass, nothing even close to my Amazonian body.” Natalie puffed on her cigarette again.

      Oh, God, not Tiffany, Doc’s flame-haired ex-Realtor and ex-bedmate. Please not Tiffany. “Did you actually catch them kissing?” I swallowed bitter bile. “Or doing something else?”

      Another long breath of smoke billowed from her lungs. “They were standing next to her car, hugging good-bye.”

      “Well, that could mean something completely platonic.” I said, trying to convince the both of us. I hugged my arms to my chest to ease the ache growing there.

      “Then I overheard her say how glad she was that they were back together—and they kissed.”

      “That son of a bitch!”

     
Chapter Twelve

      There was a trick to comforting my best friend after her heart had been broken by my lover when she caught him kissing his ex-lover.

      Unfortunately, I wasn’t capable of performing that trick. I was a little busy keeping my own beating organ in one piece at hearing about my soon-to-be ex-lover’s wandering lips.