Nearly Departed in Deadwood (31 page)

      He tugged lightly on one of the curls that had escaped my French knot. “I like curls.”

      “Thanks,” I said when I extracted my tongue from my throat.

      “Let’s go check out the shed.” He towed me back out into the hall.

      I played anchor, dragging him to a stop in front of the recliner. “Wait! We haven’t checked out Jeff and Donna’s room.”

      “There’s nothing in here.”

      “What? How do you know?”

      “Because I ...” he stopped, glanced out the window overlooking the backyard, and frowned. “Just trust me, I know.”

      “But Harvey found a collage of missing girl pictures in Jeff’s bedroom.”

      “What was he doing in Jeff’s bedroom?”

      “Don’t ask.”

      “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that smells fishy in this house is the carpet.” He looked at the recliner. “And probably that chair.”

      It was my turn to nail him with a stare. “What aren’t you telling me?”

      “Things you don’t want to hear.” He pulled me toward the door. “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

      My teeth gritted, I locked the door on the way out and allowed him to lead me around back to the shed. While I didn’t like being brushed off yet again, I liked the feel of Doc’s warm palm pressing against my skin. I wanted him to touch elsewhere, too, damn it.

      The shed was unlocked, shadow-filled, crammed with more crap, and stunk like grease and dirt. Again, an extension of Jeff.

      “Well?” I asked Doc. He’d been sniffing out the corners, picking up and putting down tools, car parts, plumbing accessories, and old calendars covered with bikini-clad babes and chromed-out Harleys. “Is there anything in here?”

      He shook his head. “Are you still thinking Jeff might have killed those missing girls?”

      I didn’t remember ever voicing that suspicion to Doc. It also must have leaked out of Harvey’s big mouth. “Maybe.”

      “Well, if he did, he didn’t do it here.”

      “What are you? Clairvoyant?”

      “No.”

      “Then how can you know that?”

      He stared at me, his forehead crinkled. “I can ...” he looked away, brushing his hands together. “I can just tell.”

      “Do you work for the police? Are you some kind of undercover detective?”

      “No, and I’d prefer we kept this to ourselves.”

      “Why are you helping me? Why are you here? Did you know one of the girls?”

      “I want these kidnappings to stop, just like you.”

      I sighed, wanting to hurl a car part at him. I’d have better luck scratching my way through a cement wall than getting a straight answer out of Doc.

      We strolled back out front toward my Bronco and his Camaro in the lengthening shadows of the surrounding hills. I remembered he was a client and Jeff’s messy abode was about to become another yoke for me to bear. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in placing an offer.”

      Doc chuckled. “No. You have your work cut out for you on this one.”

      Ha! I should drag him around Wolfgang’s place.

      “I’m sorry you had to cancel your dinner date.”

      He shrugged. “Business can wait.”

      “Did Harvey tell you about the ear?”

      “Yes.”

      “What in the hell is going on out there?”

      “I don’t know. Maybe the police can figure it out.” We’d reached my Bronco door. “You want to go get something to eat?”

     
Yes!
“I can’t. Layne’s expecting spaghetti. You could join us.”

      He seemed to think about it, then frowned. “Maybe I should just go play some pool.”

      “Right.” I opened my door and climbed inside, disappointment burning in my chest. “Because I’m your Realtor.”

      “Exactly.” He shut my door. “See you tomorrow, Violet.” With a wave, he was gone.

     
Chapter Twenty

     
Friday, July 20th

      Blurry-eyed, my hair tucked up with a clip, I stumbled into Calamity Jane’s the next morning and hit the coffee pot first thing. I needed caffeine to clear the fog clouding my brain.

      Last evening’s fun and games with Doc at the Wymonds’ place had stayed in my thoughts long after I’d climbed between my sheets, and the resulting frustrations had triggered another bout of insomnia. I’d laid there, staring up at my shadow-cloaked ceiling, replaying the tour through Jeff’s house, wondering what Doc was hiding from me. The fact that he’d come racing to my rescue at Jeff’s house hadn’t escaped me, but dwelling on that only upset me more.

      I’d tossed and turned, wishing I could stop thinking about Doc so much, fretting about growing old alone. Would I end up like Harvey some day—ornery, horny, and full of blusters and rants? Why couldn’t Doc offer more than just flirting glances and touches? Why couldn’t Wolfgang’s charm and good looks be enough?

      Then there was the whole ear situation out at Harvey’s. That alone ate up another hour full of questions, anxiety, and dumbfoundedness.

      I’d heard the downstairs clock strike three before finally drifting off to sleep.

      I headed for my desk, coffee in hand, noticing that Mona and her laptop were both missing in action. Jane was gone, too, thank God. I had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate me being two hours late with nothing more to show for it than shadows under my eyes and furry teeth. It was just my luck that Aunt Zoe had packed up all three kids at the butt-crack of dawn and gone fishing at Lake Pactola. Without any children or chickens to wake me, I’d overslept and woke panic-filled and scrambling for clothes.

      Ray was talking on the phone with his feet propped on his desk. His Stetson cologne burned the back of my throat. His voice droned into the background as I turned on my computer, pulled up the newest MLS listing for all of the Black Hills area, and started scrolling through houses and properties.

      While I slurped down my sugar-filled, lukewarm, giddy-up-and-go juice, I tried my damnedest to keep my focus on saving my job. However, my brain had other ideas, and before I knew it, I found myself searching for any tidbits on Eddie and George Mudder, the owners of the Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor.

      “Blondie, you’re late.” Ray’s voice ripped me from an article about George Mudder’s very public, very messy divorce from the great-granddaughter of one of Deadwood’s early pioneers.

      “I had an appointment,” I lied, avoiding Ray’s stare.

      He snorted. “In whose bed?”

      Why did everyone around here think I was some kind of call girl? I glared him down. “Do you look in the mirror every morning and practice being a gigantic asshole, or does it just come naturally for you?”

      “Whoa there, Medusa. You’re the one wearing the tell-tale sleep lines.”

      “Oh.” I covered my cheeks, which warmed with guilt.

      “So pop a Midol and pay attention,” Ray laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles, “while I show you what a successful Realtor at work looks like.”

      I wanted to bash in his pearly whites with my coffee cup. Instead, I hit him with a question that had been replaying in my head for days. “Why are all of those Missing Girl posters in your back seat, Ray?”

      His smirk slipped.

      Why stop there? “What was in the crate you hauled out of Mudder Brothers yesterday?”

      Dark red spots mottled his face.

      “And what’s with all of your extracurricular activities at the Rec Center lately?” I had no evidence to support that last one, but I was a good bluffer.

      Nostrils flared, Ray leaned toward me, his hands fisted. “You should really mind your own business.”

      I picked up my stapler, just in case he lunged. “Minding yours is so much more fun.”

      The slam of the back door made us both turn. Mona’s smile faltered as her gaze bounced between us. “What’s going on?”

      My cell phone rang, saving me from having to answer her. I turned my back to Ray as I flipped open my phone. “Hello?”

      “Hey, girlfriend,” Natalie said. “You have a minute?”

      “Sure, hold on.” Avoiding two pairs of eyes, I slipped out the back door into the sizzling sunshine. I weaved through the parking lot, my skirt swirling and swishing, my boots clomping on the asphalt as I headed toward the shade of several large ponderosa pines. “What’s up?”

      “I can’t watch the kids Saturday night.”

     
Saturday night?
What was going on Saturday night? Damn, I needed to start injecting ginkgo biloba straight into my veins. Oh, that’s right—my date with Wolfgang. “Crud.”

      “I’m really sorry, Vi, but I made plans for that night before remembering that I’d told you I’d babysit.” Her tone overflowed with apology.

      “That’s okay. I’m the ditz who forgot that you and I had made girls’ night plans and dumped you for Wolfgang.” Some great friend I was.

      Natalie continued. “I’d call and reschedule ...”

      Maybe I could get Harvey to hang out with the kids. It’s not like he had to change diapers or anything.

      “But I really want to have dinner with Doc.”

      “Doc?” The sound of his name brought me to an abrupt stop next to a yellow VW bug.

      “Yeah, Doc Nyce. He had to cancel last night. Something about a friend needing his help at the last minute.”

      “Oh, really?” Hmpff!
Friend
, huh? For the record, I certainly hadn’t needed Doc’s help. I kicked the VW’s front tire.

      “To make up for cancelling,” Natalie said, oblivious to the fact that I was looking for something to break, punch, or throw, “he said he has a special gift to give me Saturday night.”

     
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask
. “What is it?” The jealous troll in my stomach asked.

      “He wouldn’t say. He wants it to be a surprise.”

      I swallowed a groan.

      Natalie giggled. “I can’t wait.”

      “I bet.”

      “I think he’s the one, Violet.”

     
No!
Falling back against the bug, I hugged my stomach with my free arm.

      “The one who will help you finally get over Mr. Clean?” I misunderstood on purpose, not wanting her to mean what I was 99.9 percent sure she meant.

      “No, silly. The
one
one.”

      The last time Natalie had found
the one
, it had taken her two years to fall out of love with the jackass, in spite of his blatant on-and-off-again affair with a barmaid out of Custer.

      “Oh, that one.” I bent over, practically kissing the white parking line, waiting for my light-headed feeling to pass.

      “Yeah, that one.” Natalie giggled again. The sound of it made me cringe.

      “Aren’t you jumping the gun a little here, Nat?” Breathe, breathe, breathe. “You’re supposed to be on sabbatical. You barely know the guy.”

      Neither did I, but so what. Doc was mine. We’d flirted, laughed, talked about sex, scoped out a possible suspect’s house together. Hell, we were practically dating.

      “I know enough. He’s kind, giving to his friends, drop-dead sexy, and runs his own business. I’d bet my lucky G-string that he is a god in bed. How could he not be with that body? Right?”

      “Right.” No argument there. After all the time I’d put in fantasizing about Doc’s body, just the sight of his naked bits and pieces would glaze my pastry.

      “Plus, I got this vibe from him when I was at his office.”

      I knew about the vibe, too. Doc was a regular electrical substation.

      She sighed in that Scarlett O’Hara, dreaming-about-Rhett way. “I can’t explain it exactly. I just know he’s the one.”

      “So, you’re staking a claim?” My aching gut already knew the answer.

      “Definitely. Consider him staked.”

     
Fuck!
Much more of this conversation and my ears would start bleeding. “That’s great, Natalie. Listen, I have to go. Mona needs me.”

      “Sure. Oh, one more thing. Your blind date is back in town.”

      “What blind date?” The ache in my gut seemed to be scrambling my memory.

      “You know, the Trekkie. I gave him your number yesterday. He said he’d get a hold of you soon.”

      “I can’t wait.” My tone said otherwise.

      “Don’t be that way, Vi. You’re going to love him. If it makes you feel better, Doc and I could double with you two on your first date.”

      Oh, Jesus! What sweet torture that would be. “I gotta go.”

      “Call me later.”

      No. I couldn’t. I needed a break from her Doc-filled sonnets. “Will do. Bye.”

      I snapped my phone closed and hurled it into the stand of pine trees. Then I remembered that Jane had given me that phone my first day on the job. “Hells bells!”

      I chased after it.

      * * *

      When I pushed open Calamity Jane’s back door at noon, Doc was leaning against the trunk of his Camaro, waiting for me, wearing the same khakis and white button-up shirt he’d had on last night. He still looked positively scrumptious, and I still couldn’t do anything about it. Clamping my teeth together to keep my tongue from panting, I paused to slide my sunglasses on and shield my peepers from his prying gaze. The man saw way too much for my own good.

      “I love those boots,” he said as I approached.

      “Thanks.” I pretended to fish for something in my purse to avoid his eyes. “You ready?”

      “Sure.”

      He led the way to the passenger side and held open the door for me—damn him. The aromatic mix of leather and cologne filled my lungs as the door shut behind me, spurring a rash of goosebumps up and down my arms.

      Frickin’ frack! What was wrong with me? I was acting like a backseat virgin. Doc was just a client, and I was just a single mom who couldn’t stop drooling over tasty man flesh. I needed to focus on Wolfgang and rekindle my lust for his golden locks.

      Doc crawled behind the wheel. “Are you cold?”