Optical Delusions in Deadwood (41 page)

      “I never said that.”

      Millie sniffed, her watery gaze focused on Lila, and whispered, “You said you loved me.”

      Lila either didn’t hear Millie or ignored her. “You said we’d go away together,” she whined to Douglas.

      Millie spoke up, pain lining her face. “
You
said we’d go to Mexico.”

      “Oh, shut up, Millie,” Lila said.

      Douglas grabbed Lila by the shoulders. “Listen, we’ll straighten this out later. Right now, we need to blow out all these candles and cover this pentagram.” He kicked at the chalk line, blurring it. “The cops could be here any minute.”

      Lila’s chin jutted. “Are you going to leave your wife for me or not?”

      “I said we’ll talk about this later.”

      “I want an answer now.”

      A muscle throbbed in Douglas’ jaw. He drew Lila closer.

      “Douggie, you’re hurting my shoulders,” she whined.

      “If you don’t do as I say, I’m going to do more than that. I’m not losing all I’ve worked for because of your fucking temper tantrum.”

      What had he been working for? I threw fuel on the fire with the hope of finding out more. “Douglas, why don’t you just tell the poor girl about our plans to elope?”

      “Violet—” Douglas started.

      “You bastard!” Lila slapped him.

      I was glad to see someone else on the receiving end of the slap-happy fairy. My cheek still stung from her last visit.

      Douglas wasn’t so giddy about it. He grabbed Lila’s hand and squeezed, forcing her down onto her knees.

      Whimpers rolled off her red lips.

      “I told you never to do that again,” Douglas said, a growl in his voice.

      “Let her go!” Millie cried, rising.

      “Now,” he said to Lila, “are you going to do as I say?”

      “Douglas doesn’t love you, Lila,” I said, boredom in my tone, as if I were inspecting my nail polish. I wasn’t done fanning the flames yet. “He never will.”

      “Violet!” Douglas’ angry bellow made Millie and me both jump. “Shut your fucking mouth.” His voice had a razor sharp tone that made the hairs on my neck stand on end. “Or I’ll shut it for good.”

      “Douggie.” A tear slipped down Lila’s face. “Please stop. You’re really hurting me.”

      Millie took a step toward the pair, her hand rigid at her side, a serrated knife half-hidden in the folds of her skirt. She was a jack-in-the-box, almost ready to spring.

      In spite of Douglas’ threat, I fanned harder. I had no choice. I wasn’t ready to free-fall down any mine shafts today. If I could just crank Millie’s handle a little further … “Douglas, you and I both know Lila is too loose-lipped to pull this off. Her burning my Bronco was just the start. Next, she’ll go after your wife. Then cops will rain down on you like a prairie cloudburst and all you were working toward will be lost. You need to get rid of Lila now, before all hell breaks loose.”

      “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Douglas said, still holding Lila down.

      “Don’t I? I’ve been attacked by her multiple times now, and you and I are just getting rolling.” Rolling toward the end, I hoped, and not an end involving me tumbling headfirst down a mine shaft. “Your wife won’t put up with what I have from Lila. She’ll kick you to the curb in a heartbeat. I’m sure there are plenty of other suitors waiting in the wings for a chance to dip into her bank account. You’ll lose your status, your financial backing, everything—all because of Lila’s inability to control her jealousy.”

      Movement out of the corner of my eyes drew my gaze. Wanda no longer cowered in the corner. She stood with her back pressed against the wall, her mouse eyes darting, but no longer wide and crazed with fear. I reached behind my back, holding my open palm out toward her. I needed a weapon, any weapon, and Wanda was within reach of a few—if I could just keep everyone else distracted. When Wanda’s focus landed on me, I tilted my head toward my open palm.

      She nodded ever so slightly. 

      “I can help you, Douglas,” I continued, sweat trickling down my back. Help him with what, I didn’t know. “We don’t need Lila.”

      “She has a point,” Douglas said to Lila.

      Tears ran down Lila’s face. “But you love me.”

      “No. I don’t.” He bent Lila’s wrist back, making her contort and cry out. “You’ve been sloppy. Because of your adolescent jealousy over Violet, the cops are sniffing around where they shouldn’t be. You’re going to blow this for me.”

      Blow what? I still didn’t have a clue what we were talking about here.

      Millie took another step toward the deranged duo, the knife still hidden in her skirt.

      “I’ll be good, I promise,” Lila pleaded.

      “You promised that after the last one, too, and look what happened to her.”

      What happened? Who was she? Was she still breathing?

      Something touched my palm. Without checking to see what Wanda had handed me, I closed my fingers around it, then grimaced when I figured out what it was. It was just my luck to be bringing a seam ripper to a knife fight.

      “Millie,” Douglas said, his eyes narrowed on Lila. “Bring me some duct tape.”

      A roar of rage erupted from Millie. She charged Douglas, knife out and slashing.

      He let go of Lila and raised his arm, shielding his face, backing away. His butt bumped the end table on which Lila’s book sat. The table tipped. He grabbed the book, using it to block Millie, and knocked over the glass lamp with his elbow. The lamp hit the hardwood floor, shattering on impact.

      Millie screamed and rampaged. Her slices flew like windmills at Douglas, whose arms had blood running down them as he backed into the entry hall.

      Opportunity had arrived. I pushed to my feet. With the path to the door and freedom blocked, I hopped toward the tray of knives on the sideboard.

      I reached for the wood-handled chef’s knife, but a body slammed into me from behind, sending me crashing into the sideboard. My empty palm jammed into one of the drawer handles, pain firing up my arm. I slid to the floor and landed on my back, my legs bent under me.

      Above me, a carving knife teetered on the edge of the sideboard, blade hovering in the air, wobbling. I rolled to my side as gravity won and the carving knife plunged, almost giving my belly a second button.

      I had no time to breathe a sigh of relief before Lila plucked up the carving knife. She knelt over me, pinning me against the sideboard, knife raised in both hands.

      “I hate you!” she screamed, and swung downward.

      I rolled into her legs, throwing her off balance. The knife nicked my ribs, leaving a sharp ache.

      She screeched and raised the knife again.

     
Oh, shit!
Without thinking, I grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked. Her swing went wide, this time slicing along my forearm. Sudden, stinging pain burned up my arm.

      Then I remembered the seam ripper in my other hand and palmed the handle, the tool’s teeth pointing outward. I aimed at Lila’s neck but missed and embedded the ripper in her shoulder.

      She shrieked and reached for the ripper, giving me a window of time to scramble away and get my feet back under me.

      I made it one hop away and she tackled me again, this time sending us both rolling across the floor and into the grandfather clock, which rattled and clanged in protest. Her knife slid out of reach.

      I came out of the roll on top of Lila. She tried to buck me off, but I weighed more than her cellulite-free ass. I straddled her thighs as best I could with my ankles still bound.

      She spit in my face. “I’m going to kill you, you cunt!”

      Fury, fear, and adrenaline raced through me. I saw my hands gripping Lila’s neck; her face turning red, then purple, her eyes wide, bulging.

      Flailing and gurgling, she caught the edge of the grandfather clock, pulling it forward. It slammed into my back, knocking me off balance. She bucked again and shoved me off.

      The clock’s door clasp snagged my skirt, trapping my hips and thighs under it. I yanked, but something held me fast.

      Gasping, Lila half-crawled to the carving knife she’d dropped. She grabbed it and whirled, screeching, and lunged down on me.

      I screamed, blocking with my arms.

      Wanda flew into my peripheral vision, swinging a fire poker like Babe Ruth. She connected with Lila’s wrist, knocking the knife loose and sending it flying across the room.

      Lila howled and kicked Wanda’s leg, knocking the old woman down. The poker clattered to the floor, bouncing beyond my reach.
Damn it!

      I yanked and tugged on my skirt. Lila scooped up a blade-sized shard of the glass from the broken lamp and lunged at me again. Jesus, she was as relentless as the Terminator.

      My skirt ripped free and I dodged and shoved, sending her stumbling over the broken clock and into the wall. I army-crawled across the wooden floor, glancing back to see Lila jump-start off the trim and rush toward me, her mouth wide with a battlefield yell.

      Her raven hair partially covered her eyes, so she didn’t see Wanda rolling toward her. Wanda kicked Lila’s legs, tripping her and sending her flailing past me, headlong into the sideboard. She hit with a loud thud and fell at my feet, her back toward me.

      I scrambled in reverse, putting floorboards between us before she could spring back into her
Bride of Chucky
-doll killing mode.

      She didn’t move.

      In the silence, Wanda’s breathing rasped as loudly as mine.

      A pool of dark liquid formed next to Lila’s head, soaking into her hair. The metallic smell of blood registered in my sinuses. I tasted it on my tongue.

      I nudged Lila’s leg. She remained motionless.

      Wanda and I exchanged looks of fear and shock. I leaned forward and poked Lila’s back.

      Still no response.

      Crawling toward her, I grabbed her shoulder and tugged. She flopped on to her back.

      I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand at the sight of the glass shard from the broken lamp sticking out of her neck. Dark blood seeped out from her carotid artery, streaming down her milky white skin. Her empty eyes stared up at the ceiling.

      A cry of anguish from the doorway made me jerk back.

      Millie limped across the room, rolling pin in hand, nostrils bleeding, one eye bruised shut.

      In the heat of my own battle, I’d forgotten about the other fighters in the ring. Millie had apparently taken a beating and given one right back, judging from the blood-smeared rolling pin. Where was Douglas? Was he sporting a serrated bread knife?

      A low groan leaked in from the entry hallway, partially answering my question.

      Millie dropped onto the floor and half-lifted Lila into her lap, cradling the dead woman against her breast, cooing to Lila’s lifeless form as tears streamed down her cheeks.

      My heart hurt at the sorrow etched on Millie’s face, even though it was Lila she was mourning.

      “Millie,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. She fell.”

      I grabbed the chef’s knife from the sideboard and cut the duct-tape binding my ankles. I rubbed my raw skin.

      The sound of sirens drawing closer made my eyes water with relief. My hands trembled, my arms were streaked with blood. I dropped the knife. Struggling to my feet, I stumbled toward the door on wobbly legs and unsteady ankles. My adrenaline was petering out, leaving me tired to the bone. Outside beckoned with fresh air and freedom.

      Douglas lay sprawled in the kitchen entryway, half of his face covered in blood. His chest rose and fell, so I didn’t pause to give him a physical. I did snatch Lila’s book out from under his shoulder.

      I’d almost made it to the door when a rebel yell from behind me raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

      I spun around to see Millie rushing at me with the rolling pin raised, her black Grim Reaper cape billowing, her face contorted in a maniacal snarl.

      Feeling cornered and beaten to a nub, I did the only thing I could think of: screamed and barreled toward her, dodging her sloppy swing and ramming into her with my shoulder.

      I pinballed off her, spinning into the wall as she stumbled backward. She tripped over Douglas and fell into the kitchen. My legs gave way and I slid down the wall.

      I saw Millie pull herself to her feet and snag the rolling pin.

      “Jesus fucking Christ!” I held up my arms, book still in hand. “I give up. Take me to the mine. Dump me down a shaft.”

      The sound of a shotgun cocking made my chin whip around.

      “Millie,” Wanda said in a firm, motherly voice, pointing double barrels at her daughter, “Put the rolling pin down.”

      Millie froze. “You and I both know you don’t have the guts to kill me, Mother.”

      “Maybe not, but I’m mad enough to give you a limp. Now sit down over by the sink.” After Millie obeyed, Wanda nodded at me. “Are you hurt?”

      I looked down at my camisole covered in blood and sweat and dust bunny remains. “Only on the outside. Why didn’t you tell me you had a shotgun in the house?”

      “You didn’t ask.” She tilted her head to the side, looking as if she was picking up far-off radio signals. Then she gave a rueful half-smile. “Prudence says you’re safe now. The lawmen are here.”

     
Prudence?
A fresh batch of chills quivered down my spine. I thought only Doc knew the name of the ghost.

      “What else does Prudence have to say? Anything about teeth?”

      Wanda glanced around behind her, but turned back to me with a frown. “She’s gone.”

      I scratched my head at that, grimacing at the feel of my matted hair. Confusion and shock tag-teamed in my brain, making me a little dizzy. A need for fresh air gave me newfound strength. I pushed myself up the wall to my feet.

      Wanda steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. “I forgot to tell you what Prudence said earlier when I was cutting your wrists free.”