Cooper didn’t even crack a grin. He really should try to remove that corncob from his anal cavity.

  “Don’t you have a question for Mr. Nyce, Violet?” Cooper asked.

  Did I? “What question?”

  “The one you had to stop in to ask him this late in the evening while dressed in your Sunday best rather than just giving him a call.”

  I glanced down at my blue paisley wrap-around dress. “This isn’t my Sunday best.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Doc said.

  I fought the urge to shoot Doc a warning glare.

  Cooper raised one brow, but said nothing. He waited for that question of mine.

  Crap!

  I looked to Doc for help, but he just grinned back, letting me flounder, damn him. Double crap!

  “Right. My question.” Think, think, think. “I was ah … wondering if you would … um … take a look at some papers my bank sent to me.”

  Jeesh. A ninety-five year old with cataracts could see through that lie.

  “Papers, huh?” Cooper squinted at me a couple more seconds, and then turned to Doc. “If you and I are finished here, I’ll let myself out the back so Violet can show you her papers.”

  “We’re done,” Doc said, chuckling. “I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  Why? Was Doc handling Cooper’s finances? Or was this about me? About the headless body? The fire earlier today? My snooping?

  I took a calming breath, reminding the vain, hysterical broad in my head that not everything was about her.

  Before he left, Cooper shot me a parting glare. “Stay away from Mudder Brothers. I meant what I said there the other night.”

  I waited until he’d closed the door behind him to flip him off. “God, that man drives me nuts.”

  “What did he mean?”

  “About what?”

  Doc leaned his shoulder against the wall. “That Mudder Brothers comment.”

  “Who knows what Cooper means most of the time? He speaks in some kind of cop lingo.”

  “He sounded pretty clear to me. What happened at Mudder Brothers the other night?”

  Crud. This was not how I’d planned to let Doc in on my theory about Ray and George Mudder. Not the time or place. Some things are better shared when naked. Things like sneaking around in funeral homes looking for clues about a body-part-stealing crime ring.

  “Violet,” Doc’s voice had grown serious, that lilt of mirth long gone. “Spit it out.”

  “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “How about the truth? Why you were at Mudder Brothers again?”

  “For a viewing.” That was the truth.

  “Keep talking.”

  “Elsa Haskell died, and Harvey and I went to give our condolences to the family. Cooper showed up later and being the suspicious toad that he is, he decided I was up to no good and threatened me with a restraining order.”

  Doc’s eyes took on a feral squint. “Why do I have the feeling that you just skipped from the introduction to the final chapter in that story?”

  I shrugged, hugging my arms. “Okay, so maybe I skipped the part about using Harvey as a decoy during the viewing so that I could sneak into George Mudder’s back room and look for clues for a body-part-stealing crime that I think Ray is involved in.” I paused after spewing that bit. I needed a breath.

  “What?”

  Now that I had my tongue rolling, I figured I might as well let it all out.

  “And maybe I omitted the part about Cooper showing up while Natalie was with me in the room behind the glass trying to help me see what George had locked up tight in one of his big crates. And maybe Cooper then busted Natalie and me after we’d escaped to the parking lot, and when she tried to show him the tattoo on her butt to prove our innocence, he threatened her with a public nudity charge and mentioned taking me down to the station. But come on, really, I think he’s going a little too far with the restraining order warning. Don’t you?”

  Doc stared back at me, his jaw unhinged. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Did I mention that the crate was so heavy that Natalie and I could barely budge it? Or that Harvey was wearing strawberry-scented love gel that he and his widowed lover-girl had gotten on the God-awful yellow plaid suit he borrowed from her dead husband’s closet?”

  “Holy shit.” He scrubbed his hand down his face, leaving a furrowed brow behind.

  “I know. Kind of crazy, right?”

  “Just ‘kind of’?” He crossed his arms.

  His rigid body language kept me rooted in my spot by the bathroom door. He obviously wasn’t thrilled with my Nancy Drew initiative. No surprise there. But then again, he didn’t have Ray crawling up his ass day in and day out. Maybe if Doc walked a mile in my boots, he’d have a little more understanding.

  “When were you going to tell me about this?”

  I shrugged. “Eventually. I was building up to it.”

  “Violet, we made a deal, remember? No more secrets.”

  He was one to talk. Late meetings with Cooper and sneaky phone calls to his ex-lover aside, Doc still tended to change the subject during our nightly chats when I asked about his past or his ghost-sniffing ability.

  My cell phone rang, saving us from a verbal tug-o-war regarding who was the bigger secret keeper.

  I pulled it from my purse and looked at the number. Cornelius. “Oh, fudge,” I’d forgotten why I’d come to Doc’s office in the first place. I shoved my phone back in my purse without answering it. “We gotta go.”

  Sundown was fast approaching while Doc and I stood here in his stuffy back hallway not touching.

  “You ready?” I hoped he wouldn’t hold my secret-keeping against me and decide to skip tonight. I really needed his help.

  “Who’s driving?” he asked.

  “I was thinking we should probably play it safe and drive separately.” With Natalie out there spying on him from her truck, I didn’t want to take any chances.

  “No,” he said flat out.

  “No?”

  Shoving off the wall, he shook his head. “If you want me at that hotel, you’re driving me there. I want to talk to you about something on the way over.”

  “You do?”

  “Just give me a minute to lock up.”

  I slipped out the back door and waited, keeping an eye out for Natalie’s truck until Doc joined me and ushered me to lead the way.

  Still, no touching. Not even his usual flirting brushes. I slowed, hoping he’d bump into me by accident, but he matched my pace. Damn him. After the crappy-ass day I’d had, I could really use some touching from Doc, a stolen kiss or two, some well-placed rubs, even.

  “You were early this evening,” he said when we reached the pickup.

  Right. I learned my lesson on that one, too, thanks to Cooper. Doc held the door for me as I climbed behind the wheel, but managed to keep his distance.

  “I got antsy.”

  He walked around the back of the pickup and crawled inside the cab next to me. “I heard about Wymonds’ garage. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Nobody got hurt.”

  “Good. Cooper most likely knows about us now, you realize. You should probably practice your lying on the fly a bit more if we’re going to keep this up.”

  What did he mean “if”? I winced. I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I doubt he’ll mention it to anyone, though,” Doc added.

  “I hope not.” I frowned over at him. “I don’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Just drive, Violet.” He stayed on his side of the cab with no attempt to reach out to me.

  I started up the pickup and backed out of my spot. While I’d never been the touchy-feely kind of girlfriend, Doc’s withdrawal stung. I searched for something to break the silence building between us.

  “What did you want to talk to me about? Is it about that demon cult book?”

  I pulled out onto the street, looking around for Natalie’s truck. All clear.

  “No. It’s about the Old Prospector Hotel. I spent some time digging around in the library yesterday, then online at home.”

  “Sorry I could only text you last night.” I’d missed the soothing sound of his voice way too much, which had kept me awake with frustration long after Natalie’s sleep talking had stopped. The girl really needed a muzzle some nights.

  “You had a sick kid, Violet. I understand. How is Addy?”

  “Good. I think she learned her lesson about sneaking a half-pound of M&Ms into her room and eating them all in one sitting.”

  He chuckled, a deep, raspy rumbling sound.

  A flame of hope rose in my chest. Maybe everything would be all right if I just allowed the ashes from today’s explosions to settle.

  I glanced at him, admiring, remembering the feel of his skin under my fingers. I corralled the strong primal need to reach across the bench seat and touch his thigh, his arm, any part of him.

  Instead, I gripped the steering wheel, focused on allowing that flame of hope some space and time to breathe and grow, and asked him, “So, what did you learn about the hotel?”

  “It was the site of a multiple suicide.”

  My flame of hope extinguished.

  Chapter Eleven

  Once upon a time there was a Realtor who drove an old green pickup off the edge of the Open Cut mine and screamed obscenities all of the way to the bottom.

  The End.

  In my peripheral vision, I could see Doc watching me. After dropping his bomb about the “multiple-suicide” tragedy at the Old Prospector Hotel, he probably was wondering if my head would go supernova right in front of him.

  I eased the Picklemobile to a stop at a red light, pumping the gas pedal a little to ease it through a case of the sputters. The old beast seemed to be channeling my emotions.

  I kept my eyes glued to the round tail lights of a blue, early-sixties Thunderbird in front of us. The rich fumes from its dual exhaust pipes seeped in through the vents, feeding the headache building behind my eyes.

  “Define ‘multiple suicide,’” I said, cranking my window down and sucking in some fresh air.

  Doc followed my lead and lowered his window. “Four women found in one of the upstairs rooms.”

  “Only women?”

  “Prostitutes.”

  Of course, painted ladies. My eyes watered from the stink of exhaust, not so much the sad loss of lives. Death was too often a casualty of their rough-and-rowdy careers.

  “How long ago did this happen?” I asked.

  According to Jeff and Harvey, the last cat house had closed in the eighties. A multiple suicide didn’t bode well for business, I guessed, which would explain the hotel’s history of decline as noted in the figures Tiffany shared with Cornelius and me.

  “Back in late 1800s, after the Black Hills Gold Rush.”

  That long ago? Maybe I wouldn’t drive off the rim of the Open Cut after all.

  Doc continued. “The only other instance I found of a death on the premises was from a stray bullet during a gunfight in the street in front of the place.”

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to squish my headache. “So, if this hotel really is haunted,” and heaven help us all if Cornelius was legit, “it’s probably one of those four prostitutes?”

  “Most likely.”

  Finally, the light turned green and the Thunderbird left us in a cloud of smoke. Nice. I hit the gas. “Are ghosts always tied to the place where they die?”

  “No.”

  I waited for more of an explanation and, as usual, I received nothing but dead air. I shot Doc a frowning look. “Care to expand on that.”

  “It gets complicated.”

  So had our relationship, and in such a short time, too. Go figure. “Try me.”

  He seemed to hesitate.

  I thought I knew why. “Before you bring up me not buying into this supernatural business, let’s just pretend for a moment that I believe in ghosts, and that you believe I believe in ghosts.” I turned right onto Main Street. The hotel was at the other end. “Okay?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Could the ghost rumored to haunt the Old Prospector have actually died somewhere else?”

  If memory served me right, Cornelius had claimed to see possibly three ghosts during our first visit to the place, and then hear two more in the wall upstairs. So, either the four prostitutes had been having a slumber party, or they were playing musical walls with Cornelius.

  “Yes,” Doc said. “Some of the ghosts I’ve encountered died elsewhere.”

  I pondered that for a moment. “So, you’re saying these dead prostitutes may not be hanging around the joint still. The ghost could be some lonesome, lovesick dead miner who’d come looking for his favorite prostitute. Only when he arrived, she’d already moved on to the next town, so he stayed at the hotel, pining for her ever since.”

  “Sure. I guess.” Doc chuckled. “Those are nice rose-colored glasses you’re wearing tonight.”

  I shrugged. “I’m a romantic at heart.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m trying to woo you.”

  As if he even had to try. One flirting glance from him most days and I swooned like an Elvis groupie.

  “Well, if ghosts can roam,” I said, “that changes things.”

  “For whom?”

  “You.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t know what you’re going to walk into at the hotel. It could be one of those prostitutes,” or more than just one, “or someone else entirely.”

  “Right. What’s your point?”

  “How can you prepare for what you’re about to experience?”

  And for that matter, how could I? I had figured on Doc being ready mentally for whatever hit him so he wouldn’t have a repeat, keeling-over performance like what had happened weeks ago in the Carhart house, when he’d crumpled and been knocked out cold for a good five minutes. But now I wasn’t so sure this was a good idea. My two-inch heels weren’t appropriate attire for catching a six-foot-plus male in my arms.

  I needed to have a game plan. If Doc passed out on me in the middle of the casino, I couldn’t just sweep him under the rug and move on. People would notice the big lump in the carpet, the EMS might be called in, Reid could show up, Natalie would catch word of it all and Tiffany, too. Crap! My lower back started to sweat.

  This could blow up in my face—and Doc’s. He didn’t need folks thinking something was wrong with him, not when he handled other people’s money for a living.

  “That’s the catch, huh?” Doc said. “If I walk in and get hit hard, I’m going to have to leave.”

  If he could walk out on his own, that was.

  I pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel. We both were silent while I found a spot to park the Picklemobile. The backfire sounded ten times louder in clear, early evening air, and surprised a yelp out of an older couple passing by.

  Doc grinned at me in the semidarkness. “There’s no sneaking around in this thing is there?”

  “Harvey likes to arrive with a bang.”

  We stared at each other for several heartbeats, while the air thickened with a tension that had nothing to do with ghosts and haunted hotels.

  So many pheromones, so little time. Damn.

  He reached across the seat and tugged one of my many wayward curls. “You ready, Boots?”

  The heat in his eyes warmed away my chills, but my hands stayed locked on the steering wheel, my anxiety churning in my chest. “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.”

  “Chickening out?” His grin teased.

  “Yeah, I think I am.”

  His left eyebrow rose slightly. “You have no problem sneaking around in a funeral home with a dead body in the next room over, but a hotel rumored to be haunted gives you pause.”

  “It’s not the hotel that has me concerned.”

  “Is this about being seen with me in public? Will it help if I promise not to touch you?”

  While his smile still teased, his gaze had an intensity that spoke of something more serious. I ignored the reference to the Natalie mess. “I’m worried about what I’m dragging you into.”

  “I think I can handle a few ghosts.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let’s go see.” He shoved open his door.

  We walked single file across the parking lot with me in the lead. I hesitated outside the hotel’s main entrance in front of a couple of benches divided by an ashtray. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the warm evening air. Doc stepped around me and pulled one of the glass doors open, holding it wide enough for me to enter without touching him.

  The hotel greeted us with a whoosh of cool air, the jingling of slot machines, and Johnny Cash singing about a boy named Sue.

  I heard Doc sniff and looked up into his face, searching for any of the typical signs I’d witnessed when he was about to be slammed with a ghost—pale skin, shallow breaths, dilated pupils. His usual grin was gone, his tension visible in the lines on his forehead.

  Leading the way, I walked through the lobby, past the rows of slot machines lined with patrons. By the time we reached Socrates, we’d traversed several invisible walls of flowery perfume, making my headache a dull roar. I paused and pretended to read the placard about the old mule.

  Doc’s hand brushed mine as he joined me. “Socrates could use a nose job.”

  A peek at Doc showed no signs of trouble. “You okay?” I asked, anyway.

  “No problem.”

  “Does that mean the rumors are false?”

  “Not necessarily. It just means the only beings down here still have blood pumping through their veins.”

  I peered around the room, looking for any familiar faces—Natalie’s and Tiffany’s, in particular. Spotting only strangers, I grabbed Doc’s hand, squeezing it.

  He lifted both brows. “You’re taking a chance.”

  Everything about Doc was a gamble for me. “I know.”

  I tugged him toward the elevator. He didn’t pull free.

  The elevator doors opened as soon as I hit the button, as if they were waiting for us to arrive. Squeezing Doc’s hand tighter, I drew him inside behind me and pushed the third floor button as the doors shut.

  Closing the distance between us, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Still feeling good?”