The mantel clock in the living room rang out two short chimes, announcing it was half past the witching hour.

  I picked up the pill bottle and turned it upside-down. The pills rattled against the inside of the cap.

  Harvey’s idea wasn’t going to work.

  For one thing, it involved Bessie. For another, it required the two of us taking risks that could land both of our asses in jail. While Cooper would undoubtedly take great pleasure in locking me up, when he found out I’d gotten his uncle involved, I had no doubt the detective would throw the key down the nearest mine shaft.

  There were just some risks I wasn’t willing to take to rid my life of Ray’s bullshit.

  So, that left me back at square one—Ray and the Mudder brothers were up to no good, but I had no way of proving it. Maybe this wall between me and the truth was a sign—all neon bright and flickering—that I should just focus on beating Ray at the real estate game and be happy with that.

  The overhead light flicked on.

  “Hey,” I said and shielded my eyes.

  “Oh!” Aunt Zoe’s voice was higher than usual. “Violet Lynn, you scared the hell out of me.”

  I lowered my hand, my pupils adjusting to the light.

  “What are you doing down here, child?” Her eyes locked onto the bottle of pills in my hand, a frown settling between her brows.

  “Nothing.” I dropped the pill bottle on the table, pulling back like it had cooties, and tried to hide my anxieties behind a smile.

  With her long, wavy salt-and-pepper hair hanging loose around her shoulders, she looked ten years younger. Her red satin robe and favorite yellow slippers—the ones with a smiling sun on the tops—added a measure of sauciness to her, and not the ketchup and mustard kind. Reid would be a great match for her.

  “What are you doing up?” I tried to distract her.

  “Getting something to drink.” She pulled out a chair and joined me at the table. The smell of her lavender soap reminded me of how I used to sit in her lap when I was a little kid and tell her all of my problems. Now I’d probably break her legs.

  She stared me down, like an old West poker player looking for a bluff.

  “The sink is over there,” I said, looking away first.

  She ignored my finger. “Did you have another nightmare?”

  I shook my head. “I just can’t sleep tonight.”

  The decision not to tell her about the whole decapitation shears thing that was weighing on my mind was a no-brainer. I also opted out of mentioning my radical theory that Ray had decapitated a man with them, planted my business card on the corpse, and left the body behind on one of my properties in order to get me in trouble with the law and force Jane to fire me. Some things are just better left unsaid.

  “Did you take another pill?” she asked.

  “No. Not yet.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure I want to go to sleep yet.” Or that I want to get hooked on sleeping pills.

  “Does this have anything to do with Jeff Wymonds’ big mouth?”

  Huh? “I don’t think so.” I tried to remember if Jeff had said anything lately that should have me troubled. I didn’t remember saying “Yes” to any indecent propositions or marriage proposals. “Are you referring to him mentioning my name up at the Golden Sluice?”

  “No. I’m referring to his quote in today’s issue of the Black Hills Trailblazer.”

  “Why would he have a quote in the newspaper?”

  “It was an article about his garage fire.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I’d forgotten about that mess in lieu of my much bigger messes. My stomach tightened. “What did Jeff say?”

  “He told the reporter that you two were ‘busy in his bedroom’ when the garage blew its top.”

  No. Fucking. Way. I looked at her for several blinks. “He said it just like that?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed tight.

  I groaned and lowered my forehead to the table’s edge with a thwump. I was going to need a good-sized shovel to dig two graves—I wasn’t going down alone this time. I was taking Jeff with me.

  “Is any of that true?” Aunt Zoe asked.

  “We were in his bedroom,” I admitted while looking at my bare feet. “We were busy cleaning up the red Kool-Aid Kelly spilled on the carpet, not ‘getting busy’ in there.”

  Aunt Zoe snorted. “Well, that’s not the way the reporter told it.”

  I just sighed. I had nothing else left to give at this point. “Splendid. My boss is going to nail my hide to the wall for this and Ray is going to have me tarred and feathered by the realty world. Then there’s Doc.”

  “What about Doc?”

  It was too early to come up with half-truths about my lack of love-life. “He’s not talking to me right now.” Well, he was for a moment there on the phone while I was hiding behind the Mudder brothers’ garage, but then he hung up on me.

  “It’s not because of this article is it? He knows you better than that by now, I would think.”

  “No, it’s not. But this thing with Jeff isn’t going to help matters.”

  “Is that why you were sitting down here in the dark? Because of a fight with your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Fine. Your loverboy.”

  “That sounds worse yet.”

  “Quit being so nit-picky about names.” She smiled, taking the sting out of her words, and squeezed my wrist. “Maybe you should go talk to Doc.”

  “It’s late.”

  “Not that late. The bars aren’t even closed yet.”

  “Natalie might wake up and notice I’m gone.”

  “She sleeps like the dead and you know it. She won’t stir until morning. What’s your next excuse?”

  Zap. She got me there. “He’s mad at me.”

  “So? Are you going to give up that easy? “

  “Maybe this is proof that we’re not meant to be together.”

  “Now you’re just looking for a reason to run.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with running. You’re running from Reid.” I threw back at her.

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not true. My situation is different.”

  “Different how? What happened between you two?”

  Aunt Zoe took a big breath and then said, “I’ll tell you that tale some other time.”

  “What’s wrong with right now? You have a hot date you’re late for?”

  “No. But you do.”

  “I do?”

  She pushed to her feet and pulled out my chair, hauling me up by my upper arm. “Yes, you do. Go.”

  “Where?”

  “To Doc.”

  “Aunt Zoe, you’ve lost your mind. It’s too late.” And maybe too late in more ways than one.

  “No, it’s not. Go.” She nudged me toward the back door.

  “I’m not dressed for it.”

  She smiled down at my T-shirt and old boxer shorts. “I don’t think he’ll care about your clothes.” She opened the door and pushed me out.

  “If Natalie wakes—” I started.

  “If she wakes up, I’ll handle her.” She shucked her satin robe and handed it to me, along with her yellow slippers. “You just go.”

  Out of excuses, I just stared at her, my mouth catching mosquitoes.

  “Violet, go!” She shut the door in my face. The lock clicked. With a little wave, she turned and left me standing there on the back porch.

  Crickets chirped around me.

  I looked around, my gaze landing on the lawn chair I’d slept in last night. I could bed down there again tonight, but without that old quilt, I’d freeze my ass off.

  A knock on the window over the sink made me jump. Aunt Zoe stood behind the glass, scolding me with her index finger. Then she pointed in the general direction of Doc’s house and mouthed Go!

  Fine. Okay. I’d go. Sheesh. But I stuck my tongue out at her before I left. She grinned back, then walked away. The kitchen went dark.

  I took a deep breath and looked out over the shadow-filled backyard. It was now or never.

  Clutching Aunt Zoe’s red satin robe around me, I jogged through the backyard in her sunny slippers, squeezed through the gate to the front, and then scuffed down the sidewalk.

  Five minutes later, Doc’s house loomed in front of me. I tiptoed up the front porch steps, turned around and scuttled back down them, then stopped at the end of the walk and marched right back up and knocked on his screen door.

  A dog barked several houses down.

  A count of twenty later, nothing else had happened. No footfalls on the other side, no curtains moving, nothing.

  I opened the screen door and knocked on the wood.

  The dog barked again.

  Hell, if Doc didn’t answer, I could go down and hang with the mutt. At least he seemed interested in my company.

  I counted to thirty this time. Still nothing.

  Wincing in advance, I rang the bell. That would wake him for sure.

  The dog didn’t reply.

  Neither did Doc.

  Maybe he wasn’t home. Where was he then?

  I walked down the porch steps and paused, wondering if I should call it a night or go peer in his garage windows.

  The garage won the coin toss. I snuck around back, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, I found myself peeking into a garage window. Unfortunately, I was short a flashlight this time, but the moon cast enough light through the opposite window to show an outline of Doc’s Camaro SS.

  He was definitely home, just not answering his door. I hoped it wasn’t because he knew I was the one on the other side of it.

  Since I was halfway around the house, I decided to hop into his backyard and see if his bedroom light was on.

  There was no squeaky gate to go through. I paused next to the birdbath sitting in the center of his backyard—a leftover from the previous owner.

  Dim light spilled from his bedroom window. The window was closed, the screen missing. He must have it shut to keep out the mosquitoes.

  Ah, ha! What light through yonder window breaks?

  I called out, “Doc?”

  I got no response. Nobody flew to the windows like a flash, tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash.

  Great. Now I was mixing Santa with Shakespeare. Maybe it was best Doc didn’t answer. I should just go home and get some sleep. I could try again in the daylight when my sanity had regained a foothold.

  The light coming from the upstairs window went out.

  Wait! He was in there, and probably still awake.

  “Doc,” I called a little louder.

  The dog down the street answered with more barking.

  “Oh, shut up!” I said and grabbed a pebble from the stone path leading to the bird bath.

  I tossed the pebble toward the window. It hit the glass, clinking as it bounced off.

  “Harvey, eat your heart out. You, too, Ty Cobb.”

  I waited for Doc to open the window.

  He didn’t.

  Dang it.

  I picked up another stone, twice as big as the last, and threw it at the window. As soon as it left my hand, I realized what I’d done.

  The crash of breaking glass sent the neighbor’s dog into a tizzy.

  “Oh, shit,” I whispered and stood there frozen on the lawn wondering if I should run or hide.

  The light came on.

  “Shit, shit, shit.” I looked around for something to hide behind. The birdbath!

  I scrambled behind it, squatting low.

  The window slid open and Doc’s head and bare shoulders filled the square.

  “Who’s there?” he said in a growly voice and flicked on a halogen flashlight as bright as a lighthouse beam.

  The light landed on me. I stayed frozen.

  He cursed. “Violet, I can see you behind that birdbath.”

  Damn. This was not how I had envisioned this going at all. Maybe I could woo him with my words.

  I stood and shielded my eyes from the light. “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said and killed the flashlight. His torso disappeared from the window.

  “Doc?” I called out, hesitant.

  The dog barked back.

  Chapter Fifteen

  My knees wobbled a little while I stood there in the dark next to Doc’s birdbath for what seemed like an eternity. Would he shut off his bedroom light and go back to bed or open his French doors and give me a chance to plead my case?

  A mosquito buzzed my ear. I swatted in its general direction and cinched the belt of Aunt Zoe’s satin robe tighter. Maybe I should just head home, write Doc a check for the broken window, slip it through his mail slot at work in the morning, and call everything “Done”—including our half-assed relationship.

  Yeah, right.

  And then I could just sit back and spend every minute of each day wondering what Doc was doing, agonizing about who he was touching, and struggling to forget about what it felt like to kiss him.

  Please, please, please open the door.

  I looked to the stars, thinking of a certain chicken I’d be happy to offer as a sacrifice to the gods.

  The creak of a door hinge breached the shadow-filled stillness. Doc’s dark silhouette filled the door frame.

  I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Thank you, Aphrodite!

  “Violet,” Doc said, leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded. “What are you doing?”

  Following the stone path leading to his back porch, I hesitated at the base of the steps. “I need to talk to you.”

  “So you broke my window?” He sounded pissed about it, too.

  “I rang your doorbell.” That came out more defensive than I meant it to, so I toned it down. “But you didn’t answer.”

  “I was listening to music.”

  An awkward silence threatened to slip between us. I grabbed for something to say, wishing he’d stop barring the door and let me in.

  “I’ll pay for the window,” I spit out. “I can drop off a check tomorrow, if you’re going to be at work. If not, I can just mail it to you.”

  He stared down at me, his dark eyes hidden in the shadows, but said nothing.

  I bumbled onward. “If you’d rather have cash, I can drop that off instead. Just let me know how much—”

  “Violet.” He cut me off with a curt slice.

  “What?”

  “I don’t give a damn about the window right now.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I told you, I want to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  He wasn’t making this easy for me, dang it. I searched for the magic words that would get me past the bouncer blocking the door and settled on the truth. “Because I need you.”

  Again, a hooded stare and nothing more.

  Maybe that had been too strong. If only I could see his face better so I could try to read his expression. “I mean I need your help.”

  “Are you wearing slippers?”

  I looked down at the little suns smiling up at me from each foot. I could use a little of their optimism right about now. “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to come inside?” he offered an olive branch.

  Yes! I looked back up at him and tossed the ball back in his court. “If you want me to.”

  I needed something from him that assured me tonight’s visit was worth wading through all of my insecurities and anxieties to stand here in front of him and make a fool of myself … well, a bigger-than-normal fool.

  He stepped back and held open the door for me.

  My hands trembled as I climbed the steps. I went out of my way not to touch him as I slipped past. Inside, I waited. It was his turn to lead in this dance of ours.

  The house smelled like a mixture of furniture polish and cinnamon—none of the odd stinky odors I was used to coming home to in a house containing a chicken, a cat, a gerbil, two kids, and a microwave. I hadn’t been inside this place since handing the keys off to Doc a couple of weeks ago—the same day we’d last had sex. Only his house had been an empty shell then, his bedroom window unbroken.

  That was also the same day I’d gotten the phone call from Harvey about the decapitated body his dog had dug up from that old cemetery behind his barn. Thinking about my partner in crime reminded me of why I was standing here under Doc’s roof.

  Wringing my hands together, I turned to Doc as he closed the French door and locked it. “I think I know who the killer is.”

  He strode past me, his eyes averted, and headed into his kitchen.

  I followed, noticing the clean, sparse marble countertops shining under the over-the-sink can-light. No opened boxes of cereal, no sticky pools of spilled juice, no half-empty glasses or dirty plates.

  Doc pulled open the refrigerator door and grabbed a beer and a soda pop. He held both out toward me. The light from inside the fridge backlit his bare shoulders and the cargo shorts hanging low on his waist. I dragged my eyes away from all of his exposed skin and focused my attention on the offerings in his hands. The beer was a local brand, the pop was diet. I opted for beer, needing some liquid courage.

  “I may have found the weapon used to kill the guy, too,” I told him as he twisted off the bottle cap and handed me the cold beer.

  I waited for a response, for questions, doubts, anything.

  He grabbed a bottle of the same beer from the fridge and twisted off the top, taking a swig before he set it on the counter and stared at me.

  Swirling the beer around in my mouth, I tried to figure out what to say to break down the wall between us.

  I held up the bottle. “This is really good. Kind of sweet. Isn’t it from a brewery down in Rap—”

  “What are you doing here, Violet?”

  Sheesh. How many times did I have to say it? “I told you I need to talk to you.”

  “It’s almost one in the morning.”

  “I know it’s a little late, but I had a free moment.” Oh, crap. That didn’t come out right.

  His eyelids narrowed. “A free moment?”

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  He took another swig, setting the bottle down a little harder than before.