I leaned my forehead against the open neck of his shirt, struggling to listen through the clamor of logic and reason. If only I could see something of these entities of his, even a shimmer, or experience a cold chill when they came near. Any kind of sign that would make it all more tangible and easier to believe would be spiffy.

  Hell, today the thing had somehow hidden inside of my skin before working over Doc. He’d nearly passed out from the experience, and I hadn’t even felt a single goosebump. Not even a hint of sensation that someone had just walked over my grave, nothing, nada. I was a total dud.

  The nightmare with Wolfgang and his demon pal had to have been just that—a bad dream. Most likely, it was the result of not enough sleep and an overdose of stress.

  Crud. I was so tired of thinking about all of this paranormal shit.

  I changed the direction of my thoughts to something tangible. “It was Harvey,” I told Doc while staring down at our shoes.

  “What was Harvey?”

  “He taught me that wicked pinch move.”

  His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “How many times has he used it on you?”

  “Too many times to count. Now he has his nephew pinching me, too.”

  I felt Doc tighten under his shirt. He pushed me back, his eyes narrowed, questioning. “Why did Detective Cooper pinch you?”

  Rex Conner.

  Crappity crap. I should have thought before mentioning Cooper.

  “Because he suspects I was sneaking around at Mudder Brothers with Harvey the other night.” That was kind of true, at least about Cooper thinking I was up to no good. I was sure he would’ve loved to pinch me just out of suspicion alone.

  “But you were sneaking around Mudder Brothers.”

  “I know that, but I’m not going to fess up to Cooper about it.”

  Doc snorted. “I should have started a bail bonds company.” He turned me toward the stairs. “Let’s get out of here. I have plenty to think about now. I’m not anxious for her to return.”

  Her? I led the way down, glancing back up at him as I stepped. “So, you a … saw something while you were experiencing those shudders up there?”

  “Yes,” he answered when we reached the first floor. He pushed open the stairwell door for me.

  I waited until we stood out under the front awning, rain pouring down hard enough to bounce off the pavement all around us, before asking, “What did you see? Was it the four ladies who …” I mimicked slitting my wrists.

  “No. It was something akin to Prudence’s experience.”

  “You mean Prudence-Prudence? The ghost from the Carhart house in Lead was up there?”

  He glanced around us, nudging his head at a smoker standing further down under the awning, and shushed me with a mimicked zip of his lips.

  Oops, I spoke soundlessly.

  He grabbed my hand, tugging me out from under the awning’s protection. We dashed through the cool, clothes-penetrating rain and scrambled into the Picklemobile.

  I slammed my door shut, shivering in my damp dress. I checked my mascara in the rearview mirror—no raccoon eyes yet, but my lip gloss was long gone. The fragrance of my peach-scented shampoo masked the odor of old grease that usually filled the cab.

  Doc caught my hands and rubbed them between his, warming them. “You smell good enough to eat.” He tugged on my hands and leaned toward me like he was going to take a bite.

  I leaned away from him. “Quit trying to distract me. Do you mean to tell me you saw Prudence up there?”

  “No, not Prudence.” He returned to warming my hands. “It was some girl—a prostitute.”

  “How could you tell? Did she have a certain smell?”

  “I told you before, it’s not a smell. It’s more like some kind of imprint left behind that I can sense. The scent isn’t real.”

  “And I told you that until you come up with a better word, I’m using the word smell. Now, how could you tell it was a prostitute?”

  “Her lingerie and stockings.” His hands stilled, but kept ahold of mine. “And the paraphernalia in her room while they were doing it. Stuff I’ve seen repeatedly in historic photos of brothels.”

  “They? You mean she was murdered by one of her customers while she was working?”

  How many prostitutes died at the hands of the men they were servicing back then? I imagined most murders were just shrugged off by the local authorities due to the line of work and lack of the prostitute’s family around to raise a fuss.

  “No, she wasn’t working at the time,” Doc clarified. “I meant there were two men who were on the scene during her murder.”

  I winced, not liking the sound of this already. “What did they do?”

  “You don’t want to know the details, trust me. Most people don’t treat prostitutes kindly in life. When it comes to death, it’s even worse.”

  “So, what does Prudence have to do with any of this?”

  Had she been nearby when the prostitute was killed? That seemed like a pretty far-fetched coincidence, since no upstanding lady dared to step foot in Deadwood’s Badlands and risk her reputation. Yet, unfortunate coincidences happened every day. Take our run-in with Tiffany, earlier. Very unfortunate. But now I knew all about Doc and his reaction to marriage, which left me with a problem I didn’t feel like facing while sitting next to him in the Picklemobile.

  “I said it was akin to Prudence’s experience.”

  I pulled my focus back to the present—or rather the past. “What does that mean?”

  “They were the same men who murdered Prudence.”

  “How can you know that for sure?”

  “Both had the same masks as Prudence’s killers.

  “The potato sacks with the eyes cut out.” I remembered this detail from when Doc had told me the story of Prudence’s horrific death, which he’d relived from her point-of-view during a vision—or whatever it was he experienced.

  “Yes, those masks.”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine the terror Prudence or the prostitute must have felt. “Why did they kill the girl upstairs?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure yet. I need to replay it in my head a few more times.”

  I nodded. I knew from before that this was how Doc worked, letting things soak in, picking up more details as he peeled back the layers.

  “But there is another thing that ties her killers to Prudence besides the masks,” he said.

  “What?”

  “They pulled the girl’s canine teeth out with a pair of pliers.”

  Again with the teeth. Had her teeth been in the collection from the Carhart attic that I’d handed off to Cooper? “That is so creepy weird. Why would they take her teeth?”

  “I don’t know, but she wasn’t dead yet when the bastards yanked them out.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered staring back at him. Was experiencing that part of the vision what had made him stop breathing for a moment back in the stairwell?

  My cell phone rang, startling a gasp from me. I checked my phone, seeing my mom’s name.

  “I have to take this,” I told Doc and answered the call. “Hi, Mom. You want me to come get the kids?”

  “No need, dear. They’re at Zoe’s right now. Your sister drove them home.”

  “She’s in Deadwood?” My jaw tightened at the thought of my kids riding in a car with her. “Well, that explains the doom and gloom that’s settled over the town this afternoon.”

  “Cute, Violet, but I’ve heard enough out of you about your sister.” She sniffed, as if that was the final word on the subject.

  But it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

  “I need to talk to you about something serious,” Mom told me.

  “What?”

  “Adelynn told me about your new boyfriend.”

  My heart picked up speed. How did she know?

  I looked over at Doc, who was leaning against the headrest with his eyes closed. His hair still damp from the rain. “My new boyfriend?”

  He opened one eyelid, his head turning my way.

  “And while I know it’s none of my business,” my mom continued, “I am concerned about Layne’s reaction to this announcement.”

  “What did Layne say?”

  “He denied it rather vehemently. And when Addy refused to take back her words on the subject, he hit her.”

  “Where and how hard?”

  “On the mouth. He made her lip bleed.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Both of Doc’s eyes were now focused on me.

  “Have you talked to Layne about his feelings on a new man in your life?”

  “Sort of.” Just yesterday we’d touched on the subject.

  “I think you’re going to have to talk to him some more if you’re going to keep seeing this Jeff Wymonds guy.”

  Jeff Wymonds? Addy was at her matchmaking game again. It turned out both kids were going to need a talking to in order to straighten everything out. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “I don’t have a new boyfriend named Jeff Wymonds, Mom.” And that was the honest truth.

  Doc reached over and brushed his fingers over the back of my neck, his hand lingering there, massaging.

  “Addy seemed pretty definite about it,” my mom said. “When I suggested that it wasn’t nice to tell tall tales, she swore she’d seen you kissing this Jeff guy.”

  “She did see us kissing, only it was him kissing me, and it wasn’t at all what she thought.” It was more like Jeff trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for how far he could stick his tongue down an esophagus—my esophagus. “I have told her that multiple times. She’s just not listening.”

  “Sounds like another hard-headed girl I know.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Mother.”

  Mom chuckled. “All right. I just wanted to let you know why Addy has a split lip.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

  “They’re my grandchildren, Violet. I expect life to be messy when they’re around. It’s all part of the fun.”

  “I appreciate you keeping them overnight.” Even if the Wicked Witch of the West had been under the same roof as them. I’d needed the time alone with Doc, whose hands were currently working magic, turning my neck and shoulders into finger Jello.

  “Any time, dear.”

  “I’ll call you in a couple of days after the kids get settled into school.”

  “Okay. Oh, and Violet,” Mom caught me before I hung up. “It’s okay if you do have a boyfriend. I’d like to see you happy again someday.”

  “I am happy,” I insisted.

  I was actually very happy at the moment, on the verge of being positively tingly thanks to Doc’s massage. As long as I didn’t think too much about anything outside of this pickup cab, my life was charmed—all moons, stars, green clovers, and purple horseshoes.

  “If you say so. Just be careful. You don’t have the best track record with men.”

  “Thank you for that loving reminder, Mommy Dearest.”

  I hung up before she decided to go into detail on my spotty past when it came to the opposite sex. I didn’t have that many minutes left on my cell phone plan this month to cover it all.

  “Wymonds deserves solid marks for trying,” Doc said, “don’t you think?”

  “Beh!” I answered and started the Picklemobile.

  Pulling up behind Doc’s office, I let the pickup sputter, otherwise referred to as idling. “I need to go home and see my kids.” And then whip them with wet noodles.

  He nodded. “You want me to pick you up for the séance?”

  “You still want to go after what happened today?”

  “Of course. Now you have an actual ghost to channel.”

  That was still up for debate in my book.

  “I’ll go dig around in the library,” he continued, “and see if I can come up with a name to go with the murder scene.”

  “Don’t you need to rest or something after what happened?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The lines around his eyes told another story, but I didn’t argue.

  He caught my hand. “You pulled me out of that before it sucked me totally under”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “She wasn’t dead yet when you pinched me.”

  “Have you ever had that happen before? Been pulled out early?”

  “Yes, but not for a long time.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “How about you just pick me up here tonight.”

  I nodded, still feeling the warmth of his lips on my skin. I’d rather go back to his house and let him make me forget all about the séance.

  He stepped down from the Picklemobile, shooting me a wink before disappearing into his office.

  Five minutes later, I parked in Aunt Zoe’s drive next to her truck. Both kids were playing in the front yard. Elvis the chicken watched from her regal roost in the shade on the porch.

  There was no sign of my sister to be found—no bubbling cauldrons, no flying monkeys, no unhappy little people—well, not counting Layne and his worried frown when he caught sight of me. Heck, even the dark, ominous thunderheads had floated away. Oz was happy again, and the Good Witch Glinda was home to lecture the munchkins and threaten them with a life of slavery if the fighting didn’t stop, pronto. If only I had one of those cool star wands and a field of poppies to roll around in.

  Addy was at the Picklemobile’s door before the old truck stopped burping and belching and booming.

  “Hi, Mom!” She said around a thick wad of gum. “Look what Layne did to me. I sure hope you’re gonna tan his hide to teach him a lesson about hitting girls.”

  Wow, she didn’t even let my boots touch the dirt before lobbying for a beating.

  I slammed the pickup door and tipped Addy’s chin up for a closer inspection. Layne had done a bang up job on her mouth.

  “It really hurts,” she said and blew a pink, fruity-smelling bubble in my face.

  I popped her bubble. “Yeah, I can see how miserable you are.”

  When I glanced over at Layne, he was busy poking a stick in the flowerbed all of the sudden. I sighed, my heart panging a little. The poor kid was battling his own demons.

  Damned Rex Conner for running off and leaving me to raise a son without a father. For the first time in years, guilt burned in my chest. Writing Rex off for good had been the right thing to do, I reminded myself. A sperm donor did not a good father make.

  “Okay, everybody inside right now. We need to have a family meeting at the kitchen table.”

  “Oh, man,” Layne moaned and trudged inside.

  “But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Addy whined.

  I turned her around and nudged her toward the front door. “Go, Adelynn Renee. Now.”

  Complaining the whole way, she followed her brother inside and stomped all of the way into the kitchen.

  Aunt Zoe was leaning against the counter cutting up lemons when the three of us plopped down in our usual dinnertime places. Home sweet home—the land of fresh lemonade and a molting chicken.

  “You must have seen Addy’s lip,” Aunt Zoe said to me.

  Nodding, I looked specifically at Layne. “Let’s hear your side of the story.”

  “I asked her to stop saying you were marrying Kelly’s dad,” he said, his big hazel eyes pleading his case. “But she wouldn’t be quiet.”

  “You didn’t ask,” Addy swooped in with her rebuttal. “You yelled at me to shut my big fat mouth, and then hauled off and hit me.”

  “Did not!” he bellowed

  “Did, too!” she bellowed back.

  “Both of you knock it off,” I snapped, nailing each of them with a silencing glare in turn. “The three of us need to get something straight here and now. Jeff Wymonds is not my boyfriend.”

  Addy frowned. “But you kissed—”

  “There is no ‘but,’ Adelynn. He is not my boyfriend, understand?

  “Maybe someday you’ll—” she tried again.

  “Nor will he ever be my boyfriend.” When she opened her mouth, I repeated, “Ever.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Layne asked.

  I pondered my answer for a moment. I thought about all of the philosophical ways of explaining the concept of everlasting love, the essential ingredient that was supposed to go with marriage, at least in my world.

  While I was busy pondering, Layne flipped his eyelids inside out and grinned at his sister. Addy giggled and tried to do the same back.

  At that point, I realized I was putting way too much thought into my response and answered, “I’m sure because when Jeff kissed me it grossed me out.”

  Addy leaned closer, her forearms resting on the table. “Did he French you?”

  My face warmed. Addy must have picked that up from the TV or one of her friends.

  “What does ‘French you’ mean?” Layne asked.

  I left that answer to Addy, curious to hear how much she really knew.

  Aunt Zoe walked over, joining us while she dried her hands.

  “It’s when a boy licks your lips,” Addy said with a confident nod.

  “Ewww,” both Layne and Aunt Zoe replied.

  In that case, “No, he didn’t French me, Adelynn.”

  Addy lowered her chin onto her arms. “That blows, Mom. I wanted Kelly as a sister.”

  “I know, sweetie.” I ruffled her hair. “But you’ll have to settle for having her as a really good friend for the rest of your life.”

  “Like you and Natalie?” Addy asked.

  “Yes, like me and Nat.”

  Until Natalie found out about me and Doc.

  She wanted to get married. I heard Doc’s voice repeat his earlier comment about Tiffany in my thoughts.

  Change that answer to IF Natalie ever found out about us.

  After learning that Tiffany had wanted to get married and Doc had left without looking back, I was back to where I’d started when it came to Doc and me—torn, unsure, wanting to hide under my bed.

  Two pairs of eyes watching me reminded me that I still had an audience. It was time to adjourn this family meeting.

  I turned to Layne. “I don’t like it when you hit your sister like that. It’s rude, mean, and unacceptable. If I catch either of you hitting each other like this again, I won’t let you watch television for two weeks.”