“Why don’t you wake me up?”

  “What good would that do? You’d just have a matching set.”

  “Vi, I’m supposed to be helping you get through this. I can’t do that if you won’t tell me what’s going on in your head.”

  As much as I loved Natalie, I hadn’t exactly asked for her help. The unending slumber party was her idea, not mine. And the constant poking, prodding, and concern about my feelings by one and all was starting to make me grind my teeth.

  I appreciated that Natalie’s interest was born out of love and caring, but her sitting on me like a mother hen day in and out was beginning to make me feel smothered. Pretty soon, feathers would fly from my mouth when I coughed.

  “What’s there to tell?” I said. “I have bad dreams and trouble falling back to sleep afterward. This too shall pass; I just need more time for my brain to cram this in a drawer and be done with it.”

  “Well, your Aunt Zoe wants me to stay as long as you need me, so until you kick me out, I’ll be by your side day and night.”

  Swell. Wonderful. Terrific. I was so hosed.

  The front door whooshed open, letting in a rush of traffic noise and hot August air. I looked up and my jaw unhinged at the sight of a tall, gangly version of Abraham Lincoln standing just inside the threshold—top hat, cane, and black suit jacket included.

  “Who in the hell …” Natalie’s whispered words echoed the voice in my head. Was I seeing one of Doc’s ghosts?

  “I’m looking for Violet Parker,” Abe said, striding toward us, his cane banging on the wood floor, his bare, boney wrists sticking out from his too-short jacket sleeves. He removed his top hat when he stopped next to Natalie; his jet black hair matched his pointed goatee.

  “I’m Violet,” I said after I’d dug my voice out of the back of my throat where it had lodged itself.

  Was the circus in town?

  He slid his round sunglasses down his long, narrow nose. Cornflower blue eyes peered out at me, their intensity startling me back a step.

  “I’m Cornelius Curion.”

  No way was that his real name.

  Somehow, I managed to paste a smile on my lips. A glance at Natalie’s bug-eyed, mouth-gaping stare confirmed that I wasn’t the only one flamboozled by the pale-skinned oddity of a man.

  “Hello, Mr. Curion. How can I help you?”

  “I need to hire your services.”

  No. Absolutely not. I’d never live it down if the locals saw me cruising around in the Picklemobile with this guy in the cab.

  I skirted the issue by asking, “Are you looking to buy or sell in the area?”

  “Buy.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar bills thick enough to choke a rattlesnake. “And I plan to pay cash for it.”

  On the other hand, there was my utter lack-of-money situation. Plus, Deadwood residents already had me labeled as a ghost-loving freak, so a cruise through town with a top-hat wearing, dead president body double couldn’t really hurt. Abe Lincoln was carved into Mt. Rushmore, after all, so Cornelius was practically a celebrity already around these parts.

  “I’d be happy to help,” I told him.

  Natalie let out yet another gurgling sound, drawing Cornelius’ and my gazes.

  “Sorry,” she said, faking some coughs into her closed fist. “Something in my throat.”

  “You should get that checked out,” I told her with a zip-it glare.

  She turned away from us, her shoulders shaking from more than a coughing fit.

  “Excellent,” Cornelius said, focusing those cornflower eyes back on me.

  “Did you have a particular house in mind?”

  “Not a house,” he said, smiling—well, half-smiling. Only one side of his mouth seemed to be participating. The other side twitched twice, but stayed flat. “A hotel.”

  Hotel? Okay, I could make that happen. Probably.

  “One of the hotels in Deadwood?” I asked, trying to remember if there were any for sale on Main Street. Hotel owners sometimes tried to keep that sort of information hidden from the public in order to keep business flowing without any hiccups.

  “Yes,” Cornelius said, stroking his pointed goatee. “The haunted one.”

  Chapter Three

  It really should have been no surprise that an Abe Lincoln lookalike waltzed into Calamity Jane’s and asked me to help him buy a haunted hotel. After all, I had started the day looking at a dead guy’s deflated penis, a surefire omen of how my day was going to go. It was foolish of me to think things couldn’t get any worse.

  Natalie had totally bailed on me in the midst of Cornelius’ visit, which was not very guardian-angel-like of her at all. Luckily, after she left, Cornelius had only stayed long enough to secure an appointment with me at Calamity Jane’s at two o’clock.

  An hour after Honest Abe exited stage left, Ray Underhill burst through the front door.

  Sweat stained the pits of his lemon yellow shirt. His usual good ole boy sneer was replaced by a pinched brow; his tie crooked, his fake-tanned cheeks extra ruddy. A waft of air riding on his coattails hit me, making my throat burn. He must have flea-dipped in Stetson cologne this morning.

  “What are you gawking at, Blondie?” he asked, a snarl on his lips as he shot me a glare bloated with contempt. “Did I yank on your chain?”

  I shrugged and focused on my computer screen again. “You remind me of something the cat puked up.”

  Ever since I’d landed the Associate Broker position instead of his nephew, Ray and I had shared a love-hate relationship, as in we loved to hate each other—loudly and often. But a week ago, we’d both had our hands slapped by Jane for not playing nicely together. Now we kept our “kiss-my-ass” and “go-blow-a-goat” jabs to a minimum, except when Jane was out of the office, such as this very moment.

  “Slept with any new clients lately?” Ray asked, tossing his keys on his desk. “Is that why you’re wearing the shades? Too many late nights spent boinking our neighbor boy?”

  Ray knew Doc and I were playing hanky-panky behind closed doors. Not long ago, he’d used a pair of women’s underwear to trick me into lowering my mask and showing my crazed-jealousy face.

  Fortunately, he thought I was just a slut who slept with all of my clients, and he had no idea how big of a secret my Doc business was. But that didn’t keep the back of my knees from sweating every time Natalie came within ten feet of the spray-tanned asshole.

  Before I could trade any more insults with Ray, my cell phone rang. My parents’ number appeared on the phone’s screen. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom,” Layne said, breathing hard. I heard Addy squeal and slip into a fit of giggles in the background. “Are you going to come pick us up tonight?”

  My kids had been hanging out at my parents’ place down in Rapid all week. At first, I’d sent them there to protect them. But after the Carhart mess blew over, I’d let them stay longer to enjoy the pool and last throes of summer before the school year kicked into gear.

  A little quiet time for me to recuperate hadn’t hurt, either. I just wished I could get some damned sleep. Or sex with Doc. Or both.

  “Not until tomorrow, sweetie. Are you guys having fun with Grammy and Grandpa?”

  “Sure. But I miss you.”

  Ah, Layne, my darling son. I needed to buy him something for that long-distance heart squeeze.

  Layne dug archaeology almost as much as Indiana Jones did. Maybe I’d get him a book on the Maya culture in the Yucatan, where my brother, Quint, had written he’d be heading next spring, after he finished up a couple of photo jobs in Canada.

  “Is Addy keeping her cast dry like I told her to?”

  Addy had broken her arm chasing Elvis into an old mine weeks ago. She needed that cast on a bit longer, and the only way I’d allowed her to go in the pool at all was with a promise from her and my mom that the cast would not get wet.

  “Yes. But mom,” Layne added in a quiet voice, which was almost drowned out by the sound of Ray’s cell phone ringing. “Aunt Susan is here,”

  Susan!

  Just hearing my younger sister’s name made me feel like I’d chugged a bottle of Jack Daniels. Fire flared up my esophagus, trying to blast from my mouth and fry everything in my path with a force that would make Godzilla proud.

  I swallowed the flames as Ray stood, his cell phone pressed to his ear, and walked toward the rear door.

  “What is she doing there?” I asked. Susan was supposed to be in Florida ruining someone else’s life.

  “I don’t know. Grammy said she’s going to stay here for a while.”

  What!?

  “Something about Aunt Susan needing to get back on her feet.”

  That would be a change. In my experience, she spent most of her time on her back.

  “Layne, you and Addy need to stay away from her.”

  “Mom, why don’t we like Aunt Susan again?”

  Besides the fact that she had a bad habit of sleeping with whichever man I happened to be dating, including the kids’ father, she was taller, thinner, her hair silkier and straighter, and she could tie cherry stems with her tongue. But I was talking to Layne, so I kept it simple. “She has cooties. Really big, gross ones.”

  “Ick.”

  “Yeah, so stay back.”

  “She bought us bubblegum ice cream cones. Double scoops.”

  “She did?” What angle was Susan playing? Why was she bribing my kids?

  “And she took us to the movies and let us pick out two kinds of candy. I let Addy have my extra bag of M&Ms.”

  The back of my neck prickled.

  “And she bought Elvis a little rain coat.”

  Elvis was Addy’s pet chicken. She loved to roost on my bed when nobody was looking, even though she wasn’t allowed upstairs. The damned bird was the other reason, besides Nat’s smothering ways, that feathers might fly from my mouth when I coughed these days.

  I’d heard enough about Susan’s suspicious generosity. “Let me talk to Mo—I mean Grammy.”

  “Okay. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love—”

  There were several loud clinks, as if Layne had dropped the phone in the sink, and then I heard my mother’s voice. “How are you feeling, Violet? Getting some rest?”

  “I’m great, Mom,” I lied. I wasted no time on pleasantries. “What’s Susan doing there?”

  “She’s visiting her parents like a good daughter.” My mother was toying with me. She knew how much I’d like to tie my sister to a satellite and salute her goodbye as she blasted into outer space.

  “How much money does she need this time?” I asked.

  “Really, Violet? You’re going to start with this already? Your sister is a changed woman.”

  Right, she’d probably just grown another horn. “I’ve heard that story before, Mom.”

  “She really means it this time.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she slipping drugs into your coffee?”

  Mom chuckled, as if I were joking. “No, dear.”

  “Don’t leave my kids alone with her.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Have you forgotten about bailing me out of jail because of her?”

  A sigh came through the line. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Both times?”

  “I’m familiar with our family history, Violet.”

  “Do you still think I’m overreacting?”

  “A little.”

  “Fine. But this time, you’re going to have to spring for bail and three month’s rent while I look for a new job.”

  “Nothing is going to happen. I’m telling you, things are different now.”

  “Unless Susan has been bitten by a werewolf and grows a fur coat on her back every full moon, I doubt it.”

  “If you’re done being a big, fat downer, I’m going to get back in the pool with the kids and finish our game of Marco Polo.”

  Downer? My mother, the flower child. “Fine. Make me out to be the bad guy.”

  “I love you, too, dear,” Mom said and hung up on me.

  I glared at my cell phone for several seconds, debating whether to drive down to Rapid this very moment and snatch up my kids.

  I didn’t like Susan being back in the state, let alone staying with my parents. And I definitely didn’t like her buying stuff for my kids. Something was going on there, and I needed to keep it as far from me and mine as possible.

  “I know.” Ray’s hushed voice interrupted my internal rant. “You already said that.” He was still on his phone, apparently not realizing the long, wood-floored hallway acted as an excellent conduit for his voice.

  He should have shut himself in the bathroom or Jane’s office if he wanted privacy.

  I faced my computer and typed my password into the MLS site.

  “I know what I saw, George.”

  George? I froze, fingers hovering over my keyboard. As in George Mudder of the Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor? My ears perked.

  “They followed me,” Ray said.

  A pause followed.

  “Yes, I’m positive.”

  Another pause.

  “No, I made sure they didn’t see it. I did exactly as you told me. It’s like they knew where I was going the whole time.”

  Pause.

  “No. You couldn’t pay me enough to do that.”

  To do what? Was Ray just saying that, or was George really paying him to do something?

  “Shit, Jane just pulled in.” Ray must have been looking out the back door, his voice bouncing off the glass. “I have to go.”

  I shed my sunglasses before Jane came in, praying that last dose of eye drops made me look a little less zombie-ish.

  “I’ll see you tonight after the viewing,” Ray said.

  What was happening after the viewing? Maybe I could convince my so-called guardian angel to join me tonight at the funeral parlor and distract her old friend, George Mudder, while I found out.

  A month ago, I’d seen Ray and George Mudder lug a big crate out the back doors of the funeral parlor and load it into Ray’s SUV. Later, when I’d asked Ray what he and George were up to, his face had turned blood red. I’d swear steam hissed from his ears and nostrils, followed by an unveiled threat to mind my own beeswax, “or else.”

  It was threats like this, and his numerous attempts to get my ass canned, that made me feel a bit ornery at times.

  Like now.

  Ray’s boot heels thudded across the wood floor, nearing. I looked up at him. “How’s our buddy, George? You two still moving big crates around town?”

  Ray’s face scrunched up tight, his eyes mere slits. “Don’t you have some client to fuck, Blondie?”

  He wasn’t pulling punches today. Fine. “What’s happening tonight after the viewing, Ray?”

  His fists tight, he leaned down in my face. His breath reeked of stale coffee. “Listen you little troublemaking bitch—”

  “No!” I shoved him backward, out of my face. “I’m done listening to your goddamned mouth, Ray. And I’m done putting up with your—”

  The back door opened.

  Ray shot me a parting squint. He dropped into his chair, slamming his cell phone on his desk so hard that the battery casing popped off.

  Jane stopped by her office long enough to put her purse down. She came out front with the latte I’d bought her earlier this morning.

  With her fuchsia-colored scarf, matching short-sleeve striped sweater, touched-up blonde highlights, and pert smile, she looked just like the mom from those old Partridge Family reruns. Only Jane had a core of titanium instead of psychedelic love, and she liked to recite To-Do lists for us instead of singing songs.

  “Thank you for the coffee, Violet.” She put it in the microwave, looking from me to Ray and back again, her gaze assessing.

  I smiled, all bright sunshine and rainbows, as if I hadn’t been on the verge of flattening Ray’s nose with my knuckles a few seconds ago.

  “Did you get my message?” she asked.

  Earlier this morning, I’d called to see if there would be any problem with my representing a client in a commercial real estate deal and got Jane’s voice mail. In her message back, she’d said that legally I could represent clients for both residential and commercial properties, but I’d need her help.

  “I got it,” I said. “I already contacted the seller’s Realtor and set up a meeting this afternoon for a walkthrough with my client.”

  “What about financial info on the place?” Jane asked. Buttons beeped, then the microwave hummed.

  “The Realtor will bring it with him.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Who’s your new client?” Ray asked, kicking back, resting his Tony Lama boots on his desktop. His smile looked as fake as his orange-tinged tan. He was obviously playing bosom-buddies for Jane’s benefit.

  I joined his game, smiling back. “You wouldn’t know him. He’s from out of town.”

  Possibly even from another planet.

  “Try me.”

  “I’ll introduce you some other time.”

  His smile curled into a sneer for a heartbeat. “You sure he’s not a figment of your imagination?”

  I glanced sideways at Jane. She stood with her arms crossed, lips pursed, watching us.

  “He’s definitely real. Natalie was in here when he came in.” Until she left in a coughing fit of laughter.

  The microwave beeped.

  “I’m curious,” Jane said, pulling out her latte. “What’s his name?”

  I was on the spot. Damn Ray. I winged him with a fleeting glare. “Cornelius Curion.”

  Ray snorted. “You’re making that up.”

  “Nope.” It was even on his Nevada driver’s license.

  “Which property is he interested in?” Jane asked.

  I’d much rather discuss this in the privacy of her office. “One of the hotels in Deadwood.”

  “Which one?” Ray had his fangs sunk into my ass and refused to pull out.

  I looked at Jane, hesitating.

  “Spill it, Violet,” she ordered.

  Damn it! “The Old Prospector Hotel.”

  Jane closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “Another nut job,” Ray said, laughing in my face. “I love it! Spooky Parker strikes out again.”