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I shifted into drive. “Yeah, as harmless as a pissed-off rattlesnake.”
* * *
Tuesday,July 17th
The next morning, the heat returned with the sun—both out on the street and in Calamity Jane’s. As Jane filled the office with the scent of a dry-erase marker, writing in everyone’s column but mine on her Sale Pending white board, Mona clacked away on her laptop and Ray worked his wheel-and-deal magic on the phone.
I spent most of the pre-noon hours trying to look busy with housing market research while really rummaging around online for more information on Sherry Dobbler, the little girl from Spearfish. It’s not that I didn’t want to be out showing houses or bartering on behalf of a client, but short of begging Ray or Mona for a handout, I was left twirling my hair.
For all of my surfing and digging, all I ended up with was the name of the store in Spearfish where Sherry’s mom worked. Most of the local papers focused on Sherry’s tale of capture and escape with hardly any personal details—on purpose and out of respect, I was sure. This far from Hollywood, reporters tended to be hungry for esteem rather than attention.
As eleven o’clock came and went, even my focus on the missing girls grew blurry. I stared at the plaster wall that divided Calamity Jane’s office from Doc’s. Not twenty feet away, Natalie sat doing God-knows-what with Doc. The urge to press my ear to the wall tugged on me. The need to squash my nose against his front window drove me out the back door to my Bronco.
Since Jane frowned on drinking alcohol at lunch, I settled for a triple-shot latte at the Tin Cup Café. Natalie’s appointment time crept by while I watched tourists through the coffee shop’s plate-glass window as they ambled from casino to casino.
Worries over tomorrow’s lunch date with Jeff had me nibbling on my knuckles. Harvey had offered to hide out at another booth or table, ready to pounce on cue, but I didn’t think it was a good idea. Jeff knew Harvey. If he caught sight of the old codger in the restaurant, he might not feel like talking. Even though the idea of sharing a table with Jeff made my knees wobbly, I wanted to hear what he had to say.
At a quarter till twelve, my cell phone rang. I frowned at my work phone number displayed on my cell screen. Who was calling me from my own desk? “Hello?”
“Where are you?” Natalie asked.
“The Tin Cup. How was your appointment?” I held my breath as I waited for her answer.
“Interesting. I could use a cold shower.”
“Sounds like you enjoyed yourself.” My stomach churned with bubbles of jealous brew. God, I wished Wolfgang would hurry up and get back here to distract me from Doc.
“Oh, we’re just getting started.” I could hear Natalie’s smile in her tone. “We have another appointment on Thursday.”
I took several deep breaths to counteract my green-eyed monster’s sucker-punches.
“You still there, Violet?”
“Yeah, sorry. My phone is acting up today.”
“Anyway, Doc sent me over here looking for you.”
“What for?”
“He wants to go look at a place this afternoon. He said to have you meet him at his car in twenty minutes. Do you know where he’s parked?”
“Yes.” In my spot.
“Okay. I need to head out to check on my mom. I’ll stop by later tonight and give you all the juicy details.”
“Great.” I’d sooner get a bikini wax with a candle and tweezers. “Drive safe.”
I closed my cell and tossed my half-empty coffee cup into the trashcan by the door. Ten minutes later, I stood next to Doc’s Camaro SS, sweating under UV rays, wondering why he was driving instead of me, his Realtor. Probably just another way to get me twitterpated beyond coherent thought.
My cell phone trilled in my purse. I dug it out, shading the screen to see who was calling. Wolfgang’s cell number scrolled across the screen. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Violet.” Wolfgang’s whiskey smooth voice crackled a little in my ear. “Actually, afternoon there, I guess.”
I smiled. Here came the cavalry. “Hi, Wolfgang. You ready to come back to Deadwood?”
“I was ready yesterday. How are things there?”
Let’s see, I have a lunch date tomorrow with a kidnapper and this morning I woke up to find a chicken roosting on the other half of my pillow. “Same as usual.”
