Page 266 of Love Bites

I froze, chicken chunk midway to my mouth. While that was no surprise to me, his bringing it up was. “Oh.”

“For another woman.”

I almost dropped my chicken. I’d had that fact backwards. Now that Jeff had straightened it out for me, I didn’t know what to say besides, “That sucks.”

“Yep. On top of that, Kelly won’t stop talking about death, even after I’ve forked out a shitload of money for shrink visits over the last year.”

The whole bit about how to kill a snake popped into my brain again, followed by the need to have a talk with Addy about what Kelly had been saying to her behind closed doors. I bit off half of the chicken strip, the salty morsel as appealing as deep-fried cardboard at the moment.

“And if my wife has her way in court, I’ll get to see my son for one day every other weekend.” Pain scrunched his face.

I reached toward his arm, then pulled back, uncertain. He was the villain in my suspicions, I wasn’t supposed to feel this ache in my throat for him. “I’m so sorry.”

“My boy is going to be raised by a pair of lesbos.”

I winced at his offensive choice of terms, and searched for a positive spin. “At least he’ll have three parents. A lot of kids don’t have any.” Hell, my kids had only me.

“You like men, don’t you, Violet Parker?”

“Sure.” I glanced Doc’s way again. Some more than others, damn it.

“You and I should go out,” he said through cheeks packed with burger. “You’re pretty enough. We could be like the Brady Bunch.”

Or like John and Lorena Bobbitt—butcher knife included. “Uh-huh,” was my noncommittal reply. “Is that why you asked me to lunch?”

He shook his head. “I need your help.”

I doubted my one psychology class at Rushmore Community College was going to cut it. “With what?”

“My house. I want you to sell it.”

* * *

I walkedaround Deadwood a bit after lunch, craving some alone-time to rehash my suspicions before returning to face my bare desktop—and Ray. Warm breezes tainted with exhaust fumes trailed down Main Street. The growl of creeping traffic blocked out most of the dings and pings of slot machines, muffled behind plate-glass windows. My sunglasses offered shelter from eye contact with strangers.

Jeff’s admissions about his home life had left me scratching my head. Desperation had choked off myHell, no!reply when he’d requested my Realtor services, so we’d spent the last part of lunch buried in shop talk.

I’d learned that he had to sell in order to pay Donna for her portion of the house’s value. Lucky for him, he’d bought the place back before gambling came to town and house prices had quadrupled. His ambition was to move to Spearfish, closer to his brother. Kelly would be joining him—her mother unable to handle the little girl’s slippery slide into depression.

Jeff hadn’t even blinked when I’d mentioned the percentage he’d have to pay me if I could find a buyer, nor the amount of cash he’d need to invest to clean his place up so it didn’t look like the site of a redneck kegger. I’d walked away from lunch with heavy feet—not at all what I’d imagined before stepping into the Purple Door Saloon.

The hot sunshine drove me inside Fancy Fannie’s, a casino with life-sized, black-and-white pictures of showgirls lining the walls. Chilled air cooled my neck and arms, cigarette smoke burned the back of my throat. Plopping in front of a Triple 777 slot machine, I fed it a ten-dollar bill and hit the Spin button. Sevens and cherries blurred in front of my eyes.

Why had Doc insisted I change chairs? What was the deal with him and the crazy bit about Wild Bill?

The tumblers landed on a single seven, a blank spot, and a double seven. I hit Spin again.

Why had he been looking up information on dead people again, anyway? A morbid curiosity? Something work-related?

Why the cemetery out behind Harvey’s place?

The tumblers stopped on a triple seven, a single cherry, and a blank spot. I punched Spin.

Did Doc suspect that Harvey had something to do with the missing girls? No, that couldn’t be it. Harvey was crusty on the outside, but inside, he was just a big glob of goo. Although, he was partial to Bessie. Okay, maybe he had the potential to smack a puppy or two, but hurt a little girl? Surely not. Right?

Double seven, single seven, and two cherries.

Who was Doc to be pointing a finger, anyway? He wasn’t exactly above suspicion. He sure spent a lot of time at the Rec Center. Probably almost as much as Jeff over the last year, now that I thought about it. He must have seen all of the missing girls at some point. He’d already admitted to knowing Sherry Dobbler … and her sister.

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