by Ann Charles
“Damned tootin’,” Harvey said.
“Not exactly,” Cooper corrected. “Although there are rumors.”
Rumors, shmoomers. This town overflowed with all varieties of tall tales. “What, then?” I wiped my mouth, ready to be done talking about the Carharts. “Possessed?”
“It’s got bad luck.” Harvey shook his head. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble again. Doc’s gonna be pissed.”
“Leave him out of it, Harvey.” I turned to his nephew. “Cooper, please explain to your crazy uncle that one incident in the house doesn’t mean the place should be razed and bulldozed.”
“That’s not the only incident,” Cooper said.
I blinked. “It’s not? What are you saying?”
“That house has a history.”
“A history of what?”
“Murder.”
Chapter Five
The rest of lunch was filled with Realtor talk about Detective 007’s selling and buying needs, interspersed with Harvey’s growls and grumbles about my always going off half-cocked. I did my best to listen to one and ignore the other over the ebb and flow of leather-clad biker patrons.
When lunch ended, I had an appointment to keep, so I removed Harvey’s rat-terrier teeth from my ass and made Cooper promise to call me and set up a time to pay his house a visit. As I scooted on up the road to Lead, I could see Harvey in my rearview mirror, sending me on my way with a pointed-finger warning.
The Carhart’s house perched in all its lovely splendor on the edge of the man-made canyon. Two lanky boys on ladders scraped paint off the front of it. They stopped working to watch me approach the porch, their up-to-no-good grins wide. Had they heard the rumor about me? I couldn’t be that notorious, could I?
“Hey, aren’t you Spooky Parker, the ghost Realtor?” the ganglier of the two asked from the top of his ladder.
The other snickered and stared.
I guess they’d heard. I shoved them both off their ladders ... in my diabolical dreams. In reality, I ignored them and knocked on the front door. Millie answered before I finished with my fourth rap. Her frizzy hair framed her owl eyes; her black cardigan, matching her wool skirt.
Seriously, did this woman have any warm blood flowing through her veins? It hovered near ninety degrees today with blue skies and sunshine all around town. The top of my head had been baked twice already.
“Hi, Millie. I’m here to—”
“Hurry, before the flies get in.” She grabbed my arm and yanked me over the threshold into the ten-degrees cooler house.
I was unaware that we had such a big fly problem in the Hills. She slammed the door behind me, throwing all three deadbolts. Wanda waited just inside the kitchen archway, her red gingham replaced with cornflower blue today. She shrank into the shadows when I smiled at her. All seemed par for the course here in Murderville, USA.
“Do you have the listing agreement?” Millie asked, ushering me into the sitting room. The thick velvet curtains were drawn, turning afternoon into early evening.
“It’s in my bag.” I took a seat on the soft leather sofa.
The house still smelled of vanilla, making me crave Aunt Zoe’s homemade vanilla wafers. Spirited Mexican music trickled down the stairwell. One or both women seemed to have some kind of a hankering for a fiesta.
As I pulled the listing agreement and a pen from my tote, I glanced over at the sideboard, looking for the picture of the happy couple, and did a double-take. The picture frame remained, but half of the picture was missing—the Carhart oaf half. The raven-haired beauty still sat in the frame.
I turned away, peeking at Millie and Wanda under my lashes to see if they’d observed me gawking, but both seemed distracted. Millie watched the door, chewing on her nails; Wanda stared at something over in the corner, just as she had the last time I’d visited.
Smoothing out the listing agreement, I decided to hurry up and procure Wanda’s signature and get the hell out of Dodge. There was something about those two women that made me feel like I was walking around in a tilted room with the furniture stuck to the ceiling.
“Okay, Wanda,” I addressed the silent partner, since her name was on the deed. “Read through this while I’m here and let me know if you have any questions. I’ve included the increased percentage rate we agreed to during my last visit.” I held out the listing agreement for Wanda, but Millie snatched it from my hand.
“I’ll read it.” Millie scanned the document. Wanda spared her daughter a glance, then focused back on the corner, her lips tight.
There was no easy way to do it, but I had to ask, “Millie, is your mother able to sign the listing agreement?”
Millie didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”
“Is she of sound body and ...” I shifted, smoothed an invisible wrinkle on my pink paisley skirt, “mind?”
“Uh-huh.”
Well, that had less impact than I’d figured. “So you don’t have a power of attorney?”
Her owl glasses remained glued to the listing agreement. “She wouldn’t sign one.”
Hmm. Wanda wasn’t quite as “gone” as she appeared. Interesting. Could have fooled me.
“This seems right to me.” Millie placed the listing agreement on Wanda’s lap. “Sign it, Mother.”
The front doorknob rattled, then the deadbolts clicked, one by one.
“Lila,” Millie whispered and jumped to her feet as the door swung wide.
Catcalls and whistles followed a dark-haired beauty in through the front door—the same beauty whose picture sat solo on the sideboard.
Smiling like the happiest girl in the whole USA, Junior Carhart’s fiancée shut the door and leaned against it. Her smile clouded over and her eyes narrowed when she noticed me. “Who are you?”
I stood and faced the woman who’d wanted the Carhart funerals taped. My hackles rose right off. She was too damned gorgeous, without a single flaw. Call me a jealous bitch, but I wanted to rub poison ivy on her porcelain skin and bury wads of gum in those thick, wavy black locks. Those Liz Taylor eyes made my lip want to curl. “I’m the Carharts’ Realtor.”
Something brushed my arm. I looked over to find Wanda standing next to me, shoulder to shoulder, facing off against the fiancée.
“Oh, right.” The beauty’s smile returned, brighter now. Extra bright. I didn’t trust it. She pushed away from the door, strolling toward me. “You’re the one who specializes in selling haunted houses.” Her belittling tone set me even more on edge.
“No.” I almost lost the battle to retract my claws in a sudden surge of hostility. “I specialize in selling houses. Period.”
She was too tall, towering a good six inches over me. Like a long-legged spider in a very mini light blue cheerleader-type skirt. Her red camisole hugged her small, super pert breasts. I wanted to hang Christmas tree ornaments from them.
“Millie,” she said without breaking eye contact with me, “go get our little Realtor friend a drink, would you?”
Millie scurried off, as ordered.
“I’m Lila Beaumont, by the way.” She didn’t hold out her hand.
“Violet Parker.” I didn’t hold out mine, either.
“I know.” She turned to Wanda, her gaze hardening. “Wanda, dear, go help Millie in the kitchen. I’d like a word with our new friend without you lurking about.”
When Wanda didn’t move, Lila snarled, “Now!”
With a squeak and a jump, Wanda hot-footed it out of there.
My dislike for Lila was growing at record speed. Somebody should’ve called Guinness; I was close to making the list.
I waited until Wanda was out of earshot. “What do you need to tell me that the owner of the house can’t hear?”
“Bold. I like that in a woman.” Lila crossed her arms, her teeth showing. They looked sharp. Seriously. I could have sworn her canines were extra pointed, like little daggers. Did she file them?
“What did you want to talk to me about?” I wanted to get this showd
own over with and be on my merry way.
“It’s imperative that you do your best to sell this house as soon as possible.”
I wanted that as much as she did. But I didn’t like being told what to do, especially by Miss Lila Beaumont.
I decided not to mince words, since she wasn’t my client. “Exactly what business of yours is it if this house sells or not?”
“I have Millie and Wanda’s best interests at heart, of course.”
Right. Their best interests. Sure. I had to wonder if she would get a piece of the pie when the house sold. She had to have some other motivation. Why else would she still be sticking around half a year after her fiancé’s death? It couldn’t be Wanda and Millie’s sparkling personalities.
I crossed my arms. “As I told Wanda and Millie yesterday when I agreed to sell the house, I will do my best to find them a buyer. But the market is slow, so there are no guarantees.”
“Time is of the essence,” Lila said.
So she had already insinuated. “For you or them?”
Her eyes turned frosty, her matching smile sending chills down my back. “Just do your job and sell the damned house.”
Millie came from the kitchen holding a glass of water and the signed listing agreement. Wanda followed, as usual.
“Never mind with that,” Lila told Millie. “Miss Parker was just leaving, weren’t you?”
I grabbed my tote. “Sure, but I want to talk to Wanda first.” When nobody moved, I added, “Alone.”
Millie turned to Lila, as if to get her approval. Lila continued to nail me with that maniacal smile, daggers showing. “Fine. Come, Millie.” She headed toward the stairs, pausing on the first step to say, “Let yourself out when you’re finished, Miss Parker. We’ll be seeing you again soon, I hope.”
Millie tramped up the stairs after her.
I moved to where Wanda stood next to the sofa. “Wanda?”
For a handful of seconds, I thought she wasn’t going to acknowledge me. Then her eyes met mine.
“I need one more signature from you on this listing agreement.” Which was true, luckily for me. Since I hadn’t witnessed her signing it, I wanted to make sure Millie hadn’t forged her signature. I fished a pen from my bag and held it toward her.
I heard rustling coming from the stairwell, so I lowered my voice. “Just sign right here on this line.”
She took the pen, flattened the listing agreement on a side table, and signed without hesitation. The signature matched the other one. No foul play there.
Taking the pen and paper from her, I tri-folded the listing agreement. “Do you really want to sell your house, Wanda?”
She nodded once.
“Are you sure?”
Another nod.
“Why?”
She frowned and looked toward her favorite corner, but said nothing. I counted to ten, waiting, then stuffed the listing agreement in my tote. Officially, I had everything I needed for a legitimate deal. But something about this whole setup smelled sour.
Wanda wasn’t going to answer. I hoisted my tote over my shoulder. “Thank you, Wanda, for choosing Calamity Jane to represent you in this business matter. I’ll be in touch.”
As I turned to leave, I heard a murmur come from her. I looked back at her. “What did you say?”
She mouthed something that I didn’t catch. Miming was not my specialty. I always lost at charades.
I stepped closer. “Sorry, what?”
Her gaze locked onto mine, her eyes wide, frightened. My heart giddy-upped in response.
“This house,” she whispered.
“What about it?”
“It’s haunted.”
* * *
The Deadwood library specialized in Black Hills legend and lore. It had a South Dakota room dedicated to that very subject, filled with all sorts of books, videos, and microfilm reels—which I was getting pretty handy at viewing in spite of my inability to speak technologese.
The room also had a computer with a list of links to some of the best historical websites on the World Wide Web. As I sat at this computer minding my own beeswax, searching for information on the Carhart house, Doc came ramming in. The door rattled in its frame when he closed it.
He stared me down, his jaw clenched along with the rest of his body. A five-o’clock shadow shaded the slight cleft in his chin and added a sexy flavor of ruggedness to his rigid demeanor. “You promised you wouldn’t sell it.”
“You didn’t make me cross my heart.” Harvey must have been whispering sweet-and-sour nothings again, the big-mouth. “It’s nice to see you, too, by the way.”
It was, in spite of his nostril-flaring resemblance to a bull. A black T-shirt and blue jeans molded to his torso, making me want to do the same.
“Violet.” His tone warned.
I didn’t feel like being chewed on any more today, especially after Wanda’s the-sky-is-falling disclosure. I turned my focus back to the website I’d been perusing before Doc’s interruption. “I guess you should have sealed that promise with a kiss.”
He moved like a hot breeze, stealthy, breathing in my ear before I even realized he’d left the doorway. “There’s always that temptation with you.”
The subtle scent of his woodsy cologne kicked my pulse into pitter-patter mode. “What are you doing here, Doc?”
If this were going to be another tease and leave session, I’d like to know before my engine really got to choo-chooing. I turned and faced him. “Are you here to dig through some more death registry names? Or were you just passing by, saw my Bronco, and decided to come in and start poking at me for some Thursday afternoon fun?”
He poked me, just above my left breast.
“Hey!” I rubbed the spot. “That’s just a saying.”
“You’re tense.”
“You’re not supposed to really poke me.”
“Why are you tense?” He looked at the computer screen. “And why are you reading about”—he leaned forward, his eyes scanning the screen, and read aloud my search criteria—“‘murders in Lead, South Dakota’?”
“No reason.” I avoided his prying eyes. “Just killing time before my next appointment.” Which was twenty hours from now.
He growled deep in his throat. “You are such a lousy liar.”
“I’ll keep practicing.”
“The Carhart murders were recent, but you’re looking further back.”
“Stop playing Sherlock.”
“What happened today?”
How detailed a report did he want? “I woke up.” And checked my cell phone to see if you’d called, but you hadn’t.
“Then what?”
“Went to work.” Checked my cell phone, still no call.
“Violet.”
“What? Then I met Harvey and Cooper for lunch.” No call, no message, nada.
“Harvey told me that part. What happened next?”
“I paid a visit to the Carharts and got Wanda’s signature.” Where I learned that Wanda Carhart thought she was being visited by Casper and his wispy pals. But I sure wasn’t telling Doc the last bit.
“And then you came here?” Doc prodded, putting some space between us.
Not quite. First, I drove twenty-five miles to the Wyoming border where I cursed, spit, screamed and jumped up and down in the oven-hot air for ten minutes straight and scared a family of prairie dogs deep into their burrows. “Then I came here.”
“So what aren’t you telling me?”
Too much for one sitting. “It’s a beautiful house.” I still stood by that fact. “It’ll sell quickly.”
At least I hoped it would, because if word got out to the tourist crowd that it was supposedly haunted, I was going to have to turn in my Calamity Jane business cards and start participating in some of those paid medical research studies. I heard the malaria ones promised big bucks.
“Why are you being so evasive?” he asked.
“I’ve been taking notes from you.”
His grin reach
ed the corners of his eyes. “Touché.”
“That was pretty good, huh?”
“Don’t get cocky.” He leaned against the long table holding down the center of the room. “What are you searching for?”
A long-term relationship with a nice, non-serial-killer man. Was that too much to ask? Probably. Playing another card from Doc’s hand, I changed the subject. “Where did you run off to yesterday?”
“I had an appointment.”
“I thought you cancelled the appointment you had in order to be at the house inspection with me.”
“This was another appointment.”
“Scheduled at the same time? Now who’s the rotten liar?”
“I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”
I shook my head. “I prefer to take the ‘dare’ option.”
“You really are getting good at this.”
I was on a freaking roll. “What can I say? I’m taking lessons from a master.”
One eyebrow lifted, his dark eyes challenging now. “Okay, dare it is.”
I waited, my body tense for a whole different reason. Like a teenage girl, I wished and hoped for a dare involving my lips on his. I hadn’t tasted the erotic blend of sugar and spice that was Doc for too long.
“I dare you to tell me the truth.”
“Oh, come on.” My balloon deflated. “That’s cheating.” I turned back to the computer and reached for the mouse. “And boring, too.”
His hands gripped my shoulders, his palms warm through my thin cotton shirt. “Boring, huh?”
“What are you doing, Doc?”
“Not being boring.” He leaned over and murmured, “Nice skirt. Shows off your knees.”
I could hardly hear him. My shoulder muscles were scrunched high and tight, blocking all blood flow to my ears.
“Relax, Violet.” He squeezed and then released, massaging, turning me into Play-Doh. “You’re so tight.”
“Doc, stop.” I couldn’t handle casual caresses from him. It was either touch me all over or keep a six-foot field of play open between us.
“Just relax and enjoy it.” He continued to work on my shoulders. My body clamored for so much more, starved for everything Doc. “I doubt you get this kind of attention very often.”
