by Ann Charles
Deep breaths didn’t calm me down, nor did kicks to my front tire, so I gave up, grabbed my tote, and headed for the house. I needed hard work to get my mind off the whole Doc debacle. An hour or two of pine-scented cleaner fumes should burn off all the rough edges and make that horse pill easier to swallow. I hoped.
A couple of hours later, Jeff showed up with his daughter, Kelly, in tow. He skidded to a stop just inside the front door. “Violet Parker, what are you doing to my kitchen floor?”
I didn’t raise my head. “Your grout is dirty.”
“Is that my toothbrush?”
“I’ll buy you a new pack of them.”
“You’re early.” Something thunked on the counter.
Sitting back on my heels, I swiped my sweaty brow with my forearm and glanced up at him, only to do a double-take. “Wow. You look ...” different! “Nice.”
Jeff rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I need a shave.”
I gaped at him. When I’d first met Jeff Wymonds more than a month ago, I’d pegged him for the one who’d been kidnapping little girls around town, especially after I’d caught him tossing girls’ clothing in a Dumpster. I’d come within a phone call of turning him into the cops.
Smelling of beer, sporting a scraggly beard and hair, and wearing a stained T-shirt, Jeff had looked one notch above roadkill. Then I learned his wife was dumping him for another woman and taking their baby son with her, leaving him to care for their troubled daughter and pick up the pieces alone. On top of that, she wanted the house—or at least her half of the money for it—so Jeff was on the verge of being homeless, too. Given all that, his lack of hygiene and fondness for alcohol made a little more sense.
But this man, mostly clean-shaven and with freshly trimmed dark blond hair, looked nothing like the monster who’d leered at me through a screen door on our first meeting. Not even remotely. Now I could see why Natalie had once told me Jeff “cleaned up nicely” and why she’d bebopped naked with him in his back seat during high school.
“Your hair looks good,” I said, unable to pull my eyes away, my brain stuck in a Before-and-After loop.
“It’s a little short.” He raked his fingers through his spiky groomed hair. “I stopped at the barber on the way home.”
“I like it.”
“Enough to go out to dinner with me?”
That broke my stare. I shook my head. “You know my rule.”
“Yeah, that whole you-don’t-date-your-clients crap.”
“Exactly.” Except for Wolfgang Hessler, who’d tried to turn me into a shish kabob; and Doc, who’d ditched me after rocketing me to the moon and back.
Jeff took a six-pack of Diet Coke out of the grocery bag and offered me a can. “Your preference, right?”
It was still cold from the store. “Thanks.”
“You should wear jeans and a T-shirt more often.” He winked at me, cracking open a can for himself. “We need to get this house sold and my divorce finalized. A single girl like you won’t last long around these parts.”
I looked away, gulping down some cool soda to keep from having to respond to his comment. While I was happy Jeff was on the road to recovery after having his heart tromped by a herd of rhinos—especially since his daughter and mine seemed to be attached at the hip these days—I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be the focus of his rebound. Although his being easier on the eyes made the idea a bit more palatable.
He opened the fridge and I noticed a total lack of beer. Had he trimmed that along with his hair? I eyed him from head to toe as he put away the groceries. He seemed thinner in his clean white T-shirt and faded Levis. “Did you lose weight?”
He nodded. “I stopped drinking.”
“Because of Kelly?”
“Partly.” He folded the grocery bag and stuffed it under the sink. “With Donna gone, I don’t need to escape anymore.”
Who was this guy? Nobody turned a life corner this fast, did he? He must be catching Dr. Phil reruns late at night.
Jeff caught me staring. A smile crept onto his cheeks, making him look even more handsome, younger. I could easily picture him as the hot quarterback on the high school football team with those broad shoulders and muscled arms. Addy’s whining this morning about me just giving Jeff a chance as a “future father” candidate echoed in my head.
“Jeff, do you believe in ghosts?”
His smile widened into a grin. “Is that a serious question?” At my nod, he continued. “Hell, no. That ghost shit is good for only one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Scaring women into my arms.”
It had had the opposite effect on me so far, but I didn’t correct him. Finally, a fellow realist. Maybe Addy was onto something with Jeff and me, and I’d just been too blinded by Doc’s dark appeal to see it all this time.
Grin still warming his face, he swayed toward me. “Violet Parker.” His voice sounded growly, husky. “You sure look good in my kitchen. I bet you’d look even better barefoot and pregnant.”
Zap! I snapped out of my Prince Charming fantasy. I didn’t do kitchens—cooking or baking. Only eating. And I sure as hell didn’t need any more babies to raise and support.
I changed my mind. Jeff and I were not peas in a pod, no matter how many pennies and eyelashes Addy went through wishing for it. We had a few things in common, and he looked mighty fine in a pair of jeans. But that wouldn’t get me through a first date, let alone a year.
Jeff apparently couldn’t read my body language and didn’t notice that I’d flipped my Open sign to Closed. “Are you sure about that rule of yours?” he asked, reaching for me.
“Positive.” I shoved his toothbrush into his hand and dodged past him. “We have cleaning to do, Mr. Wymonds.”
He groaned. “Damn, you’re sexy when you play hard to get.”
“Lots of cleaning!” I headed for the bucket of bleach water I’d left sitting on the bathroom floor.
One scrubbed and prepped-for-painting bathroom later, Harvey showed up with my two munchkins in tow, per my phoned request. Supper was on Jeff: pizza. Harvey supplied dessert in the form of Neapolitan ice cream.
After we’d filled our gullets, the kids went outside to play in the warm evening air. That left Jeff, Harvey, and me alone at the dining-room table, with strawberry, vanilla, and chocolate ice cream still coating the back of my tongue.
“Do you know who Lila Beaumont is?” I asked Jeff. The leggy broad had been on my mind as I cleaned and tried to figure out how to unload the Carhart house ASAP. With Jeff looking for love in all the wrong places, she’d be right up his alley.
“Never heard of her.”
I turned to Harvey. “What about you?”
He shook his head. “Should I?”
Lila must not have been from this area, or one of these two guys would know her aunt or sister or second cousin. So, from under which rock had she emerged, and how had she gotten mixed up with Junior Carhart? “She was engaged to Millie Carhart’s brother.”
“Oh.” Harvey smirked. “She’s that dark-haired looker who was gushin’ with fake tears and phony sobs at the funeral.”
“Bingo.”
“Why?” Harvey scooped up some more ice cream. “What about her?”
“I met her yesterday. She showed up at the Carhart house.”
Jeff leaned forward. “What were you doing there?”
“She signed on to sell the place,” Harvey explained, a definite grumble in his tone.
“No shit?” Jeff shook his head. “Violet Parker, you have an impressive set of balls on you.”
“Because of the multiple murders there?” He couldn’t mean because of its “haunted” reputation, since Jeff didn’t believe in ghosts.
“Well, that, too.” Jeff shut the pizza box and stacked it on top of the other one. “I was just thinking about the Open Cut next to it. Who’d want that just a spit in the wind away from their front door?”
“I sure wouldn’t,” mumbled Harvey through a mouthful of
ice cream.
“It’s a beautiful house.”
“Yeah, but that’s one big-ass hole.” Jeff’s cell phone rang. He looked at the display screen, his eyes narrowing. “Speaking of big assholes ...” He pushed to his feet, the phone held to his ear. “What do you want, Donna?”
Nonstop nattering came through the line loud enough for me to hear. Jeff’s jaw tightened. He turned and stomped through the living room and down the hall, slamming his bedroom door behind him. Now what did she want? His other testicle?
“Jeff keeps staring at your butt,” Harvey said, yanking my attention back to the dining room.
I stood and picked up the litter of paper plates. “Thanks for that inside information.”
“I figured you should know.”
“Now I do.”
“Doc stares, too, but not at your butt as much. He’s more of a breast man.”
The lack of filter on Harvey’s mouth never ceased to amaze me. “I don’t want to talk about Doc,” I said and left the room.
Harvey followed me into the kitchen. “He sure wants to talk about you lately. Or talk to you, anyway.” He set the cups he’d carried into the sink. “He called me today, looking for you.”
I shied away from eye contact, but I could feel Harvey watching me. “Did he?” I tried to sound nonchalant, as though my heart wasn’t doing somersaults about Doc wanting me, even if it was just to talk.
“Yep. He says you’re avoiding him.”
“Really? I wonder where he got that idea.” No sixth sense needed to pick up on the vibes I blasted his way.
“He said he left a message for you at work.”
“I haven’t been in the office all day.”
“And on your cell phone.”
“With all the cleaning I’ve been doing, I haven’t had a chance to check my messages yet.”
Harvey scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re a Realtor and a mother. That cell phone is practically attached to you.”
I cut Harvey off at the pass. “I said I don’t want to talk about Doc, Harvey.”
“What happened between you two?”
“Did you hear what I just said?”
“Sure, I’m not deaf. What happened?”
“I’m beginning to understand why your harem is so big. You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Nope. What happened?”
“We had a disagreement.”
“A lovers’ spat?”
I didn’t dignify that with a response, mostly because I was afraid he’d see through me and know Doc and I had sex. Harvey’s hearing may have been fading, but his bird-dog nose didn’t miss a single scent. If he got hold of that juicy little tidbit, I’d be up shit creek during spring runoff when having a paddle didn’t matter. I tried to distract the old buzzard. “Did Cooper find any more clues today about the whangdoodle problem back in your cemetery?”
“One of the shovels from my tool shed is missing.” Harvey crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes unwavering. I felt like bacteria in a Petri dish. “Is that all you’re going to tell me about Doc and you?”
“There is no ‘Doc and me’.” Not now, not ever, per Doc.
He snorted. “Somebody oughta tell him that.”
My heart picked up speed. “Why? What else did he say?”
“Ha! I knew it. You can’t hide things from this old man. Now tell me the truth. What happened?”
I sighed. “He said I’m too distracting.”
“You are.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“But that’s a good thing.” Harvey grinned wide, his gold teeth gleaming under the kitchen lights. “Doc just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Harvey’s pep talk wasn’t cheering me up. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Violet, nobody wants a boring woman. Where’s the fun in that? Especially in the sack.”
“Where do you want to go for dinner next week?” Maybe I could distract him with food.
“Hold the wagon!” He leaned in, his voice lowering. “Have you two already been in the sack?”
My cheeks warmed before I could stop them. Not that I could have. “What? I ... no ... that’s none of your business.”
“Well, I’ll be a digger to China. You have.”
Damn it! My lips pinched tight. “End of discussion. Subject closed. Forever!”
He followed me out onto the front porch. “Man, this is more fun than watching an I Love Lucy marathon.”
God, I was so screwed. I sank down on the first step and buried my face in my palms. “Harvey, you have to promise me you won’t say anything about this to anyone. I mean it. Got it? If you do, I’ll—”
“Okay, okay. My lips are sealed.” His knees creaked and popped as he sank down onto the step next to me. “So, how long have you two been playing hide the pepper?”
I groaned at all the entertainment at my expense that Harvey would probably extract from this. “I can’t emphasize how much I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Fine. What do you want to talk about, then?”
I searched for a safe subject. “Ghosts.”
“What about them?”
“Do you believe in them?”
“Hell, yes.”
What? I dropped my hands and frowned at him. Not Harvey, too. “What makes you so damned certain?”
This time, his shit-eating grin was absent. “I live with one.”
Chapter Seven
Saturday, August 4th
Dawn awoke. Unfortunately, I didn’t and overslept. I made a frenzied dash through the house but stopped when I realized it was silent, empty. Where was everyone? Had I slipped into a parallel dimension? Then I remembered Aunt Zoe’s planned day trip to Custer State Park with the kids and zipped out the door with my mouth stuffed full of leftover pizza.
I called Natalie on the way to Calamity Jane’s, rolling into the parking lot as her voicemail told me to leave a message.
“Hey, Nat, I need you to get a hold of my date tonight and cancel. I can’t make it.” I hung up quickly, guilt heavy in my gut as I parked in my spot between Mona’s and Ray’s SUVs and killed the engine. I hated to welch on Nat like this, but now was just not a good time for me to consume calories with a stranger. Not with Doc sharing the same longitude and latitude with me. The memories of his skin were too fresh.
Speaking of Doc, his black ‘69 Chevy Camaro was nowhere to be seen, thank God. I wasn’t ready to face him yet. First of all, I had pepperoni breath; second, there was still the matter of that chip on my shoulder.
While my cell phone had remained stubbornly quiet last night no matter how many times I willed it to ring, I doubted he’d given up. At least I hoped not, dang it.
I popped a stick of mint gum into my mouth as I crossed the hot parking lot. Mona’s jasmine scent greeted me at the back door. The sound of strange voices lured me past the closed bathroom door and Jane’s empty office and into the front room.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee while you wait?” Mona asked. As I entered, she added, “Here she is.”
Smiling through my surprise at seeing a leather-clad biker couple waiting for me first thing today, I dropped my purse on my desk and held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Violet Parker. How can I help you?”
They stood and shook my hand in turn, introducing themselves as Zeke and Zelda Britton. Their black leather chaps and vests creaked as they sank back into the chairs opposite my desk.
I liked Zelda instantly because of the daisy-covered bandana wrapped around her auburn hair. Any woman who wore my favorite flowers with a pair of chaps won my vote. Her perky smile and friendly green eyes didn’t hurt, either.
They both appeared to be in their mid-forties, Zeke maybe nearing his early fifties. Zelda couldn’t weigh much more than my right leg and arm put together. Zeke, on the other hand, looked like a refrigerator draped with cowhide. The buzzing fluorescents overhead glared off his shaven head.
Zelda crossed her legs and said, “We’re considering buyin
g a house in the area. The owner of the glass gallery on Main Street overheard us talking about our plans and recommended you.”
That would be Aunt Zoe, taking care of me yet again. Sweet! Walk-in buyers were as plentiful as Dodo-bird soup these days. “A place in town or a house with some acreage?”
“Something in town, definitely,” Zelda answered. “Something old. Really old.”
That was a bit of an odd request. Typically, I started by focusing on bedrooms and baths, not the number of years sitting on a foundation. But if old is what they wanted, the Black Hills could provide. “Any particular town? Deadwood? Lead? Central City? Spearfish?”
“Spearfish is too far away.” Zelda was still running the show. Zeke watched his wife, his expression adoring, as she said, “Deadwood or Lead, preferably.”
That left Jeff Wymonds’ place out, since it was only about fifty years old and in Central City. Harvey’s ranch in the country was out, too, even if it fit the “old” bill. I hadn’t seen Cooper’s home yet, so that would be a no-go as well, at least for today. Precluding another agent’s listing, that left the Carhart house. I wondered if Zeke or Zelda had an issue with ghost rumors.
“Were you interested in seeing something today?”
“Today, definitely. And tomorrow, too. After that, we’ll have to play it by ear because of the rally.”
This year’s Sturgis Motorcycle Rally officially kicked off two days from now, on Monday. Festivities included a motorcycle challenge during the day and some yesteryear heavy metal band playing out at the Buffalo Chip campground in the evening. After that, according to Zoe, the shirtless shenanigans would really kick into high gear. I was expecting to have a birds-and-bees discussion with my kids by midweek.
“I have one house ready to show right now,” I fingered through my purse, searching for my Day-Timer and the Carharts’ phone number. I heard the front door open as I flipped open the planner. “I just need to make a phone—”
I looked up and locked eyes with Doc, who stood just inside the threshold, a gunslinger glare on his face. He pointed at me and crooked his finger. The set of his jaw left no room for argument.
