by Ann Charles
Opportunity had arrived. I pushed to my feet. With the path to the door and freedom blocked, I hopped toward the tray of knives on the sideboard.
I reached for the wood-handled chef’s knife, but a body slammed into me from behind, sending me crashing into the sideboard. My empty palm jammed into one of the drawer handles, pain firing up my arm. I slid to the floor and landed on my back, my legs bent under me.
Above me, a carving knife teetered on the edge of the sideboard, blade hovering in the air, wobbling. I rolled to my side as gravity won and the carving knife plunged, almost giving my belly a second button.
I had no time to breathe a sigh of relief before Lila plucked up the carving knife. She knelt over me, pinning me against the sideboard, knife raised in both hands.
“I hate you!” she screamed, and swung downward.
I rolled into her legs, throwing her off balance. The knife nicked my ribs, leaving a sharp ache.
She screeched and raised the knife again.
Oh, shit! Without thinking, I grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked. Her swing went wide, this time slicing along my forearm. Sudden, stinging pain burned up my arm.
Then I remembered the seam ripper in my other hand and palmed the handle, the tool’s teeth pointing outward. I aimed at Lila’s neck but missed and embedded the ripper in her shoulder.
She shrieked and reached for the ripper, giving me a window of time to scramble away and get my feet back under me.
I made it one hop away and she tackled me again, this time sending us both rolling across the floor and into the grandfather clock, which rattled and clanged in protest. Her knife slid out of reach.
I came out of the roll on top of Lila. She tried to buck me off, but I weighed more than her cellulite-free ass. I straddled her thighs as best I could with my ankles still bound.
She spit in my face. “I’m going to kill you, you cunt!”
Fury, fear, and adrenaline raced through me. I saw my hands gripping Lila’s neck; her face turning red, then purple, her eyes wide, bulging.
Flailing and gurgling, she caught the edge of the grandfather clock, pulling it forward. It slammed into my back, knocking me off balance. She bucked again and shoved me off.
The clock’s door clasp snagged my skirt, trapping my hips and thighs under it. I yanked, but something held me fast.
Gasping, Lila half-crawled to the carving knife she’d dropped. She grabbed it and whirled, screeching, and lunged down on me.
I screamed, blocking with my arms.
Wanda flew into my peripheral vision, swinging a fire poker like Babe Ruth. She connected with Lila’s wrist, knocking the knife loose and sending it flying across the room.
Lila howled and kicked Wanda’s leg, knocking the old woman down. The poker clattered to the floor, bouncing beyond my reach. Damn it!
I yanked and tugged on my skirt. Lila scooped up a blade-sized shard of the glass from the broken lamp and lunged at me again. Jesus, she was as relentless as the Terminator.
My skirt ripped free and I dodged and shoved, sending her stumbling over the broken clock and into the wall. I army-crawled across the wooden floor, glancing back to see Lila jump-start off the trim and rush toward me, her mouth wide with a battlefield yell.
Her raven hair partially covered her eyes, so she didn’t see Wanda rolling toward her. Wanda kicked Lila’s legs, tripping her and sending her flailing past me, headlong into the sideboard. She hit with a loud thud and fell at my feet, her back toward me.
I scrambled in reverse, putting floorboards between us before she could spring back into her Bride of Chucky-doll killing mode.
She didn’t move.
In the silence, Wanda’s breathing rasped as loudly as mine.
A pool of dark liquid formed next to Lila’s head, soaking into her hair. The metallic smell of blood registered in my sinuses. I tasted it on my tongue.
I nudged Lila’s leg. She remained motionless.
Wanda and I exchanged looks of fear and shock. I leaned forward and poked Lila’s back.
Still no response.
Crawling toward her, I grabbed her shoulder and tugged. She flopped on to her back.
I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand at the sight of the glass shard from the broken lamp sticking out of her neck. Dark blood seeped out from her carotid artery, streaming down her milky white skin. Her empty eyes stared up at the ceiling.
A cry of anguish from the doorway made me jerk back.
Millie limped across the room, rolling pin in hand, nostrils bleeding, one eye bruised shut.
In the heat of my own battle, I’d forgotten about the other fighters in the ring. Millie had apparently taken a beating and given one right back, judging from the blood-smeared rolling pin. Where was Douglas? Was he sporting a serrated bread knife?
A low groan leaked in from the entry hallway, partially answering my question.
Millie dropped onto the floor and half-lifted Lila into her lap, cradling the dead woman against her breast, cooing to Lila’s lifeless form as tears streamed down her cheeks.
My heart hurt at the sorrow etched on Millie’s face, even though it was Lila she was mourning.
“Millie,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. She fell.”
I grabbed the chef’s knife from the sideboard and cut the duct-tape binding my ankles. I rubbed my raw skin.
The sound of sirens drawing closer made my eyes water with relief. My hands trembled, my arms were streaked with blood. I dropped the knife. Struggling to my feet, I stumbled toward the door on wobbly legs and unsteady ankles. My adrenaline was petering out, leaving me tired to the bone. Outside beckoned with fresh air and freedom.
Douglas lay sprawled in the kitchen entryway, half of his face covered in blood. His chest rose and fell, so I didn’t pause to give him a physical. I did snatch Lila’s book out from under his shoulder.
I’d almost made it to the door when a rebel yell from behind me raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
I spun around to see Millie rushing at me with the rolling pin raised, her black Grim Reaper cape billowing, her face contorted in a maniacal snarl.
Feeling cornered and beaten to a nub, I did the only thing I could think of: screamed and barreled toward her, dodging her sloppy swing and ramming into her with my shoulder.
I pinballed off her, spinning into the wall as she stumbled backward. She tripped over Douglas and fell into the kitchen. My legs gave way and I slid down the wall.
I saw Millie pull herself to her feet and snag the rolling pin.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I held up my arms, book still in hand. “I give up. Take me to the mine. Dump me down a shaft.”
The sound of a shotgun cocking made my chin whip around.
“Millie,” Wanda said in a firm, motherly voice, pointing double barrels at her daughter, “Put the rolling pin down.”
Millie froze. “You and I both know you don’t have the guts to kill me, Mother.”
“Maybe not, but I’m mad enough to give you a limp. Now sit down over by the sink.” After Millie obeyed, Wanda nodded at me. “Are you hurt?”
I looked down at my camisole covered in blood and sweat and dust bunny remains. “Only on the outside. Why didn’t you tell me you had a shotgun in the house?”
“You didn’t ask.” She tilted her head to the side, looking as if she was picking up far-off radio signals. Then she gave a rueful half-smile. “Prudence says you’re safe now. The lawmen are here.”
Prudence? A fresh batch of chills quivered down my spine. I thought only Doc knew the name of the ghost.
“What else does Prudence have to say? Anything about teeth?”
Wanda glanced around behind her, but turned back to me with a frown. “She’s gone.”
I scratched my head at that, grimacing at the feel of my matted hair. Confusion and shock tag-teamed in my brain, making me a little dizzy. A need for fresh air gave me newfound strength. I pushed myself up the wall to my feet.
Wanda stea
died me with a hand on my shoulder. “I forgot to tell you what Prudence said earlier when I was cutting your wrists free.”
All right, I’d bite. “What did she say?”
“To be careful around the deep mine.”
“What deep mine?”
“She didn’t say.”
Prudence the enigmatic ghost could have tried to be less cryptic. The hills were littered with mines. “Wanda, how long have you known Prudence?”
“She started showing up after my husband died.”
“You mean after Lila killed him.” Whatever Douglas and Lila had been up to, Mr. Carhart must have gotten in their way.
“Lila didn’t kill my father,” Millie said in a tear-filled voice from her seat on the kitchen floor. “She was a good girl. She never hurt anyone.”
Millie needed to have her head beamed back down to Earth. I had throbbing ribs and fingers that more than proved Millie wrong.
“So Douglas killed him?” But why? Knowing Douglas, I figured it had to have something to do with money.
“No.” Millie’s voice sounded as lifeless as her girlfriend. “I did it.”
My jaw hit the floor next to Douglas. “Why?”
“He deserved it. The things Father did to me were wrong.” She glared at her mother. “And you never stopped him. Not once.”
Before I could wrap my head around Millie’s accusation, footfalls pounded on the front porch.
“Wanda, put that gun down,” I whispered, fearing they’d shoot her without asking.
“Open up! It’s the police!” Cooper yelled through the door.
The cavalry had arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Monday, August 13th
The Deadwood Police Station smelled like bacon—no joking. Bacon with a hint of maple. I found it an ironic touch as I approached the front desk and met the toothy grin of the gray-haired officer sitting behind it.
“Detective Cooper is waiting for me,” I told his bulbous, Rudolph-like nose, avoiding his eyes.
My stomach growled clear to my toes. It was pissed because I hadn’t fed it much over the last couple of days. It wasn’t by choice. Every time I thought of food, cooking utensils such as bread knives and rolling pins covered with blood came to mind, followed by Lila’s pale skin and matted hair.
“It’s nice to see you all cleaned up and shiny again after the other night at the Carhart’s,” the desk officer said, picking up the phone.
Shiny? Did he mean my nose? I’d covered it twice with makeup, along with all the bruises, before Natalie had dropped me off in front of the station.
He punched a button on his phone, his grin now cockeyed. “When Cooper carried you out of the house, you looked a little rough around the edges.”
A little? I was lucky I’d only had to take on Lila and not Millie. Douglas hadn’t been so fortunate. His wounds had won him a ride out of there in the first ambulance on the scene.
“Cooper wasn’t carrying me.” I tapped the desk with my index finger. “I want it on record that I walked out of that mess.”
“Walked?” His furrowed brow called Bullshit!
“Okay, stumbled and leaned, but my feet were firmly grounded.” My head? That was another story.
The desk officer smirked. “She’s here,” he said into the receiver.
My appointment with Cooper wasn’t for another five minutes, so I walked over to the line of empty vinyl padded chairs propping up a wall covered with bulletin boards. Official announcements, charity fliers, and Wanted posters caked the corkboard. Air whooshed out of a chair’s seat as I knelt on it to check them out.
“Well, well. Look what the cat left on our welcome mat,” Cooper said before I was even three felons deep. He leaned on the corner of the front desk, all men’s-magazine suave and relaxed in his jeans and button-up shirt. Except for his steely eyes. They never rested.
“Your shirt is buttoned wrong,” I said.
“Your eyebrows are crooked,” he replied.
I’d had trouble drawing them on with trembling hands, but he didn’t need to know that. “You demanded my presence this morning.”
“I didn’t think you’d heed a mere request.”
He was right.
I’d relived the whole Carhart debacle enough over the last two days while I mulled and vented, crying and swearing. Forty-eight hours of rest and recovery down on the prairie at my parents’ place with the kids and Natalie had smoothed some of my ruffled feathers. However, now it was time to return to reality—and realty. Addy needed glasses. Layne needed shoes. And I needed a new vehicle.
“Want some coffee?” Cooper asked.
“I’ve already had a pot.”
“A pot?” His eyes narrowed for a split second, then he nodded. “Okay, then, let’s do this.” He led the way down the long hall.
I followed Cooper into his office and stopped at the sight of Fire Captain Reid lounging in the chair behind Cooper’s desk. Reid’s dark blue eyes sparkled, welcoming.
“Morning, Sparky,” Reid said.
I shot him a small grin. “You’ve been talking to Harvey.”
“More like he’s been talking to me. He has a lot to say, especially when it comes to you.”
I could only imagine. The old coot had left six messages on my cell phone in the last two days, each one longer and more detailed, full of juicy gossip regarding what folks around town were saying about me. My ghost-loving reputation had reached new levels of notoriety, it seemed. Woo-freaking-hoo.
Doc had Harvey beat by two messages, but his recordings had grown shorter with each call. He’d left the last one early this morning while I was watching Mom’s coffeemaker drip. It was short and sweet—and terse as hell: Call me, damn it! He might have been chewing gravel when he said it.
Cooper sat on the corner of the desk and indicated that I should take the other chair.
“See, Coop,” Reid said. “I told you Violet would bounce. She takes after her aunt.”
Cooper frowned at me. “So long as she doesn’t land in another one of my cases.”
“Maybe you two could partner up,” Reid’s grin stretched to his earlobes. “Like Watson and Holmes.”
“I prefer Cagney and Lacey,” I said. “They dress prettier.”
Reid’s deep chuckle smoothed the rough edges off my morning. “Coop can play the sensitive one.”
Cooper’s lips flat-lined. “When you two ladies are done comparing your monthly cycles, let me know. I have some questions for Violet.”
“I thought you said you had things to tell me. You didn’t mention that there’d be questions.”
“I lied.”
“A lying cop.” I crossed my arms. “That inspires confidence.”
“I don’t mean to piss in your punchbowl, Violet, but my job is to catch the boogeyman, not hold your hand and tuck you in at night.”
“You’ll have to excuse Coop,” Reid said. “His love is kind of scratchy.”
I nodded. “Like a wool blanket. Got it. I’ll have to watch for him trying to pull it over my eyes again.”
Cooper groaned, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Christ! I only lied because I thought debriefing you would be easier if you were more relaxed.”
I smiled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Reid laughed. “I believe you’ve met your match, Coop. It’s no wonder your uncle has glued himself to her side.”
Cooper shot Reid a look. “I’m beginning to regret allowing you to join this discussion.”
“I thought it was a debriefing.” I said. “You do realize that having a discussion means you have to give as well as take.”
Cooper leaned forward, his eyelids squinty. “You have dark rings under your eyes and your right cheek keeps twitching. You sure you can handle what I have to give right now?”
“I face off against maniacal killers for kicks.” I pushed back with a mother lode of false bravado. “Give me what you got.”
“Douglas is awake and talking.
”
“You mean like able to talk in general, or spilling his guts?”
“The latter,” Cooper said. “He’s hoping for a reduced sentence if he gives us a tell-all biography.”
“You think that’ll happen?” Reid asked.
“That’s not for me to decide.”
I stretched my neck to the side, trying to loosen the tension that came with all the new nightmares over the last couple of nights. The Wolfgang Show now had competition for ratings. “So, what did Douglas have to say?”
“He’s blaming Lila.”
“Of course,” Reid said. “She’s dead. She can’t dispute what he says.”
Doc and Wanda might beg to differ, I thought wryly, but I kept my mouth shut.
Cooper picked up one of those grip-strengthening thingamajobbies from his desk. He squeezed it, making it creak. “Millie’s story has a different slant. She says Lila never hurt anyone.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d heard that song and dance before.
Cooper continued squeezing while he talked. “She claims Douglas is the puppeteer. All of this happened because of him.”
“You realize Millie’s jealous, right?” I asked and didn’t wait for his answer to add, “Lila was having an affair.”
Cooper nodded. “Lila and Millie? Yeah, you mentioned that when you were here last.”
“No, I’m talking about Lila and Douglas.” When I saw the questioning squint in Cooper’s eyes, I added, “I saw them making out in the YMCA parking lot in Lead right before I went to the Carharts’ on Friday. Plus, Lila threw herself at his feet right in front of me when I was tied up.” I looked down at my hands. “Not to mention the whole Mudder Brothers incident during Junior’s funeral.”
“What Mudder Brothers incident?” Reid asked.
“Douglas groped Lila’s ass when she was in the receiving line at Junior’s funeral. George Mudder caught it on video.”
Cooper’s lips thinned. “You’ve been busy, Miss Parker.”
“I had a house to sell. It’s my duty to make sure no funny business is going on within its walls.”
“You’re my Realtor, too. What have you been digging up about me?”
I shrugged. “You like dogs and guns and Harleys.”
