An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014

by Ann Charles

  That went over like a six-hundred-pound pole vaulter.

  Cooper’s eyes narrowed into two coin slots. “I’m going to count to five, Parker. One.”

  Doc chuckled in my ear. “Call me when Cooper’s done chewing on you.”

  “Two.”

  I squinted back at the detective. “Will you look up the definition of excessive force, Doc? I think we’re crossing over the ‘reasonably necessary’ line here.”

  “Three.”

  “I’ll bring you some bandages tonight and stitch your wounds,” Doc said.

  “Four.”

  Anything involving his hands touching my skin sounded like a brilliant plan, especially after the day I’d had. “I … ”

  “Five.” Cooper reached for the phone.

  I ducked his grasp. “I gotta go, Doc.”

  “Be careful, Trouble.” Doc hung up.

  I lowered the phone. “Happy now?”

  Cooper snatched my phone from me and shoved it in his front pocket. “Now I am.” He pointed at the floorboards. “Stand here and talk to nobody, understand?”

  “I have a right to free speech.”

  “Consider it temporarily revoked.” He stalked back inside, tearing a piece of police tape loose on the way.

  Harvey joined me back on the porch a few huff-filled moments later.

  “What happened to you?” I attacked. “You were supposed to be running interference for me.”

  “Whoa, tiger. Retract those saber teeth.” He held up both hands in defense. “I had to drain the sleepy weasel.”

  I groaned. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “My ornery old prostate got stubborn and dammed up the flow.” He checked his zipper.

  “I don’t like your ornery prostate.” The last time it got uppity, I had landed in jail.

  “That makes two of us.” He pulled on his suspenders, grinning. “What’d I miss?”

  “I got busted by Cooper for talking to Doc.”

  “I told you so.”

  I wrinkled my lip at him. “Whose bathroom did you use?” I lowered my voice. “The dead woman’s?”

  “No. There’s some young whippersnapper standing guard at the door. A new kid.”

  I raised both eyebrows. “You don’t know his name?” Harvey knew everyone in town, and their parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—especially the kissing ones.

  “Well, he and I haven’t shared water at the same trough yet, but give me a week or two.”

  “So he wouldn’t let you in?” It would be out of character for Harvey not to try to sneak a peek at what Detective Cooper was up to behind closed doors.

  “Not even for two free tickets to the next mud wrestling night over at the Prairie Dog Palace.” Harvey shook his head. “Coop probably threatened to remove one of the kid’s testicles if he let either of us come near that apartment.”

  I should’ve taken some pictures before Detective Cooper raced in and barricaded it. However, between the way the body had looked all wadded up in the corner, the ticking clocks, and that peculiar stink, I’d wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there.

  Why so many dang clocks? “Those wooden clocks reminded me of something I’d find in one of those Bavarian tourist towns.” I paced the length of the porch, wishing I were back in the parking lot of Bighorn Billy’s with my only problem being a maddening boss.

  “They’re called Black Forest clocks,” Harvey said. “They had a run on them on the QVC channel last Christmas. Real Black Forest timber and authentic German craftsmanship. I would’ve bought one if they’d thrown in a case of Fürstenburg beer.”

  “She must have been watching QVC, too.”

  “Too bad she didn’t know how to keep time.”

  “What do you mean?” I paused in front of him.

  “Didn’t you notice that none of them had the same time?”

  “No. I was a little overwhelmed by how many there were and all of that ticking, not to mention the dead body.”

  “I only saw one that was even close to the actual time.”

  “Maybe they’re broken.” I went back to pacing. “What are the chances of Cooper letting us go back in there later to take another look?”

  “You’d have better luck saddlin’ a snortin’ stallion.”

  “Stupid question, huh?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wishful thinkin’.”

  I rubbed my hands together, trying to warm them. “Why did she call me?”

  “That’s a question I’m purty sure Coop will be askin’ you a few more times before the day is done.”

  “I should’ve had the sense to ask her a few things before agreeing to come here.”

  “Keep in mind we’re not even sure it was her who called.”

  “Well, if it was her, I should have been more thorough.” Unfortunately, I’d been too busy whining on the phone to Natalie about a television crew following me around to think about playing Twenty Questions.

  “What would you have asked?”

  I replayed our short conversation in my head. “Her name for one.” And if her need to talk to me had something to do with all of the trouble I’d stumbled into lately.

  “Don’t beat yourself up too much. Coop will do plenty of that later.” Harvey jangled change in his pocket as I walked back and forth in front of him. “You’re not thinkin’ about doin’ something harebrained, are you?” Harvey asked.

  “That depends on what you mean by harebrained.”

  “Gettin’ yourself all tied up in a knot over something you should let Coop unravel.”

  “I’d prefer to let Detective Cooper and the Deadwood Police Department handle this one without me being mixed up in it any more than I already am.” That was the truth.

  Harvey’s forehead scrunched up. “That’s not exactly a ‘no’ comin’ from your lips.”

  I truly wanted to leave it to Cooper to figure out this whole mess, and I was sure Doc would be reinforcing that very idea, but what if the dead woman had left me some clue as to why she’d insisted on seeing me immediately? Something in that apartment that I was meant to see. Something that Cooper skimmed over in his search for evidence.

  As much as it pained me to admit it, Cooper was a good detective. But even Jim Rockford wasn’t infallible, although James Garner sure made him look damned good on the small screen. Cooper was human … at least his nose broke like he was. I’d witnessed him overlooking evidence first hand. What if he passed over the key that unlocked the answers to why I had been called into this mess?

  “Whose bathroom did you use?” I changed the subject.

  “He used mine,” a soft voice said from behind us.

  Harvey and I both turned.

  A young woman stood in the doorway behind the crime scene tape. Her smile seemed hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if she’d get busted by Detective Cooper for letting her teeth be seen. Her eyes and hair were dark brown, her skin a smooth mocha blend. She reminded me of Halle Berry, only her face was more heart-shaped, her cheekbones not so defined, and her curves a tad more shapely.

  “That’s Freesia,” Harvey told me, pointing his thumb in the woman’s direction. “She owns this place.”

  Owned it? She looked to be in her late twenties. That seemed pretty young to own a big white elephant like the Galena House. I smiled back as if we weren’t all standing on the porch while policemen milled about down the hall.

  “Hello, Freesia, I’m Violet. We have flower names in common.” I’d gotten mine from my hippy mother, who used me as a placeholder for her flower child memories.

  “You’re Violet Parker, aren’t you?” Freesia ducked through the remaining strip of yellow tape and joined us on the porch. Her shoulder length waves of thick hair trembled in the cool breeze. She buttoned her jean jacket. “You’re that Realtor who sells haunted houses.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Jerry was going to have a hell of a time changing my marketing brand from “spooky” to “sexy,” no matter how mu
ch makeup and hairspray he doused me in.

  “That’s Violet all right,” Harvey answered for me.

  I shot him a quick scowl for his help.

  “I’ve heard about you,” Freesia said.

  “None of it’s true.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as more of an awkward titter.

  What had she heard? That I had tea with the dead? I talked to ghosts? I had sex with my clients? All of which were true, except for that last one. I’d had sex with only one client, and I was still not done between the sheets with him.

  In fact, my relationship with Doc seemed to have graduated to the next level—sex and food, shared on a semi-regular basis. If only my kids would stop trying to muck up the good thing I had going with him, all would be sunshine and fields of dandelions for us. Well, almost. But my relationship pitfalls were subjects for another time with an audience who had more in common with me than the acquaintance of a shriveled up dead woman.

  Freesia’s eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled. “I heard that you are good at what you do.”

  What did she mean? I was good at selling real estate or conjuring wispy folks? If she’d been trading stories with my ghost-whispering client, Cornelius Curion, and our fellow séance buddies, I needed to clarify a thing or two.

  I searched her face, looking for signs of a half-hidden sneer or veiled mockery but saw none. Still, I played along with caution. “What do I do?”

  Her brown eyes searched back. “Sell houses?” she said, ending with a questioning note.

  Okay, now I knew whoever had been talking to her was full of crap. I sucked at selling houses. I had yet to sell a single one of my listings. The house Doc had bought through me didn’t count because Mona, my mentor, had pretty much held my hand through it all while acting as the selling agent.

  “Why are you making that face?” Freesia took a step back as if I might morph into a turtle and snap.

  I had a reputation for scary smiles that sent children shrieking away. Evil clowns had nothing on me. I shook off my expression and painted on what I hoped was a pleasant smile. My eyes felt like they were bulging, though. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

  “What did you think I meant?” Freesia asked, her expression still guarded. “Do you do something besides sell houses?”

  Boy was that a loaded question.

  Harvey laughed outright, his gold teeth shining through his grizzle.

  “Shhhh,” I poked the old coot in the ribs. “You’re going to get Cooper to come out here and snarl at the end of his chain again.”

  He waved me off. “He’s all bark.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then why do I keep ending up with teeth marks?” I turned back to Freesia, whose gaze bounced between my bodyguard and me. “I don’t do anything besides sell houses. Harvey was just being a wiseacre.”

  “I get the feeling he does that often.”

  “Violet has a way of making me grin like a mule eatin’ thistles, especially with all her wild hairs.”

  “Wild hairs, huh?” Freesia’s gaze traveled up to the curly mess that was trying to escape from my combs and bobby pins thanks to the damp air. “Every woman should have at least a few. Where’s the fun in life without them?”

  I had a feeling that Freesia and I were going to be pals.

  “Were you born with all those curls?” she asked me.

  “Yep, but the color needs a touch up every six to eight weeks thanks to life with my two nine-year-olds.”

  “How can you have kids that old? I’d have guessed you’re in your mid-twenties.”

  Harvey’s guffaw turned into an “oomph” when I elbowed him in the breadbasket.

  “Thanks.” I think I love you. Move over, Natalie, I found a new best friend forever. “How long have you owned this place?”

  “I took it over about three years ago when my parents decided they wanted to enjoy the sun in Nevada year around.”

  “Did you grow up here?”

  “No. I’m from Ohio, near the Kentucky state line. This place belonged to my great great-uncle.” She squinted and held up her fingers, counting under her breath. “There may be another ‘great’ in there yet.”

  “Did he come out for the gold rush?”

  “No, he came in the late 1890s looking for work on a ranch. From what I’ve been told, his parents were freed slaves. As soon as he was old enough, they insisted he head out West where there was more opportunity and money for a man like him. My pop could fill your head with tales about him and how good he was on a horse.”

  Harvey leaned back on his heels. “From the stories I remember, your great-uncle wasn’t just good on a horse, he could do the job of three cowpokes and cook a mean chuckwagon stew to boot.”

  “You’ve heard of him?” Freesia asked, clutching her jacket collar tighter as the hail came down harder.

  “Of course. Big Jake Tender was a legend around these parts, tall as a mountain and strong as two oxen. I remember a story from back when I was still a seedling ‘bout how Big Jake took on a bull that had wandered into town and was causin’ a ruckus, chasin’ folks down the street, crashin’ in windows. Folks said he grabbed that mean old bull by the horns, did some fancy footwork, and dropped it to the ground so fast the beast had the wind knocked clear out of it. It took six men to load it up and haul it out of town.”

  “I remember hearing that one.” Freesia’s grin was proud.

  “Big Jake was also pretty popular with the ladies down in the Badlands,” Harvey winked at her. “But then he went and fell in love and broke their hearts.”

  Freesia’s laughter almost made me forget why I was standing on the porch of the Galena House. “My pop saved those tales until I hit my teens.”

  Harvey shook his head. “Too bad she never loved him back enough to wear his ring.”

  Big Jake’s great great-niece patted one of the columns; her smile grew wistful. “He built this place for her. Poured his heart and soul into it.”

  “It’s a beautiful house,” I said, feeling sad for Big Jake Tender and his unrequited love. All the Galena House needed was some TLC from a deep checkbook and it would be quite a knockout. “From the looks of the craftsmanship, Big Jake must have been quite a carpenter, too.”

  “Pop always called him a ‘Jake of all trades’ and aspired to be just like him … well, except for all of those painted ladies. My mom would’ve had his hide if he even thought about sowing a single wild oat.” She trailed her fingers down the column, a lover’s touch. “They fell head over heels for each other right out of college, and as soon as my brother and I were out of the house, they moved out here to take over the family legacy. This place was in really bad shape when they got here. Pop poured years and lots of money getting it this far, but then they spent a January down in Nevada and fell in love with the desert. That’s where I come into the story.”

  “So, you’ve been living here on your own?”

  “Mostly. My name is on the deed, but my parents come up in the summer. They help me with odds and ends, like fixing the roof, replacing the lead plumbing with copper, painting and staining, and whatever else they’re up to tackling.”

  I glanced back at the doorway, making sure Detective Cooper wasn’t loitering within hearing distance. “How long had the woman in apartment four lived here?”

  “Ms. Wolff?” Freesia lowered her gaze. She kicked at a raised nail head in the porch floor boards. “She moved in about a year after my parents took over the place. They’d changed it from a boarding house into an apartment building, and she was the first to rent a unit. She told my pop that she’d lived here years ago, too, back before it fell into disrepair.”

  I wondered if Ms. Wolff had been around during the last round of murders and shrunken skulls. Now didn’t seem like a good time to ask that question aloud. Freesia probably wouldn’t know the answer anyway.

  “What was Ms. Wolff like?” I pressed, trying to see if she had a history of crazy or if her phone call to me had been a one-off?

  �
�Violet,” Harvey warned, nudging his head toward the front door. “Coop’s wrapping up.”

  I needed to hurry it up if I was going to pick Freesia’s brain before Cooper bullied her into keeping her lips sealed around anyone without a badge. “Ms. Wolff called me today,” I said quietly to Freesia. “She insisted I come over here and see her immediately.”

  “I know.” Her volume matched mine. “Willis told me.”

  Her use of Harvey’s first name inspired a raised brow for the old man. “What else did you tell her?”

  He shrugged. “She had a right to know since she owns the place.”

  “Anyway …” I turned back to Freesia, catching sight of Cooper in my peripheral. He was talking to the cop guarding the door to Ms. Wolff’s apartment. “What I’m wondering is if Ms. Wolff was in her right mind when she called me or if she was prone to eccentricity.”

  Like calling a Realtor out of the blue and scaring her with talk about the Grim Reaper.

  Freesia pulled her jacket tighter around her and buried her hands in her pockets. “Ms. Wolff had a mind like a steel trap. She knew the history of the Black Hills inside and out and could tell you the names of people who had come and gone since back before Big Jake came to town. Her bedroom has a long shelf filled with one history book after another, as well as some personal journals she’d acquired over the years. I asked her once if she was a retired teacher, but she shook her head and changed the subject.”

  Harvey shouldered me over a step. “What’s with all of those cuckoo clocks?”

  “She liked to collect them.”

  “How come none of them have the right time?” Harvey prodded some more.

  “I asked her about that when I first took over. She said that if they all were to go off at the same time, the commotion would keep her up day and night.”

  The ticking alone would make me climb the walls. “It would be pretty loud. There have to be over fifty clocks in there.”

  “One hundred and thirteen last time I counted,” Freesia corrected me.

  “Did she have any friends who’d visit her?” I asked. “An ex-husband? Or a boyfriend even?”

  “Or a girlfriend?” Harvey asked. When I frowned at him, he shrugged. “What? Maybe she didn’t like boys.”