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

by Ann Charles

  I rested fully back against Doc’s length, taking his hands from my shoulders and wrapping them around me. “I don’t want to confuse my kids when it comes to him, Doc.”

  “He’s their father.”

  “He’s a sperm donor and he signed a paper stating that he agreed to be only that.”

  Doc spun me around, lifting my chin so I could meet his gaze. “So why’s he here then?”

  “I don’t know. His job.”

  “Maybe, but why is he here looking you up?”

  I chewed on my lower lip.

  “Violet, did he ask you out?”

  “Well, not really. But he made it so I have to go out showing him places today.”

  Doc’s jaw tightened. “Alone?”

  “I think so.”

  His whole face hardened to match his jaw. “He wants you back.”

  “No.” I still didn’t believe that. Rex was messing with me for kicks. I could see the fun he was having yesterday on his face.

  “Trust me, Violet.” Doc ran his finger down the fabric on my shoulder. “He didn’t look you up just to see how you’ve changed in ten years, not after all that happened in the past with him and your sister. He may be here for his job, but he came knocking to pick up where you two left off.”

  Doc and Natalie must be reading from the same play book. “You mean with me slamming the door in his face?”

  “Okay, before that.” He pulled the collar of my dress to the side and kissed my bared skin. “Please tell me you aren’t going to wear this dress today when you’re with him.” His lips trailed along my shoulder, heading toward my neck.

  I leaned my head to the side, giving his mouth an all access pass.

  “Or the boots.” He breathed against my neck, making me quiver. “Especially the boots.” His lips grazed my ear. “You’ll drive me to drink if you do.”

  I pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him until he groaned. “This outfit was supposed to keep you from dropping me like a hot potato after I told you about my Rex problem. I’m going home at lunch to change.”

  “Into what?”

  “A snowmobile suit.”

  He chuckled. “Make it one of those camouflage ones that hunters wear so he can’t see you.” His hands spanned my waist. “I’m worried about you now.”

  “Doc, trust me, I can’t stand the guy. I want him to leave the state—no, make that the planet.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He tucked me under his chin, stroking my back. Much more of that and I’d quit my day job and become his full-time lap cat. “I’m worried about what the stress of him being here is going to do to you. You already have trouble sleeping with all of the nightmares. Now you have a whole new problem to keep you awake at night.”

  Like last night. I needed to start bringing Layne’s collection of archaeology books he got from my brother, Quint, to bed if this was going to keep up. I might as well put all of those hours spent staring at my ceiling to good use.

  Closing my eyes, I breathed in the scent of Doc’s shaving cream still lingering on his skin. “Are you upset with me?”

  “Why would I be upset?” He kissed my forehead. “By the way, in case you haven’t figured it out, this is me not dropping you like a hot potato.”

  That made me smile up at him. “Hey, maybe we could set up Rex and Tiffany, kill two birds with one stone.”

  “You want to go on another double date?”

  “God, no.” The one time Doc and I had been suckered into that situation had been once too many.

  “Good.” Doc laced my fingers in his. “Violet, I want to meet Rex.”

  “What? Why?” Doc wasn’t the sort to play the overbearing, jealous boyfriend, so why would he want to see my ex?

  “Partly out of curiosity.”

  I could relate to that. “And what’s the other part?”

  “To figure out exactly what his intentions are when it comes to you and your kids.”

  Chapter Ten

  I had Addy’s chicken for lunch. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fried or baked or roasted, but rather alive and clucking down near my boots as I sat on Aunt Zoe’s back porch steps.

  The sunshine played peek-a-boo with me as Elvis the chicken and I shared my peanut butter sandwich. She acted as my fellow barstool buddy, gobbling up the pieces of crust I threw her way, while I griped about my irritating ex. In the end, we washed the sandwich and all of our regrets from our naïve younger years down with some of Aunt Zoe’s sweet lemonade. Who knew chickens had regrets and liked lemonade? I learned something new every day.

  New things like Detective Hawke now had my cell phone number and liked to leave multiple messages spaced two minutes apart if I didn’t drop my sandwich and answer his calls at once—all four of them. I was still so annoyed by some of his comments from yesterday that I refused to even listen to his voicemails.

  And other new things like what a Papa Legba voodoo spirit wanga bag was.

  At first I’d thought Cornelius’ phone had auto-corrected his text message when it came through with those peculiar words, so I’d laid my peanut butter sandwich down and texted back: A Papa what?

  Elvis seemed as clueless as I was when I read it to her.

  Cornelius replied with an internet link to show me an example of a Papa Legba wanga bag.

  To which I’d followed up with: Why do I need to know this?

  His answer was: Papa Legba stands at the spiritual crossroads.

  With all of the weird stuff that had happened to me since I’d moved to Deadwood, I was beginning to feel as if I were standing at the spiritual crossroads myself. Or rather the end of the stage line, which Deadwood had been back in Wild Bill’s time. Like many of the pioneers of the Black Hills, maybe ghosts had also stepped off the stagecoach here and never left.

  Cornelius had continued: Papa Legba will help to make our séance successful.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted the outcome to be a success. What would that entail? After the way Doc had reacted last time, I was afraid too much success might seriously injure him.

  Cornelius’ final text had left me scratching my head. Wanga bag coming your way. DO NOT BUY ANY FROG’S TOES! See you Sunday at sunset.

  After that, I’d enabled the Do Not Disturb feature on my cell phone, pocketing it for the rest of my lunch with Elvis. Neither of us was in the mood to have our feathers ruffled any further.

  When I arrived back at work, Mona told me that Rex had called and needed to postpone our search for rentals until tomorrow afternoon. Before I could even bend my knees to jump for joy, Jerry charged through the front door, holding it open for two people to follow: a man and a woman. Both were dressed from head to toe in black, including sunglasses. For a moment, I wondered if they were secret agents who’d come in search of alien beings. When they took off their sunglasses, they reminded me more of Sonny and Cher—minus the moustache, the butt-length hair, and the wild seventies outfits.

  “Everybody huddle up.” Jerry’s loud voice cut off the discussion Mona and Ben were having about the importance of staging a house based on a home’s expected buyer type.

  In Jerry speak, huddling up meant he wanted our attention. I wadded up the piece of paper with Rex’s phone number on it and tossed it in my trashcan, wondering what Jerry was up to now.

  “I’d like to introduce you all to Dickie Dowdin, the producer of Paranormal Realty,” Jerry waved his hand toward the man, “the reality television show I told you all about on Sunday.”

  Oh, shit, right. Today was the day we were supposed to meet the reality television crew who will be making our lives hell for the next several weeks. I stifled a groan and dropped into my chair.

  “Dickie’s here today with his assistant,” Jerry continued, “and we’ll be having a two-on-one with each of you this afternoon in my office so he can get to know you better.”

  “Actually,” Dickie spoke up, resting his hand on the shoulder of his black-haired assistant, who stood several inches taller than him, “it will be
a three-on-one, since Honey will be present, too.”

  Honey? Dickie the Producer made it sound like things were going to get sticky in Jerry’s office. I glanced over at Ray, not surprised to see a doofus-like grin on his too tanned face. I could only imagine the porno soundtrack that was playing in his skull with that Honey three-on-one bit, what with his love of juvenile insults and jokes. Bom-chicka-bom-bom.

  No, stop the music. That was a bad idea—I’d just eaten.

  I backed my brain out of that red-light alley and focused on the producer’s assistant, Honey. Given her long hair, smoky accented eyes, and dark red lipstick, she didn’t look as sweet and pure as her name. With those long legs and so much black covering her, a Gothic name like Raven would have suited her better. She stood next to Dickie and nodded at each of us in turn. Her chin reminded me of an old-fashioned typewriter, especially when she reached the end of the line and her chin whipped back to her boss, as if someone had hit the return bar.

  Jerry jammed his hands into the pockets of his navy dress slacks, rocking back on his heels. “This afternoon’s team-ups will help Dickie and Honey decide how they want to spread themselves over our snug little team both on and off-camera.”

  Oh, dear Lord, had Jerry really just said that? Or was my brain now stuck on an X-rated station while sitting on a stained, musty couch next to Ray?

  Honey’s cheeks darkened as she grimaced at Jerry, clearly catching his accidental innuendo.

  Ray coughed into his fist, trying to hide his snickers.

  Mona shot him a glare and then moved her laser beam to Jerry, her eyes widening with a stark shut-up scowl.

  I opened my desk drawer, burying my face in it while pretending to dig for something while the awkward moment sat there in the middle of the office like a leather-clad, chained up sex-slave with a ball-gag jammed in his mouth.

  Jerry seriously needed to stop eating, drinking, and sleeping sports; and I needed to stop flipping through the movie channels at one in the morning when the extra R-rated shows were hogging the stations.

  “I’m looking forward to hearing your plans for the television show,” Ben said, being his usual wonderful, true-blue, polite self. His comment shooed the invisible sex masochist from the room and turned the channel back to normal programming.

  Honey flashed him a smile, blinking her dark eyelashes a few extra times. She either had an instant liking for my co-worker, which was normal for most people when it came to Ben, or she was using her lashes to fan her still pink cheeks.

  “Thank you,” Dickie said, his expression smooth as yogurt. He sounded sincere, his teeth showing when he smiled at us, but I didn’t trust him. No doubt years of being in the biz had trained him to play his audience. I wouldn’t be shocked if he pulled out a mic from behind his back and started singing, I got you, babe to Honey to distract us into compliance. “We’re going to enjoy spending the next few weeks with all of you, learning about your jobs and this area of the country.”

  I glanced around at my coworkers, imagining them on camera. Of the four of us, Mona and Ben would perform the best. Mona had been on stage before, acting in several plays up at the Historic Homestake Opera House in Lead. Ben just had a natural smoothness with people that won him quick smiles and return business. Honey was still sending happy faces in his direction. I’d be content to act as their understudies for this. Rather relieved actually.

  Jerry pointed at me. “Violet, you’re on point first.”

  “Me? What? Why?”

  “Because you have an appointment this afternoon with Mr. Conner. When’s he going to be here?”

  “Actually, he rescheduled to tomorrow.” So somebody else could go first.

  Jerry clapped his hands. “Great. That’s even better. It gives me an idea.”

  Oh, hell, not another one.

  He turned to Dickie. “At lunch you mentioned that you’d like to do a ride along, if possible. How about tomorrow? Violet can take you and Honey with her and her new client, give you both a feel for our day-to-day operations here.”

  I could what? With my ex in the car? No way. Absolutely not. The last thing I needed was a reality television producer and his assistant listening in on my conversations with the estranged father of my children. That was a sure-fire recipe for a disaster of mushroom cloud proportions.

  “No!” I said, not meaning to blurt it out with so much defiance.

  All eyes turned my way. Jerry’s were the widest. I guess he hadn’t expected me to disagree with his playbook.

  “Do you have a schedule conflict, Violet?”

  I scrambled to pick up my fumble. “More like a vehicle conflict. My pickup won’t fit four.”

  The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out. “That’s no problem. You can borrow my Hummer.”

  He wanted me to drive that tank on Deadwood’s narrow streets with a carful of people who stressed me out just by existing in my realm? The chance of careening over the edge of a road to my death would be high in a friggin’ rickshaw with this crew. No thanks. “I’m not comfortable with the size of your vehicle.”

  Nor was I comfortable with the size of his marketing ideas. They were all of the “Think big—MEGA BIG” mentality, shouted out by that guy who did the monster truck commercials. I on the other hand was of the “Be realistic, jackass” mindset.

  “We could use our rental,” Honey offered, her smile as sweet as … “Don’t say honey,” a voice said in my head.

  “How do you feel about using their rental car, Violet?” Jerry asked.

  “I’m not sure my insurance will cover me.” After my Bronco had gotten torched, my insurance agent had stopped smiling at me in the Piggly Wiggly when our carts passed. In fact, he now avoided me to the point of detouring down the tampon aisle to escape me.

  “You can use my Subaru, Violet,” Ben spoke up. “It’s narrow with four-wheel drive and completely paid for. Don’t worry about your insurance. I’ve seen you drive. You’re safe.”

  Doh! Ben wasn’t helping. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” I asked, trying to hit him with ESP waves telling him to mind, dang it.

  “Not at all.”

  “That’s good teamwork, Ben,” Coach Jerry said. “So there we are. You two can come tomorrow and Violet will take you out on the road, show you how we treat our clients, and give you a taste of Deadwood.”

  I sat there in the middle of Shit Creek, sputtering, not a paddle to be found.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Dickie said.

  “I hope you don’t mind us infringing,” Honey blinked at me, her smile super sweet, like hon … that’s it, I needed a timeout. My brain seemed to be short-circuiting.

  “It’s not a problem,” I said.

  Only it was. A very large problem. And on top of it all, I now had to change my plans.

  The scheme Elvis the Chicken and I had come up with at lunch involved driving Rex to a location where we could sit inside the Picklemobile with the windows rolled up. I’d find out exactly what the hell he was doing back in town, and what his intentions toward my children were. Then I’d tell him to stay away from me and mine, threaten to file for a restraining order—employing the lawn clippers I’d shoved under the seat, if necessary—and strongly suggest he use another real estate company. I’d brought one of Tiffany’s cards along just in case.

  Now I would have to actually dig up a few places to show Rex and do some prep work, damn it. This all cut into the time I’d wanted to spend scouring the internet for more information on German Black Forest cuckoo clocks and makers of fine hats.

  “Violet,” Jerry said, “give us a few minutes to get set up in my office. I’ll holler when we’re ready.” He offered Dickie and Honey some coffee before leading them down the back hall.

  I groaned and covered my eyes with my palms, resting my elbows on the desktop. I should have stayed under the covers.

  “Vi,” Mona said, “are you feeling okay?”

  Not at all. I peeked out at her. “The verdict is still out.”


  Ben placed today’s rental properties report on my desk. “This TV show is going to be a positive thing, Violet. You’ll shine on camera.”

  That was a good reminder to add extra makeup on the days I had the cameras following me so it wasn’t my nose, chin, and forehead that were shining instead of my skills.

  Ray snorted. “I don’t know why you’re getting your panties in a twist, Blondie. It’s not like you have to actually make sales happen. If that were the case you’d have been out of a job long ago.” He kicked his boots up on his desk, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Hell, this show is right up your alley. It’s all about kooks and spooks. With your frizzy hair and criminal record, you’re exactly what they need to make their show go viral.”

  I flipped him off with both birds.

  “Stay tuned for more Violet ‘Spooky’ Parker after these messages,” he poked some more.

  “Ray,” Mona said, “insulting Violet won’t make up for your inadequacies.”

  “What are you talking about, Red?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And don’t play your shrink games on me.”

  She looked over at him with one arched brow. “I ran into one of your ex-girlfriends the other night at Charles’ Club. She shared a few details about what’s been going on with you lately while we waited for our drinks.” Her gaze dipped downward. “It makes sense now why you keep harassing Violet.”

  What did? What had his ex said? I leaned forward, my focus bouncing between Mona and Ray. Was she messing with him for my sake, or was she serious?

  Ray’s whole body went rigid, his boots hitting the floor. Whether or not Mona was toying with him, she’d apparently pierced his hull. “She’s lying.”

  “You don’t even know what she said.”

  “I don’t need to. I dumped her, and now she’s pissed. I can only imagine the line of crap she fed you.”

  Mona shrugged, sliding her rhinestone reading glasses onto her nose. “If you say so, Ray.”