A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7)

by Ann Charles

  Start Reading ◊ Table of Contents ◊ Dear Reader ◊ About the Author ◊ Contact Information ◊ More Books by Ann ◊ Copyright

  Read an Excerpt of Robyn Peterman’s Fashionably Dead

  For more on Ann and her books, check out her website www.anncharles.com, as well as the reader reviews for her books on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Goodreads.

  Dear Reader,

  Once upon a time I was going to write a book about a real estate agent from Deadwood who was struggling to make ends meet while raising two children and running into trouble with oddball clients and peculiar houses. Now, seven books later, I feel like I opened a chest full of treasures, at least from an author’s point-of-view. With quirky characters, memorable locations, and humorous hijinks just for starters, there is so much more of Violet’s story yet to come.

  A WILD FRIGHT IN DEADWOOD is the longest novel I’ve written so far—three more chapters than usual thanks to Violet’s crazy life. It’s also the fastest novel I’ve written to date. I think I burned off my fingertips in the rush to relocate the story from my brain to the page.

  I’ve included a good friend of mine in this book: bestselling author Terri Reid. For those of you who have read Terri’s Mary O’Reilly Mystery Series, you might remember that Terri included my mom and me in the 16th book in her series. I thought it was fun to be in Terri’s story as “Ann Charles” so I decided I needed to include “Terri Reid” in my series. (By the way, Terri loved meeting Violet on the page. I hope you get a chuckle out of the sections mentioning her.) If you haven’t checked out Terri’s books, you’re missing some fun and addictive paranormal mysteries.

  I hope you get some laughs and frights and everything in between out of this latest segment in Violet Parker’s ongoing adventures and mishaps.

  As old man Harvey often says, “Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.”

  www.anncharles.com

  For Justin

  You will always be old man Harvey in my imagination. I wish you’d stuck around long enough to see if I have Harvey spot-on with Bessie and all of the crazy dames.

  You will be missed!

  Acknowledgments

  This book is long! Because I blathered on so much in the story, I’m going to keep this short and sweet. Thank you to my husband, kids, family, friends, graphic artist, artist, editors, first draft readers, local expert, world keeper, beta readers, promotion team, and ornery cats. Thanks also to my brother, Clint, who has been making me roll my eyes for almost four decades now with his nutty antics.

  Special thanks to Robyn Peterman, Chanticleer Book Reviews, and Kim Hornsby for your wonderful quotes.

  Thank you to all who support me and my books by reading and sharing them with friends, family, local librarians, and complete strangers in line behind you at the liquor store and food truck.

  Many thanks to the bookstores, tourist stores, and other venues who help me by selling my books.

  Thank you to five wonderful friends from Deadwood and Lead who have helped Violet and I succeed over the years in many ways: “Chip” Tautkus from Chubby Chipmunk Chocolates, Kim Rupp from Executive Lodging of the Black Hills, Karen Everett from the Lead Deadwood Arts Center, Janell Andis from Custer Crossing, and Sue Stone-Douglas (my local expert). I cherish your friendship, generosity, kindness, and support!

  Finally, a big thanks to YOU for reading Violet’s latest calamity. I hope you get some laughs and chills. If I keep you up late into the night and you’re tired at work the next day, feel free to email me with curses and love.

  Also by Ann Charles

  Deadwood Mystery Series

  Nearly Departed in Deadwood (Book 1)

  Optical Delusions in Deadwood (Book 2)

  Dead Case in Deadwood (Book 3)

  Better Off Dead in Deadwood (Book 4)

  An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Book 5)

  Meanwhile, Back in Deadwood (Book 6)

  A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Book 7)

  Short Stories from the Deadwood Mystery Series

  Deadwood Shorts: Seeing Trouble

  Deadwood Shorts: Boot Points

  Deadwood Shorts: Cold Flame

  Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series

  Dance of the Winnebagos (Book 1)

  Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (Book 2)

  The Great Jackalope Stampede (Book 3)

  The Rowdy Coyote Rumble (Book 4)

  Short Stories from the Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series

  The Wild Turkey Tango

  Goldwash Mystery Series (a future series)

  The Old Man’s Back in Town (Short Story)

  Dig Site Mystery Series

  Look What the Wind Blew In (Book 1)

  (Starring the brother of Violet Parker—Deadwood Mystery Series)

  Coming Next from Ann Charles

  Dig Site Mystery Series

  Title TBA (Book 2)

  Deadwood Shorts

  Title TBA (Short Story 4)

  Deadwood Mystery Series

  Title TBA (Book 8)

  Cast

  **KEY: Character (Book # in which they appear)—Description**

  Violet Lynn Parker (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Main heroine of the series, Doc’s girlfriend, Aunt Zoe’s niece

  Willis “old man” Harvey (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s sidekick and so-called bodyguard

  Dane R. “Doc” Nyce (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Main hero of the series, Violet’s boyfriend

  Detective “Coop” Cooper (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Deadwood and Lead’s only detective

  Zoe Parker (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s aunt and mentor in life. Violet lives in Aunt Zoe’s house

  Layne Parker (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s nine-year-old son

  Adelynn Parker (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s nine-year-old daughter

  Natalie Beals (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s best friend since childhood

  Jerry Russo (4,5,6,7)—Violet’s boss, owner of Calamity Jane Realty

  Mona Hollister (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s coworker and mentor in realty

  Ray Underhill (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s coworker and nemesis at work

  Benjamin Underhill (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s coworker and previous secret admirer

  Cornelius Curion (3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s client; so-called ghost-whisperer

  Reid Martin (2,3,4,5,6,7)—Captain of the fire department, Aunt Zoe’s ex-lover

  Jeff Wymonds (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s client; father of Adelynn’s best friend

  Prudence (2,3,4,5,6,7)—Ghost who resides at the Carhart house

  Zeke and Zelda Britton (2,4,5,6,7)—Owners of the Carhart house in Lead

  Wanda Carhart (2,3,4,5,6,7)—Previous owner of the Carhart house in Lead

  Katrina King-Mann (7)—Ex-wife of Douglas Mann.

  Beatrice Geary (1,2,3,4,5,6)—Violet and Aunt Zoe’s neighbor across the street

  Tiffany Sugarbell (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s rival Realtor; Doc’s ex-girlfriend

  Susan Parker (1,2,3,4,5,6,7)—Violet’s evil sister; aka “the Bitch from Hell”

  Quint Parker (1,2,3,4,5,7)—Violet’s supportive brother; Layne’s hero; giver of her famous purple boots

  Freesia Tender (5,6,7)—Owner of the Galena House

  Stone Hawke (5,6,7)—Cooper’s ex-partner; detective called in to help solve cases

  Rex Conner (3,4,5,6,7)—The biological father of Violet’s children

  Dickie Dowdin (5,6,7)—Host of TV series called “Paranormal Realty”

  Honey (5,6,7)—Dickie’s assistant

  Rad (6,7)—Reality series cameraman

  Rosy (6,7)—Reality series camerawoman

  Eddi
e Mudder (3,6,7)—Owner of Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor

  “Such ingratitude, after all the times I saved your life.”

  ~from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

  Chapter One

  Saturday, November 10th

  Lead, South Dakota

  “Hell hath no fury like a high-steppin’ heifer who’s been downright scorned,” old man Harvey told me as I steered along the back streets of Lead.

  I frowned across the console of my new-but-used SUV at my self-proclaimed bodyguard and partner in troublemaking. “First of all, you know how I feel about being compared to a cow.” I poked him in the ribs to emphasize my feelings on that matter. “Second, I’m not high-stepping. I can barely raise my boots off the ground most days.”

  As a single mom with almost ten-year-old twins ruling my world, I was usually dragging my raggedy pride behind me wherever I roamed.

  Harvey rubbed his side, grunting. “I’m not talkin’ ‘bout you, Sparky.”

  “Third, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me Sparky?” It was bad enough that most of Deadwood’s fire department and half of its cop-shop were now calling me that. “My name is Violet Parker. Period.”

  “Spooky Parker is more fittin’ these days, don’cha think?”

  After some of the freaky shit Harvey and I’d been through lately, he had a point.

  “Better yet, Killer Parker. Ya gotta admit, that has a real nice ring to it.”

  I aimed another rib poke his way.

  Harvey held up his hands. “Fine, plain ol’ Violet Parker it is.”

  “That’s better.”

  A snort came from his side of the vehicle. “It’s no fair. Ya let Doc call you all sorts of names besides Violet.”

  I also let Doc Nyce see me naked whenever life allowed us a moment alone, and I often encouraged him to touch me in territory outlawed to the rest of mankind. “That’s different.”

  “Because you two are knockin’ your low-steppin’ boots?”

  This time I pinched his thigh.

  He howled. “Dang it, girl, ya sure got yer horns out this mornin’.”

  He didn’t know the half of it. I’d woken up fighting with my pillow in sweat-soaked sheets again. Over the past week, while the flu held me hostage, my nightmares had returned in full force. The legendary cast of my nocturnal imaginary world ranged from white-haired juggernauts to snarling bone crunchers and face-melting demons. I’d been slain in my sleep more times than I could count thanks to their ghoulish choice of weaponry.

  But my nightmares were my problem, not Harvey’s.

  A glance his way found his blue eyes narrowed, watching me. “If you’re not talking about me high-stepping, who then?” I asked. I slowed, easing as far right as I could on the narrow residential street to allow a jacked-up pickup to pass going the opposite way. “One of your old flames?”

  Harvey had so many old flames burning around the Black Hills that I couldn’t go to the grocery store without getting singed.

  “Nope. Yer boyfriend’s ex.”

  The mere thought of Doc’s ex-girlfriend made me clench the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. “I don’t want to talk about Tiffany Sugarbell!”

  Or her flat stomach.

  Or her perky boobs.

  Or her gorgeous red hair, especially after trying to wrangle my blonde curly mess into submission today only to have it spiral out of control as soon as I’d stepped outside.

  He blew out a low whistle. “Yer like sittin’ next to a box of ol’ TNT today. You need to breathe easy for a bit, spitfire.”

  “I can’t help it.” I peeled my fingers off the wheel, trying to shake the tension out of one hand and then the other. “You and I both know that bitch is nuts.”

  Harvey nodded. “That’s how the cow ate the cabbage.”

  “The cow ate what?” Was that another bovine comparison?

  He waved off my confusion. “That woman’s banjo ain’t been tuned right since you came to town.”

  It wasn’t my arrival that sent Tiffany spinning out of control; it had been Doc cutting her from his life. That had been when she’d started filling up his phone with text messages and voicemails.

  “I’d like to shove her banjo where the sun doesn’t shine.” Or better yet, take a sledge hammer to it now that she’d decided that wooing back my boyfriend wasn’t enough and had begun seducing my clients, too.

  I slowed and turned into the gravel driveway leading up to the Carhart house. The arched and gabled Gothic-revival style dwelling loomed in the windshield. Dark clouds threatening snow painted a gloomy backdrop.

  Speaking of a lack of sunshine …

  I killed the engine.

  “There she sits in all of her hair-raisin’, blood-stained glory.” Harvey stared out the windshield along with me.

  “It’s a beautiful house.” I stuck to my original observation from back in August, but my tone was more anxious than in months past.

  The old place was the picture of elegance and calm on the outside, a wood and nails version of a classic Hollywood starlet. My gaze climbed up past the first two stories, faltering when it reached the attic window. The gauzy white curtain hanging there swayed even though the window was closed. If only the ghost living within the house’s graceful bones would stop scaring the bejeezus out of me every time I crossed the threshold.

  “It’s time to batten down the hatches.” Harvey’s voice had a smidgen of unease rippling through it. “Things are gonna get ugly.”

  I dragged my focus away from the attic window. “I heard we’re supposed to get several inches of snow by nightfall.”

  “I’m not talkin’ about the weather.” He pointed at the house. “I got a notion tightenin’ my innards.”

  “I told you at breakfast that I was done talking about glitches with your bodily functions for today.” Frankly, I didn’t have the stomach for that discussion. I loved the old codger dearly, but I couldn’t afford to be off my feed, as Harvey liked to put it. With Deadwood winters being long and cold enough for my fellow cows to give ice cream, I needed to make sure my extra layers of fat remained gelatinously in place to keep me good and warm.

  “This ain’t about my problems, it’s about yers.”

  “You volunteered to be my bodyguard, remember?” Harvey and his companion, Bessie, which happened to be a doubled-barreled shotgun, had the job of making sure I retained life and limbs at all times. “How is this going to work if my problems aren’t yours, too?”

  He scratched under his beard. “You got too many wasps in yer outhouse, girlie, especially with that scorned she-devil sharpenin’ her pitchfork.”

  “Tiffany can kiss my ass.”

  I was done festering about Doc’s damned ex. It was time to go play hide-and-seek with Prudence the ghost.

  I shoved my door open, wincing as a frigid blast of cold air whipped past me and slammed the door shut behind me. “You can pucker up, too, Mother Nature.” I shook my fist at the dark sky. Tucking my head inside of my collar like a turtle, I clutched my coat lapels and plowed through the wind toward the house.

  Harvey caught up with me at the porch steps. “There’s a shitstorm comin’ yer way.”

  My laughter didn’t travel far thanks to the gust of wind that blew it toward Lead’s cavernous Open Cut next door, tossing it over the side into the 1,250 foot deep pit mine. “I’ve been mired in one shitstorm after another since I moved up to Deadwood last spring.”

  A sharp-clawed ex-girlfriend and an unnerving ghost were only two of my many problems. These days, I chewed my knuckles more about all of the other terrors hiding in the shadows.

  “Yeah, but yer belly’s showin’ now,” Harvey said.

  I glanced down at my stomach, which was visible through my open coat. The sight of loose threads where two buttons formerly had been sewn distracted me for a moment, making me want to strangle a chicken. Not just any chicken—my daughter Addy’s pet hen that she’d named Elvis. That damned bird was obsesse
d with stealing buttons and burying them in her cage down in the basement.

  “Not that belly.” Harvey jammed his hands in his coat pockets. “Yer other one.”

  “You mean because word has spread now about my real job as an …” I still couldn’t get my tongue to participate on cue when it came to saying the word aloud.

  “Executioner,” Harvey finished for me.

  “Shhhh.”

  “Why are you shushin’ me, girl? There’s nobody here but you and me and yer wacky ghost buddy inside.”

  “Nobody that we can see.” I pulled him up on the porch, lowering my voice. “And Prudence is not my buddy.”

  “According to her, yer from the same killin’ breed.”

  Behind Harvey, a black Ram truck rolled into the drive, easing around my SUV. It was time to play real estate agent extraordinaire.

  “They’re here.” I pasted a smile on my face as the pickup came to a stop. “No more talk about all of this weird stuff going on until we leave,” I warned through my teeth.

  He watched along with me as the new owners of the Carhart house hopped down from the tall truck. “Woo-wee! That boy is a regular Sherman tank.”

  That was a spot-on description of Zeke Britton. Larger than life from his round bald head down to his clown-sized shoes, the man was a former professional wrestler. After years of pounding bodies into the mat, he’d left the ring to be an independent surveyor.

  Zelda, his wife, was about a third of Zeke’s size. She’d tucked her auburn hair under a black stocking cap decorated with a big yellow daisy on the front. Our shared love of the happy-faced flower was one of the reasons I’d liked her the first time she’d walked into the Calamity Jane Realty office back in August. That and the way her smile made her green eyes sparkle. I’d never have guessed she had such a passion for books from the way she’d been draped from head to toe in biker leather. A career librarian, Zelda knew books like Harvey knew ranching. It was in their bones.

  Realty, on the other hand, barely scratched below my skin’s surface, and my executioner role floated beyond my fingertips most days. If only eating chocolate mixed with peanut butter were a legitimate profession.