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

by Ann Charles

I scowled down at it. “It’s Cooper.”

  “Course it is. Hangin’ up on him like that only makes him more ornery.”

  Worrying my knuckle, I looked at Harvey in the rearview mirror. “What should I do?”

  “Ya better answer it. You know how curly lipped he gets when he has to track ya down.”

  Wincing, I answered via speakerphone. “Hello?”

  “You have the worst fucking timing, Parker!”

  Uh oh. It was never good when Cooper shot out of the gate swearing at me.

  He huffed through the line. The big bad wolf had nothing on Deadwood’s ace detective. “You got a serious problem now.”

  “Actually, Detective, I have several serious problems.” Including him and his new partner.

  Harvey snorted in agreement.

  “You shouldn’t have called,” Cooper continued.

  “Why’s that? Were you and Detective Hawke busy painting each other’s fingernails?”

  He cursed at me under his breath. “Because we already checked on Wanda this morning.”

  “You did?” Had Prudence alerted Wanda about the break-in before I showed up and convinced her to contact the police? If so, what was with the freak show a moment ago in my front seat? “For once Cooper, you and your police pals seem to have your act together.”

  “Would you shut the hell up for a minute, Parker?”

  Sheesh! If his sphincter twisted any tighter, his spine was going to crack. “Why are you so pissed? All I did was make a phone call.”

  “Because Wanda’s dead, Parker. Congratulations, you managed to link yourself to yet another death.”

  For several blinks, his words ricocheted throughout the different lobes in my brain before penetrating and sparking a reaction. I hit the disconnect button, not wanting to incriminate myself any further before I found out how Wanda had died.

  Harvey’s open-mouthed expression in the rearview mirror matched mine.

  “Wanda’s dead,” I told him.

  “I heard.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Get the hell out of Dodge.”

  Chapter Two

  “Wanda’s dead,” I repeated, staring out the windshield at the house where she’d spent so many years.

  The house where her husband and son both had died violent deaths.

  The house where I’d almost been sliced and diced thanks in part to her wacko daughter.

  Dead.

  Damn.

  I’d seen Wanda a couple of days ago to give her the check for the sale. She’d smiled often during that meeting, brimming with plans for what she would do now that she no longer had this place tying her to the past.

  The check? Was money the “treasure” Prudence had been talking about?

  “Are you just gonna sit there and spin, girl?” Harvey asked from the back seat.

  I looked up at the attic window. How was Prudence going to take this news? Would she be sad?

  “That’s it!” I heard a door open, and then a blast of cold air hit me. Harvey filled the doorframe. “Move it. I’m drivin’.”

  Before I could get one leg over the console he was aiming pinches at my backside, hurrying me along.

  “Ow! Dang it, Harvey, that hurts.” I settled into the passenger seat, rubbing one of the stinging spots on my lower back.

  He buckled up. “Stop bein’ such a big baby. Yer givin’ all of the other executioners a bad name.”

  Harvey didn’t mess around behind the wheel. We were heading down the road lickety-split.

  I stared out the window, watching the buildings along Lead’s main drag slide past, still grappling with Cooper’s news. Wanda had gone from living to dead in a blink of an eye, leaving a gaping hole in my world.

  Harvey nudged my leg. “Yer phone’s ringin’.”

  The Harlem Globetrotters’ theme song played from my coat pocket. My boss, the ex-professional basketball player, was calling.

  I shook thoughts of Wanda from my head and answered, “Hi, Jerry.”

  “Violet, do you have a minute? I need to fill you in on some upcoming plans for next week.”

  Had the assassin Prudence warned me about killed Wanda? Cooper hadn’t explicitly said someone had murdered her, but what were the chances of her keeling over out of the blue? Wanda was no spring chicken, but she had seemed healthy enough.

  “Violet? Are you there?” Jerry’s voice cut through my rumination.

  “What?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Now?”

  “Preferably, unless you’re busy.”

  Not busy, just scatterbrained. “I’m on my way to the office.”

  Harvey shot me a frown.

  I shrugged back. “Can it wait until I get there?” That would give me some time to get my head back in the game.

  “Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.” Jerry hung up.

  I lowered my phone to my lap, feeling lost at sea. I needed a vacation from all of this murder and mystery bullshit. “Harvey, how do you feel about Mexico this time of year?”

  “Bikinis in the sunshine make my ticker do loop-the-loops.”

  I was thinking more along the lines of tequila in the moonlight. “What am I going to do?”

  “First ya need to take care of this business with yer boss. As soon as you can tuck tail and run, slip next door to Doc’s office. The three of us will put our melons together and figure out how to patch this hole in yer chicken fence.”

  Doc. Right. He’d know what step to take next. At least I hoped he did, because I felt like I was standing in the middle of a circle of land mines. No matter where I put my foot, something was going to blow up in my face.

  “I saw a ghost, Harvey.” Until today, I’d been a dud when it had come to the specter world. “What does that mean?”

  “Keep in mind that ol’ Prudence isn’t yer typical spook.”

  “Do you think I’ll be able to see all sorts of ghosts now?”

  “If so, you’ll be the Mayor of Nutter-ville by Christmas.”

  Ten minutes later, he parked my Honda behind Calamity Jane Realty next to the Picklemobile, Harvey’s old green pickup. Since I was no longer in need of the exhaust belching beast, Harvey had loaned her to Doc to drive during the winter. Doc’s sexy 1967 Camaro SS now sat safe and sound in storage.

  “He’s really cleaned her up,” I said to Harvey while looking at the old pickup.

  “You should hear her purr now,” he told me, pushing open his door. “Doc knows his way around under the hood. The boy has magic hands.”

  He sure did, I thought with a small grin.

  Harvey waited for me while I collected my purse and tried my best to tuck away my bewilderment about Wanda’s death for the time being. We rushed through the lot, the wind whipping about our loose ends. Since Doc’s office was in the building next to Calamity Jane Realty, we headed in the same direction.

  At Doc’s back door, Harvey handed me my keys. “You gonna be okay in there?”

  I nodded. The freezing air had bitch-slapped me back to life. “I just needed to downshift for a moment, but I’m up to speed now. I’ll join you two as soon as I can.”

  He patted my shoulder. “I like the grit in yer gizzard, girl.”

  I started toward the back door of my office but then stopped. “Are you okay, Harvey? Prudence was pretty heavy-handed with you back there.”

  “I feel like I got my tongue caught in my eyeteeth, and I couldn’t see what I was sayin’ there for a bit.” He stroked his beard. “But I’m comin’ back to my usual way of thinkin’ now.”

  “That’s too bad,” I joked but then sobered. “Thank you for coming with me this morning.”

  “Just doin’ my job, Sparky.” After dodging my pinching fingers, he pushed inside Doc’s door.

  A blast of chilly air chased me into Calamity Jane’s.

  “Violet?” Jerry called from out front, where I usually sat along with the three other real estate agents on his payroll.

  I kept my
coat on since I hoped not to stay long.

  My boss appeared to have relocated to Mona Hollister’s desk. His paperwork filled the area where her laptop usually reigned. His extra-long, ex-professional basketball player legs stuck a few feet out the back of the desk, and his elbows extended to the sides. If Thor were to get an office gig, this was what I imagined he’d look like stuffed behind a desk.

  What the heck? Where was Mona and why was Jerry working from her seat? He had a nice office of his own down the hall with a large desk and fancy leather chair that fit his oversized body perfectly.

  “Hi, Jerry.” I dropped my purse on my desktop. “Is Mona okay?”

  “Sure. She took the day off, so she won’t be lacing up and hitting the court with us today.” Jerry spoke fluent Sport-u-guese thanks to spending over half of his life suffering from acute basketball-itis.

  He eyed me up and down, as usual. “That outfit looks nice. Those boots really make a statement with your red coat.”

  “Thanks.” I waited for the “but” that I was certain would follow.

  “But you might want to dress it up with a wool peacoat that still has all of the buttons next time.”

  There it was. “Buttons, got it.” Stupid chicken!

  Jerry had taken it upon himself to be in charge of my wardrobe. Every day he gave me his opinion of the ensemble I had selected, whether I wanted it or not. Knowing his intent was to help my career kept my temper in check when I wasn’t dressed to his standards, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to kick him in the shin periodically.

  “What did you need to talk to me about?”

  He sat back. “You want to take your coat off first?”

  I shook my head. “I dropped off the keys at the Carhart house—or rather the Britton house.”

  “Congratulations again on making that sale.” His proud smile made me feel like I’d scored a winning basket for the team.

  I dipped my chin, acknowledging his words, and then continued. “I need to run over to Detective Cooper’s place and make sure it’s ready for the viewing tomorrow.”

  That was a mix of lie and truth.

  Truthfully, I had an appointment in the morning with an older couple from Pierre looking for a second home in the Black Hills. I had my fingers crossed that Cooper’s bungalow might be the sort of place they were looking for since they preferred something smaller that wouldn’t take a lot of upkeep.

  Not so truthfully, Cooper’s house was already in tiptop shape and ready for potential buyers. I’d seen that for myself when I’d picked up Harvey earlier, who was temporarily staying at his nephew’s house for the winter … or until I sold it.

  Helping Cooper get rid of this home and move on to his next had become one of my top priorities since the nosy detective was bunking at Doc’s house now, interfering with my love life. Role-playing with handcuffs wasn’t nearly as titillating when followed with a stay in a dirty jail cell.

  “Okay, I’ll get right to the point then.” Jerry clapped his big hands together, which sounded like a balloon popping.

  I jerked slightly, strung too tightly for loud noises after Prudence’s game of show and tell.

  “The Paranormal Realty television crew will be back this week to pick up where they left off filming before everyone came down with the flu.”

  “Great.” My reply sounded hollow, but Jerry didn’t seem to notice. “I look forward to getting back in front of the camera.”

  Being filmed was right near the top of my things-I-hate list, located one notch below having my hoo-ha examined while a group of resident physicians observed and took notes.

  “I like your attitude, Violet. You’re a team player through and through.”

  Not really. I just wanted to do whatever I could to avoid the unemployment line.

  “We still need to film in The Old Prospector Hotel, along with a few other haunted locales.”

  I grimaced on the inside. The Old Prospector Hotel was the home of several creepy ghosts, including a little blonde girl who wanted to have me over to share some invisible tea and temporary insanity.

  “I want you to talk to the Deadwood police,” Jerry continued, oblivious to my mental heartburn. “See if we can grab a few takes out at Willis Harvey’s ranch, too. His house is one of two rural locations that we have on the docket. I think it adds more color to the mix.”

  Did he mean more red color, as in blood? Because Harvey’s ranch was a regular body part depository these days. In the last few months alone, an ear with part of the scalp attached, a decapitated corpse, an old boot with a dried up foot still inside, and a faceless body all had been found out at Harvey’s place. Unfortunately, I’d been present for the last two sightings and wasn’t really anxious to head out there and stumble upon anything else—especially after the visitor I’d encountered in Harvey’s family graveyard a week ago. Its milky eyes and sharp teeth had guest starred in my nightmares almost every night since.

  “Jerry, I think the police might be more willing to let us film at Harvey’s if you ask.” My history with the Deadwood Police Department involved multiple threats of incarceration and one broken nose, not cookies and milk. I had a feeling he’d at least be able to make it through the station’s front doors without anyone tasering him.

  Honestly, though, I didn’t think it mattered which one of us asked, because I was ninety-nine percent sure that they would come back with a firm, “Hell no!” There was too much trouble out at Harvey’s place these days to allow a camera crew on the premises.

  Jerry’s brow creased as if he were considering my suggestion. “No, I think you have more clout with the folks in charge there.”

  A laugh bubbled up my throat. Me? Oh, dear Lord, if he only knew how few crumbs of this so-called clout I had with the lead detective working on the case. But Jerry had made up his mind, so now I had to figure out how to do as he asked without actually following through.

  Maybe I could write Detective Hawke a note and have Doc pass it to Cooper to deliver. Something like, Can we film out at Harvey’s? ending with a Circle Yes or No option.

  More laughter bubbled up, making me swallow a couple of times to keep it all down. “I’ll see what I can do,” I told Jerry. “Is there anything else?”

  “There was something else. Let me think for a second.”

  Was it something to do with why he had commandeered Mona’s desk?

  I looked through my purse for some lip gloss while I waited and then double-coated my freeze-dried lips. My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast this morning due to nerves. Going to the Carhart house had given me a solid case of indigestion, but now my hunger had returned tenfold. Apparently, facing off with Prudence was more troubling than learning of Wanda’s death.

  “Oh! Now I remember.” Jerry shuffled through the papers on Mona’s desk, finding a business card and holding it out to me.

  “What’s this?” I took the card.

  Jerry answered before I had a chance to let the name on the card register. “Rex Conner stopped by earlier. He’s back in town and really needs a place to rent.”

  I glared down at the name on the business card, waiting for my hair to catch on fire.

  Rex Conner was my children’s sperm donor and a no-good, rotten son of a bitch. After our last showdown in this very office, I was amazed at his audacity to show his face yet again. I was going to have to follow through on my last threat and leave him kidney-less in a bathtub full of ice.

  “Something wrong, Violet?”

  “No.” I dropped the card in my purse. “Nothing I can’t handle …” without some castration snippers. “I’ll be back later.”

  “I may not be here when you return. I have an appointment down in Rapid. Nobody else will be here either.”

  “Where’s Ben?” Ben Underhill was my equivalent at work in the male form, only he played with balls better than I did.

  My lips twitched. Then again, Doc might disagree on that point. I quietly groaned at my own joke. I’d
been hanging around Harvey way too long.

  “He’s in Hill City. There are a couple of vacation home properties down there that a friend of mine is considering putting on the market. Ray went with him. He has a client there who is interested in acquiring some more land.”

  Ben’s uncle, Ray Underhill, held the World Record for most consecutive sexist offenses. He and I shared a garden abloom with dislike and watered our loathing daily while glaring at each other across the office. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d wished for a voodoo doll of him to tear limb from limb.

  As much as I detested Ray’s stinging insults, he had nothing on Rex Conner’s venomous bite. Rex seemed to keep forgetting about those papers he’d happily signed after the kids were born. The ones where he agreed that he’d have nothing to do with his offspring, which included a pass on paying child support. Now that he was in need of a fake family to land some job promotion up at the old Homestake Mine turned science lab, my children and I were suddenly a prize worth claiming.

  Oh, the irony that was my life.

  Jerry watched me sling my purse over my shoulder. “Drive safe, Violet. We’re supposed to get snow tonight.”

  “I heard they’re calling for a few inches.”

  He looked out at the dark sky. “It could be even worse.”

  Ha! It usually was in my case.

  I left via the back door and hopped on over to Doc’s office, shutting out the cold behind me.

  For a few moments, I let the door hold me up while I breathed my way through the choking bout of rage clogging my throat. I let my purse thump onto the floor.

  What was I going to do about Rex? Nobody at work knew our history and I wanted to keep it that way. The fewer who were in on that secret, the less of a chance the truth might slip out in front of my kids.

  Addy and Layne needed a real father, not someone who was going to use them only for his own gain. In spite of Rex’s threats to reveal his role in their conception, he had no intention of actually following through and playing daddy. He was simply using his position as leverage to try to control me.

  Somehow, I needed to make him go away for good. Too bad killing him wasn’t going to work. Detective Hawke was already printing up wanted posters with my picture plastered on them. I didn’t want him to up the bounty for my hide.