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

by Ann Charles

  “And you believe her?”

  “Of course,” Doc said without hesitation.

  “Hello,” I waved at the detective. “I’m sitting right here you know.”

  Cooper sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. “You all must realize that I can’t use a warning from a ghost as part of any defensive strategy down at the station. Nobody will believe you or me, and I’ll probably be suspended on indefinite psych leave.”

  I sighed. “Of course you can’t.” Was this what the musicians on the Titanic felt like when icy water had lapped at their feet? “Now what?”

  “Stick around town and try not to do anything else wrong.” Cooper glared at me. “And answer your damned phone when I call.”

  I flipped off the big jerk.

  He wrinkled his lip in reply before opening the door. He shot Doc a glance on the way out. “I’ll be home late tonight, Nyce, thanks to your girlfriend’s screw up.”

  I scowled at the detective’s backside, wishing I were close enough to plant my size 8 boot in it. “I didn’t kill Wanda Carhart!”

  Cooper paused on the other side of the threshold, squinting back in at me. “Oddly enough, Parker, I believe you’re innocent. But I’m not the one you need to convince this time.”

  Chapter Three

  I’d learned at a young age that when shit hit the fan, there was no better place to lie low than my Aunt Zoe’s kitchen. The fresh lemonade in her refrigerator and sweet goodies in her Betty Boop cookie jar always helped me to choke down a long day chock-full with bitter pills.

  And boy oh boy had today been one of those days. I had acid indigestion coming out my ears.

  “Violet,” Aunt Zoe’s voice interrupted my pity party. “Wanda’s death is not your fault.”

  I blinked out of my daze and looked across the kitchen table into her all-seeing dark blue gaze. Aunt Zoe always had been able to read me like an eye doctor chart. Since childhood, I’d distracted most who looked my way with my big, bold E’s and F’s on the surface. Only she had known to squint and peer lower, zeroing in on my tiny, troubled O’s and C’s.

  My focus dropped to the last couple of toast bites smothered with chipped beef in white sauce that were now cold. I shoved them around the plate with my fork.

  “Prudence would disagree with you,” I told her.

  Aunt Zoe leaned forward, her long silver-lined hair pulled back in a loose ponytail tonight. Her red glass earrings, a product of her own crafting, looked pretty fancy compared to her faded plaid work shirt and jeans.

  “Violet, you may share a vocation with Prudence, but your stripes are different. Remember that the next time you compare yourself to her.”

  “What do you mean?” Doc asked from where he stood by the sink, drying the big saucepan Aunt Zoe had used to make Layne’s favorite dish.

  The kid had plowed through three helpings of what my dad always called shit-on-a-shingle, snarfing down bite after bite before asking to be excused to go watch El Dorado in the living room. One would think the nearly ten-year-old was fresh in from driving cattle up the Chisholm Trail or something, sheesh.

  “Just as your talents and abilities as a medium vary from another’s,” she told Doc, “Violet’s skills might include elements that Prudence’s didn’t or vice-versa.”

  He put the pan on the counter and pulled the ladle from the drain rack. He still wore the same jeans and black shirt from earlier and sported the same finger plowed hair, too. However, in the soft yellow surroundings of my aunt’s kitchen with snowflakes falling outside the window, he sort of hypnotized me with his pulse-palpitating good looks.

  It took several slow blinks and a head-clearing shake to realize that maybe it was just the sight of a man doing housework that had my motor revving. If Doc grabbed the broom and started sweeping, I might have to ask Aunt Zoe to leave so I could have my wicked way with him on her clean wooden floor.

  “Zoe, have any other executioners in your family’s lineage had the ability to see ghosts?” Doc asked, unaware that I had moved on to a fantasy involving him folding socks and towels.

  Aunt Zoe turned to me, staring pointedly.

  I left Fantasyland Doc in the midst of ironing my shirts and frowned back at present-moment Aunt Zoe. Why was I getting that look from her? After my kids had been excused from the table, I’d filled her in about my episode this morning with Prudence. Had I forgotten something important?

  “What?” I asked, sticking a bite of cold toast in my mouth.

  “Have you finished the book?”

  As much as I’d have liked to pretend I didn’t know what book she was talking about, I knew she’d yank on my ear if I played dumb.

  “Almost.”

  “Violet, that’s your key to unlocking the possibilities of what you can and can’t do.”

  “I know, but reading long, handwritten tomes isn’t exactly my strong suit.” Unlike my son, who carted around college-sized history books on the ancient Maya in case he had a spare moment to fit some reading into his day. At her narrowed gaze, I held up my hands. “Besides, it’s not my fault. I can’t find the book.”

  “What do you mean you can’t find it? I thought I told you to keep it safe up in your room.”

  “You did, and it’s somewhere around here. I’m sure of that because I didn’t take it anywhere else.”

  “How could you lose that book?”

  “I was reading it when I was in bed sick and fell asleep. When I woke up, it was gone.” At her growl of unhappiness, I stuck another bite in my mouth, mumbling, “I’ll find it, I swear.”

  “Did you look under your bed?”

  “Of course I did, and in my closet where I’d been keeping it tucked away. I’ve checked everywhere. I must have sleepwalked and left it somewhere else around here.” My subconscious probably had made me hide it, trying to protect my kids from learning the truth about who we were.

  “What’s in this book?” Doc was drying a plate now.

  I kept telling Aunt Zoe we needed to invest in a dishwasher, but she preferred to hand wash dishes. “Doc, why don’t you let me finish those later.” I felt guilty about him coming over to clean up after us.

  He waved the dish towel at me. “Answer my question.”

  “The book has information on my family history.”

  “Not only your family history,” Aunt Zoe chastised, fiddling with her coffee cup. “It’s a volume full of writings from various magistrae throughout our history about the executioners under their charge. Some accounts include lists of kills, others define abilities and disclose experiences along the way, and some give details on what method was used when executing different enemies.”

  Doc’s brow rose. “But didn’t you say that what has worked in the past might not work for Violet? That she has to figure out how to kill each different species of these others on her own?”

  “I did.” Aunt Zoe shot me a stern look. “But in addition to possible skill crossovers, which has happened in the past, she needs to read it to understand what else could potentially be out there waiting for her.”

  Doc hung the towel over the cupboard door below the sink. “Zoe, how do you feel about me reading this book?”

  He walked over and picked up my plate, holding it out for me to take the last bite. I stabbed it with my fork and popped it in my mouth. I handed him the fork, too, thanking him after I’d swallowed.

  Doc was a definite keeper, if only I could find some sort of invisible shackling device that didn’t involve a wedding band. Marriage was a topic I’d avoided around him ever since finding out he might be allergic to having a wife. And if that were the case, his gaining my two children in the matrimony deal would probably send him into anaphylactic shock.

  “Or would me reading this family memoir be against the rules?”

  Aunt Zoe shook her head. “There are no rules, just warnings and plenty of dangers.” She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lips were pinched as she focused on me. “Unfortunately, until we find the bo
ok, nobody can read it.”

  “There’s no second copy of it anywhere?” I asked, knowing the answer to that from her scoff alone.

  “I can’t believe you misplaced the book.”

  “It’s not my fault. I’m telling you, it was there when I fell asleep.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it was missing before now?”

  “I didn’t want you to look at me the way you are right now.”

  Doc chuckled. “Now you sound like Addy did earlier.”

  It was unfortunate that he’d had to witness my harping at my daughter at the dinner table about something else that had gone missing as of late—my water pick. When Layne had taken a moment to breathe in between his first and second helpings, he’d tattled on his sister. According to him, he’d witnessed Addy using my water pick to rinse off Elvis the chicken during the bird’s weekly bath. While I didn’t condone snitching, Addy knew better than to use my personal hygiene appliances on that damned chicken. We’d been there and done that before, with “grounding” consequences. So her claim not to realize I’d be upset about her using my water pick to blast the poop off Elvis’s tail feathers didn’t fly with me.

  It was bad enough to lose my buttons left and right and to find eggs laid in my shoes. The water pick fiasco was the final straw, especially after my shitty day. I didn’t care if scrubbing a chicken caused feather breakage. How many times had I used my water pick since Addy had started cleaning off poop with it? When I asked that very question, she didn’t have an answer for me—or maybe she wisely knew better than to admit the truth. Needless to say, Addy was grounded yet again and had to split the cost of a new water pick with me.

  I grimaced across the table at Aunt Zoe. “Do you think it’s safe to use bleach to rinse my teeth tonight?”

  Doc laughed outright.

  Aunt Zoe’s face softened, her grin making an appearance in spite of my losing track of the family archives.

  I mock glared at Doc. “Laugh it up, funny guy, but consider this—how many times have you kissed me since Addy started using my water pick on that damned chicken?”

  He wrinkled his upper lip, but his shoulders kept shaking with hilarity.

  The doorbell rang.

  I stood, pretending to threaten him with my finger. “Consider yourself saved by the bell.”

  Aunt Zoe was laughing along with Doc as I left the room, heading for the front door.

  I was still shaking my head about the damned chicken when I pulled open the door. The sight of our evening visitor knocked me back a step. Before either of us could speak, I slammed the door shut and deadbolted it for good measure.

  On the rush back to the kitchen, I grabbed Doc’s leather coat from the peg on the wall and plucked his keys from the glass bowl on the side table.

  I tossed his coat at him. “Here.” There was no time for an explanation.

  He caught it without dropping the plate he was drying. “What’s going on?”

  “Aunt Zoe,” I pointed my thumb behind me, “there’s a demon spawn from Hell at the front door.”

  I grabbed the dry plate from Doc’s hand and the damp dishtowel, setting both down on the counter. “You’re coming with me, lover boy.” I dragged him behind me out the back door.

  “Violet, what are you doing?” He dropped anchor, stopping me short at the bottom of the steps.

  Snow fell around us, coming down fast in big flakes. Shivering in the freezing air, I pointed at his coat. “You should put that on.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry, but you have to leave.” His face was all shadows and ridges in the pale light coming from Aunt Zoe’s kitchen windows. I took his coat from him and held it out, sleeves ready and waiting.

  “Why do I have to leave right now?” He took his coat back from me and slid one arm into a sleeve. “Who’s at the door?”

  I hugged my arms tight, shivering as snow coated my hair. My sweater was more for decoration than actual body heat retention. “Someone I don’t want to see you.”

  He shrugged his coat over his shoulders, his gaze darting up to the house. “Rex?”

  “No.”

  “Because if it is, I assure you I can control my temper in front of your children.”

  Doc had roughed up Rex the last time they’d run into each other, trying to teach the bastard to keep his hands off of me. An act I still appreciated deep in the warm, fiery cockles of my heart where I’d like to go to heat my hands for a bit.

  “I wish it were only Rex.” My teeth started to chatter. “Tonight’s visitor is worse than Rex Conner.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Who’s worse than the kids’ absent father suddenly showing up on your doorstep?”

  “Their evil aunt.” I grabbed him by the coat sleeve and led him over to the gate, tiptoeing through it to peek around the front. “The coast is clear,” I whispered. Aunt Zoe must have allowed my sister, Susan, to cross the threshold.

  “Violet, why don’t you want me to meet your sister?”

  “She’s the Bitch from Hell.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “She’s a man stealer.”

  Doc grabbed me by the shoulders, staring down at me. “I know all about Susan and Rex. You can trust me. I’m not going to end up in bed with your sister.”

  With the snow falling softly around us, we were one spawn of Satan away from a Hallmark movie moment.

  “I do trust you, Doc.” I grabbed his lapels and pulled him down for a kiss to underscore my words. My cold nose bumped his as another round of shivers rocked me.

  He warmed my cheeks with his palms. “Then let’s go back inside and get this over with.” He kissed me back with the same motive.

  I was tempted, partly because my ass was about to freeze solid and fall off onto the driveway. However, memories of past back-stabbings came to mind. I shook my head. “You don’t understand the demented psychopath that is now walking around inside of that house. But I do.”

  I led him to the Picklemobile.

  He took the keys from my cold fingers. His sigh steamed the air between us. “I can’t believe you’re kicking me out in the cold snow.”

  “At this point I have two choices. I can either send you on your way with a kiss and promise to make up for this another day and know in my heart that you are safe from Susan’s sharp claws, or …” I thought I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. I checked the front porch quickly, making sure Susan wasn’t hiding there in the shadows or peering out through the front curtains, before focusing back on Doc.

  “Or what?” he prompted, brushing a snowflake from my cheek. We were back to that Hallmark moment.

  Sort of.

  “Or I can go back inside the house and poison her to death.” I tried to smile, but my cheeks were too cold to obey. “I bet that would give Detective Hawke some good ammunition for his Violet-the-Witch theory.”

  “Okay, Killer, I’ll go home.” Doc enveloped me in a warm hug. “But you do realize that your children are still inside there with her, don’t you?”

  “Shit, you’re right.” I gave him one last kiss. “I’m going to go find Aunt Zoe’s stock of hemlock and snakeroot.”

  He chuckled.

  I didn’t.

  “Night, Doc. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow and fill you in on the deadly details.”

  * * *

  Sunday, November 11th

  According to what I had learned in my college psychology class, psychopaths could appear normal, even charming, while underneath they lacked the ability to empathize or have remorse, often showing a total lack of conscience.

  My sister, Susan, aka the Bitch from Hell, was a walking, breathing, scheming example of a psychopath.

  My mother disagreed, of course, claiming I was being too hard on my baby sister. That Susan’s eagerness to either destroy or covet what was mine was simply my sister being “a squeency bit jealous.” I was of the opinion that my mom had dabbled in a squeency bit too much acid in her younger years
and ever since had seen life through blurry, rose-colored glasses.

  Susan had been stalking me since toddlerhood. She’d cut the head off my teddy bear, fed my Barbie through a meat grinder, burned holes in my favorite sweaters, and screwed my children’s sperm donor in my own bed. Now call me kooky, but in my world that made Susan crazier than a sack full of rabid wolverines.

  According to Aunt Zoe when I’d joined her back in the kitchen last night, Susan’s visit had a legitimate purpose—to drop off some new snow boots that my mother had bought for the kids as an early birthday present. Unfortunately, the falling snow had made Aunt Zoe feel the need to allow Susan to spend the night on the couch.

  Tension had crackled plenty between us straight out of the gate, starting with her snide remarks about the make-believe boyfriend she’d caught wind of from my kids. I didn’t try to convince her otherwise.

  As I finished the dish drying job Doc had started, Susan went on to make several acidic stabs about my winter weight and messy hair. I thought about breaking Aunt Zoe’s dishes over her long, straight-haired brunette head and sitting on her stick insect body until she promised to move to the furthest space station, but I heeded Aunt Zoe’s recommendation not to claw Susan’s eyes out while the kids were in the house.

  Instead, I lit her on fire and danced with joy around her burning body. Or maybe I just fantasized about that and instead escaped to the living room to enjoy watching the Duke take on a greedy land baron.

  As soon as the movie wrapped up, I decided to have a slumber party with my kids. I dragged covers and pillows into my bedroom and told ghost stories until Addy and Layne fell asleep. Before drifting off to nightmare-ville, I locked my bedroom door and pushed my dresser in front of it for good measure. It was that or worry about waking in the darkness to find Satan’s spawn standing over me with a carving knife.

  By the time I’d gotten out of the shower this morning, Satan’s bride was gone. Aunt Zoe told me that Susan had been unusually quiet during her breakfast of half a grapefruit and coffee, not bragging about her latest job or man-eating reputation even once. Unfocused was one of the words Aunt Zoe had used when telling me about Susan’s strange behavior as I chowed down on a cheese omelet. I ate an extra piece of bacon in honor of whatever had her pouting and hoped the source of her trouble stayed sunk in like an Alabama tick.