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

by Ann Charles

  Cooper came closer. “A fourth what?”

  “Now she’s out to destroy Cornelius,” Natalie continued. “He may be a bit peculiar, but he’s a nice guy under all of his kookiness.” She leaned forward, imploring Doc with her clear gaze. “But most importantly, Wilda wants him to hurt Vi, and there’s no way I’m going to let that happen. I want to be there when you three talk to that evil little bitch.”

  “You’re going to hold another séance,” Cooper answered his own question, his expression hard and jagged again.

  Doc nodded once.

  “Who’s going to protect Vi while you’re dealing with Wilda?” Natalie pushed.

  I sat up straighter. “Who says I need protection?”

  A smirk curled Doc’s lips. He patted my hand that still rested on his thigh. “Down, Killer. Natalie is trying to use how I feel about you to convince me to let her join us.”

  “Come on, Doc,” Natalie pressed. “You know I’ve had Vi’s back since we were kids.”

  He shot me a raised brow. “You’re okay with Natalie taking this risk?”

  “Not really, but she’ll pester me like Wilda is doing to Cornelius if I tell her no.”

  “Hey,” Natalie said and lightly backhanded my shoulder.

  “Okay,” Doc laced his fingers in mine. “She’s the fourth.”

  Cooper growled under his breath. “This is a bad idea.”

  He was saying that only because one—he was a cop; and two—he had the hots for Natalie.

  “Why?” Natalie asked him.

  Cooper turned his focus on me. “Because Detective Hawke is already up Parker’s ass about the load of case files on my desk. If anything happens in that suite to one of you and Parker walks out in one piece again, he’ll come up with some reason to throw her in jail, no questions asked.”

  We all sat on that for a moment. Aunt Zoe’s Betty Boop clock ticked and ticked and ticked.

  “Then maybe you should be there, too.” Doc broke the silence.

  “That’s a really bad idea,” I told him.

  Doc lifted my hand from his thigh and kissed my knuckles, his gaze asking me to trust him. “You never did finish telling me what brought you here tonight, Coop.”

  Cooper pointed at me. “I needed to give Parker a message.”

  “What message?” Natalie asked.

  If Cooper was the messenger boy, I didn’t think I wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “Hawke wants her to come to the police station tomorrow.”

  “Why?” I had a feeling I already knew the answer.

  “To answer some questions about her role in the death of Wanda Carhart.”

  Chapter Ten

  Wednesday, November 14th

  I dreamed about Jeff Wymonds having sex with his girlfriend. Only his girlfriend wasn’t the nameless, nipple-bouncing babe I’d seen on his kitchen counter; she was Lila Beaumont, the black-haired demon-loving bitch who’d torched my Bronco. And instead of watching Jeff drive in for a touchdown, I stared in horror as a tattoo-covered Lila raised the knife with which she’d come at me in the Carhart house and buried it in Jeff’s back over and over, blood splattering and spilling everywhere while alarm bells rang in my head.

  I awoke drenched in a cold sweat with my alarm going off on my nightstand. Sitting up, I held my hand over my thrashing heart until it stopped panicking and returned to a normal beat.

  A shower rinsed off the sweat, while shampoo washed the remnants of the horror show from my head and restarted my worries about facing off with Detective Hawke this morning. Aunt Zoe had already volunteered to make sure the kids made it to school since I’d be sitting in Cooper’s office around that time, going head-to-head with two detectives. Well, maybe one and a half, since Cooper had promised Doc before he’d left last night that he’d play the “good cop” role for once.

  The smell of bacon lured me into the kitchen a short time later. Harvey was at the stove, cooking eggs and bacon in a cast iron frypan. He was a little early for the kids, who were still upstairs sleeping.

  “Morning, Harvey.” I poured some coffee in a mug, glancing his way. He wore a faded daisy covered apron over his bright red suspenders this morning. His beard and hair looked like he’d rolled out of bed and finger combed both on the way over. “When did you get here?”

  “At the changing of the guard.”

  “What time was that?”

  After kissing Doc goodnight and leaving him to watch Kurt Russell wielding a flamethrower in The Thing, I pretty much had fallen onto my pillow and spiraled into a coma-like sleep until Jeff and Lila had woken me up.

  “Five-thirty.”

  “Did Doc head to the Rec Center again?”

  “Yup. Coop called me last night. He said you have an early mornin’ appointment with him and Hawke.”

  A glance at the clock said I had about an hour yet until I was supposed to meet Cooper at Doc’s office before heading over to the police station.

  Harvey dished up a plate of eggs and bacon and set it down on the table. He pointed his spatula at me and then the plate. “Eat up.”

  I wrinkled my upper lip. “I’m not really hungry this morning.”

  “If yer gonna face off with Hawke, you need somethin’ in yer belly to give you some gumption.” He pulled out the chair and waited for me. “Now sit and eat.”

  Rather than risk the wrath of his spatula, I sat down and dug in. Turned out he was right, I was hungry and finished the plateful of food in no time.

  The old buzzard sat down next to me with a cup of coffee in his hand. “I’ll take the kids to school this morning.”

  “Thanks. Aunt Zoe will appreciate it, too.” I swallowed down the rest of my go-go juice in one long gulp. “She’s been working long hours and could use her sleep.”

  Harvey frowned at my red blazer. “You need to change.”

  “What?” I looked down at my blazer and paisley skirt. “Why? Are we supposed to get snow today?”

  “Everyone knows that red is a fightin’ mad color. If yer gonna circle and snarl with Hawke this mornin’, you need to wear somethin’ hard-hitting and hold yer cards close to yer vest.”

  “Oh, really? What do you suggest? A buffalo hide? A pair of ram horns?” I’d borrow Cornelius’s one-horned Viking helmet, but it was broken.

  “Ya need to throw him off his game right out of the gate. Remember in that movie when that blonde-haired looker was naked as a plucked goose under her white dress at a police interrogation?” He crossed one leg slowly over the other, giving a demonstration of a sexpot.

  I laughed. “Harvey, I’m wearing my underwear during my interview this morning. This is not Basic Instinct and I’m no Sharon Stone.”

  “Of course yer wearin’ your skivvies. My point is ya gotta be a long way from ordinary and knock him off his fence post.”

  Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. Detective Hawke was probably polishing his badge right about now, all sure of himself when it came to this morning’s ass-gnawing.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I saw just the thing last month in Zoe’s trunk up in the attic when yer kids were playin’ dress-up.” Harvey slurped down the last of his coffee and led the way upstairs.

  Forty minutes later, I let myself into the back door of Doc’s office. I could hear the drone of male voices coming down the hall from the front office. Cooper must be here already.

  My spurs clinked with each boot step along the wooden floor. The conversation out front stopped when I was halfway down the hall. Taking a deep breath, I strolled out front. Doc and Cooper were both watching and waiting for me.

  Doc stood up from his desk chair at the sight of me. He looked freshly showered and wrinkle free in his khakis, blue shirt, and damp hair. “What are you …” he laughed in disbelief as he looked me up and down. “Are those real spurs?”

  “I reckon so,” I said in the scratchy voice I’d practiced on the drive in. I straightened my poncho and then leveled my fedora. “Ready when you are,
” I told Cooper.

  The detective hadn’t moved from his chair, except for the narrowing of his eyes as he stared at me. He didn’t look very good-cop-like in his black shirt and pants. What were those little things dotting his tie? Bulldogs?

  “What in the hell are you doing, Parker?”

  “I’m going to an interrogation.”

  “It’s not a costume party.”

  “This isn’t a costume. I was cold this morning and thought I’d wear a poncho to work.”

  “And spurs?”

  I shrugged. “If the boot fits.”

  Doc walked over and lifted up the front of my poncho, flipping it over my right shoulder. “Black bandana around the neck and sheepskin vest, too.” His dark eyes danced with laughter. “Lookin’ good, Blondie. Are Tuco and Angel Eyes coming, too?”

  I winked at him.

  I’d hesitated at first about Harvey’s idea for me to dress up like Clint Eastwood’s infamous Man with No Name character, but then we’d snickered about the fun I could have with Detective Hawke while in disguise, and I decided to go for it. Lucky for me, Aunt Zoe had been invited to a movie-themed costume party a few Halloweens ago and forked out for a high quality costume.

  “Parker, what’s with The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly getup?”

  “You didn’t mention a dress code when you told me I needed to be at the station for this morning’s body cavity search.”

  “She has a point,” Doc said, lowering my poncho and straightening my hat.

  Cooper scowled. “Are you really going to follow through with this charade?”

  “Looks like it, Detective.” According to what he’d said last night, I didn’t have much choice in the matter short of demanding a warrant and hiring an attorney. If I had to walk into that damned station, I was going to do it in spurs and a poncho.

  “Did you come up with this foolishness on your own?”

  “Your uncle thought my red blazer and paisley skirt weren’t fitting for this morning’s interrogation.”

  Cooper cursed under his breath. “I should’ve known.”

  Doc circled me, chuckling. “You have to admit, Coop, it’s pretty ingenious. If this doesn’t throw Hawke off his game, not much will.”

  “I don’t know that I’d use the word ingenious.” His steely glare examined my costume again. “You’re going to get another nickname if you’re not careful.”

  I shrugged. “Sticks and stones.”

  The whistling theme song to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly rang out from under my poncho.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Cooper shook his head in what looked like disbelief.

  Doc chortled, sitting on the edge of his desk.

  I pushed the coarse fabric aside and pulled my phone from my pocket. “Not yet, Harvey. Give me about twenty more minutes.”

  “10-4. Over and out.” The line went dead.

  “Do I want to know what you two have planned?” Cooper asked, standing.

  “It’ll just make your face get all scrunched up and your nostrils flare.”

  “That’s what I figured.” He shot Doc a chagrinned look. “You owe me double for putting up with this, Nyce.”

  Doc’s eyes were still dancing with merriment. Apparently, he wasn’t too worried about Cooper’s threat. “You think you could record it for me?”

  “Don’t push your luck.” Cooper strode over to the door. “Parker, wait a few minutes then come on over. Try not to trip on your poncho on the way up the stairs.” He opened the door and then paused. “And remember, no matter what, do not fuck this up. I can only protect you so far. If you and your big mouth land in a deep hole, I may not be able to pull you out.”

  He left, striding across the street toward the cop shop.

  “Come here, Monco,” Doc said, using the last name of Eastwood’s character in his spaghetti westerns.

  I clinked over to him. How in the world did cowboys sneak up on anyone while wearing spurs? It was like wearing a collar with a bell on it.

  Doc took my hat off and set it on his desk. “You be careful with Detective Hawke this morning.”

  “You think he’ll bite when I yank on his chain?”

  “It’s not his bite I’m worried about. I’ve seen you tear into Coop’s hide before. You have sharp teeth.”

  “I thought you liked it when I bite.” I played coy.

  He tipped up my chin, his hands framing my face. “Immensely,” he whispered and kissed me, soft and slow. “But I won’t be there to carry you out if Detective Hawke tries to lock you behind bars.”

  “I’ll keep my claws tucked away, I promise.” I rested my hands on his sides. “You sure you want to go into The Old Prospector Hotel without me?” He was headed over to pay Cornelius a visit this morning and scope out the situation first hand before we tried a séance. “What if a bunch of Cornelius’s ghostly pals gang up on you and try to drag you under for good? I won’t be there to pull you out.”

  “Or knock me out with your elbow.” He grunted when I pinched the skin over his ribs and then grinned. “I’ll be okay.” He tapped his temple. “I’m ready up here.”

  “I’ll be thinking about you while playing with Deadwood’s finest. Text me when you make it out of the hotel in one piece.” I grabbed my hat and jammed it on my head, squishing my curls. “You left again without saying goodbye this morning.”

  “You were still sleeping when I looked in on you.”

  “How about you spend the night in my bed again tonight?”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “How do I know you won’t take advantage?”

  I trailed my fingers down his shirt. “You don’t trust me?”

  His chest rumbled under my touch. “I don’t trust me. You have a history of turning me inside out whenever I get too close.”

  “What if I promise not to touch you?” I batted my eyelashes at him and licked my lips, hitting him with a double dose of over-the-top flirting.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, his focus on my mouth.

  “Hmmm. Maybe you’d like to watch while I touch me.”

  His gaze darkened in a flash. “Damn, Boots. You play dirty.”

  “We could do that, too.”

  A groan came from his throat. “Vixen.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  He turned me around, smacking me lightly on the rump to get me moving. “Go over there and give Hawke hell for trying to mess with you, Tiger.”

  I headed out, pausing in the doorway to frown back at him. “Be careful, Doc. Wilda is out for blood.”

  He saluted me.

  My boots clinked across the street. I tipped my hat at a gray-haired man leaving the police parking lot who gaped at me from his truck window.

  The cop at the check-in desk snickered at the sight of me. “If it isn’t good ol’ Spooky Parker. I’m glad you’re here. I needed a laugh this morning.”

  I ignored his jiggling jowls. “I have an appointment with Detective Hawke and Detective Cooper.”

  Cooper appeared several jowly comments later, holding open the steel door leading further into the station. “Parker, get your spurs back here.”

  Fortunately, there weren’t many cops in the station this early in the morning. The two by the coffeemaker stopped and stared, grins spreading wide.

  “Is that Spooky Parker?” one of them asked extra loud.

  “It looks like Poncho Parker to me,” the other shot back.

  “Hey, it’s the donut patrol.” I bared my teeth at them. “Is that the best you two Town Clowns can do?”

  “Zip it, Parker.” Cooper took my elbow, practically dragging me into his office. He pointed at the chair across from his desk. “Detective Hawke will be in here shortly. You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I might dump it in his lap in the heat of the moment.”

  Cooper’s gaze narrowed. “Try to keep it under control this morning, and you’ll be out of here in plenty of time to go home.”

&nbs
p; “Why would I go home?”

  “To change out of that stupid costume.”

  I smoothed down the poncho. “Maybe I’ll wear it all day. Jerry might think it’s perfect for my on-camera moments.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s try to get through this without your smartass comebacks.”

  “I give no guarantees.”

  The door opened and Detective Hawke blew into the room, ruffling the papers on Cooper’s desk. He skidded to a stop when his gaze landed on me. “What in the hell is this?”

  “It’s your seven-thirty interrogation appointment,” Cooper answered, offering Hawke his chair. “She’s your suspect, you take the desk.”

  Instead of settling in, Hawke sat on the corner of Cooper’s desk. He probably figured he could brow beat me better from up on high.

  “Why are you wearing that stupid costume, Parker?”

  I perused his rumpled, gray corduroy blazer, blue and white striped tie, and bushy sideburns. “Why are you dressed like Detective Wojo from the Barney Miller show, Hawke?”

  “Here we go,” Cooper muttered from where he was leaning against the door, barring any attempt at escape.

  “This is a serious interrogation,” Hawke leveled at me. “You do understand that you are a suspect in a murder case, right?”

  Please, like this was the first time I’d been a suspect in a murder case.

  “I understand that you think I’m a suspect in Wanda Carhart’s murder. I also understand that you are desperate to find out who actually did kill Wanda and are so busy pointing fingers in my direction that you’re probably overlooking key information that would tell you who her true killer is.”

  Detective Hawke looked across the top of my hat at Cooper. “Is this normal behavior for this suspect during an interrogation?”

  “I have found that there is no ‘normal’ in Ms. Parker’s behavioral makeup.”

  “There is no such thing as normal behavior,” I butted in, focusing on Hawke. “Normal is relative to the subject at hand. For example, take your choice of cheap aftershave this morning.”

  “Parker,” Cooper warned, heading me off at the pass.

  Detective Hawke and I had a mini squint-off for several seconds, and then he stood and walked around behind the desk. “Ms. Parker, where were you the evening of November 9th?”