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

by Ann Charles

  “What book?” Natalie asked.

  Another glance at Doc met with a taut jaw and pinched lips. He shook his head slightly.

  “What book, Parker?”

  “A history book.” That was no lie.

  “You’re telling me that Wanda was killed over a history book?” Cooper wasn’t buying any of what I was selling.

  “It’s a very important history book.”

  “And you have this book?”

  I nodded. Well, Aunt Zoe did.

  “Why do you have this book?” he pressed.

  I pointed at his notepad. “Before I tell you anything else, Detective, you need to put that away. This has to be off the record.”

  He flipped it shut and tossed it and his pen on the table.

  “You also have to promise not to tell Detective Hawke or any of your other pals down at the cop shop what I say.”

  His steely eyes bored into mine. “Jesus, Parker. What now? More kooky ghosts?”

  I shook my head.

  “Your friendly albino pals?”

  I kept shaking my head.

  “Another one of those creatures we killed in Uncle Willis’s graveyard?”

  “We?”

  “I filled it with bullets.”

  “Which only pissed it off more.”

  He cursed in my face and then shoved to his feet, lording over me. “What’s the deal with the book, Parker, and if you give me that ‘history’ bullshit again I’ll make you go see Detective Hawke tonight alone, without me there to keep you out of jail.”

  “Why would I go to jail?”

  “For murdering Katrina King.”

  I frowned. “I was here all evening.” I pointed at Doc and Natalie. “I have alibis.”

  “They won’t be enough to keep you out of jail tonight if I don’t help you.”

  “You have proof pointing specifically to Violet?” Doc asked.

  Cooper looked his way. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “What?” Natalie stepped partially between us, running interference, her body stiff. “You need to explain that, Cooper, and if you give us that ‘police business’ blow off, I’ll tear you a new asshole on Vi’s behalf.”

  He looked her up and down, then nodded. “I’ve been informed by Fire Captain Martin that the murder weapon found on the scene will most likely have Parker’s prints on it.”

  “What’s the murder weapon?” I asked.

  He took Natalie by the shoulders and shifted her to the side so he could glare at me better. “You go first. What’s so special about this book that Wanda Carhart had to be killed to get it?”

  “It’s a book about a demon,” Doc spoke up.

  “A demon?” Cooper’s squint was full of skepticism.

  “It goes by the name of Kyrkozz,” I explained. “I took it from Lila Beaumont after the fracas at the Carhart house that night.”

  Cooper’s nostrils flared. “You removed evidence from the scene of a crime again?”

  “That was my first time, so using ‘again’ in this case is incorrect.”

  “Parker!” His teeth actually snapped together.

  “What? I didn’t think you’d need it after that night since you had the killer behind bars.”

  “And this book can what? Raise this demon or something ridiculous like that?”

  Doc shrugged. “I have a feeling it may contain more than that.”

  “Such as?”

  “Instructions on how to control the demon.”

  Cooper’s face scrunched up, thunderclouds rolling over his brow, mixing with lightning. I might even have glimpsed an F5 tornado on the horizon.

  He hit me with a scowl. “This is so fucked up.”

  “Welcome to my world,” I said. “Now it’s your turn, Detective. What was the murder weapon used to kill Katrina King?”

  “Your war hammer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tuesday, November 20th (just after midnight)

  The loud crackling of police scanners blaring out code numbers and commands interrupted the silence of the cold night. Across the dark valley, the Homestake Mine Yates Shaft stood guard while Lead’s finest nosed around the Sugarloaf Building, shining flashlights on anything that moved, including me.

  “What in the hell is she doing here?” Detective Hawke strode over as I crawled out of Cooper’s police cruiser. He reminded me of a pissed off bull, snorting and pawing at the ground at the sight of my red pea coat.

  Cooper rounded the front of the cruiser.

  “Screw this,” I told Cooper and returned to the back seat of the car, pulling the door closed behind me. It was too late to face off with that brute and his thick sideburns. I was tired and wanted to return to playing hanky-panky under the covers with Doc on Aunt Zoe’s couch.

  Cooper yanked open my door. “Come on, Parker. Out!”

  “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this tonight.” I settled my gaze on Hawke, who’d shouldered up next to Cooper. Both cops glared down at me. “It’s too cold and he’s too big of an asshole.”

  “She has a good point,” Natalie said from beside me in the back seat.

  Cooper’s glare broke. He turned away, clearly fighting a grin.

  Hawke leaned down, looking in at Natalie. “Come again, Ms. Beals?” His voice was acid-free when he addressed her, friendly even.

  “It’s freaking cold out here tonight,” she clarified, zipping her thick coat up to her neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see snowflakes any minute now.”

  “They aren’t calling for snow until next week,” Hawke said.

  “I thought there was a possibility for it this weekend.”

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Cooper’s glare was back, nailing Hawke this time. “You’re really going to stand here and talk about the weather at a goddamned crime scene? Can we return to the task at hand, Detective, so I can get the body removed before the sun comes up?”

  Doc moved next to Cooper. “I think we need to take a little walk before Violet looks at the body.”

  “Looks at the body?” Detective Hawke turned to Cooper. “I didn’t authorize Parker to be here, let alone view the victim.”

  “You didn’t, but I did.”

  Hawke looked down his nose at me. “What in the hell are you thinking, Coop? Parker is probably responsible for this.”

  Damn it if the bunghole wasn’t on the mark there. I kept quiet, sharing a small grimace with Doc.

  “I brought her because she might be able to help us with this investigation.”

  “Help us? Shit-criminy, Coop. You’ve let the witch get under your skin.”

  Sheesh. How many times did I have to tell the bonehead I wasn’t a witch?

  I climbed out of the cruiser, adjusted the purple wool skirt I’d thrown on over my sweater leggings, and strode up to Hawke, forcing him to take a step back. “I’m not a witch, Rockford.” Actually, that was an insult to the late, great James Garner. “And that,” I pointed at Cooper, “is ‘Detective Cooper’ to you, especially while we’re standing at his crime scene. You should show some respect to the one detective in this town who wants to close cases for reasons other than landing some stupid promotion.”

  Detective Hawke’s eyes grew hard and beady. He loomed over me, threatening with his size. “Why are you really here tonight? Is it to make sure we don’t find any evidence you may have left behind?”

  Maybe, dammit!

  Before I had a chance to answer, Doc stepped between us. “Back off, Detective. She’s here to help.”

  “I don’t need help from her.”

  “Oh, really?” Doc asked. “So you have all of the information you need to find the killer and close the case then?” When Hawke grumbled in reply, Doc nodded. “Exactly. You need her. Trust me.”

  In truth, he needed Doc not me, unless he decided to go up to the second floor in the Sugarloaf Building. Then he needed both me and my war hammer.

  However, the plan the four of us had concocted back in the kitche
n after Aunt Zoe had agreed to stay home with my kids was to use me as the “medium.” I’d distract the other cops while Doc, the real deal, checked for any signs of Katrina King’s ghost. If he made contact with her, he would try to figure out who’d found my war hammer and where, and why it had been used to kill her. During my diversion, Cooper would lead the fake medium—aka me—inside the first floor of the building where I could listen for the lidérc and make sure it was still behaving itself upstairs.

  Natalie had come along to throw Detective Hawke off his game whenever necessary, like when we’d arrived and he’d come at me barking and snarling. Cooper had not been thrilled at all about this part of the plan, citing several unconvincing reasons she shouldn’t go along, and then clenching his jaw when Natalie had told him to quit being so bull-headed and drive.

  Detective Hawke took a step back from Doc and me, whirling on Cooper. “And how in the hell did you figure she could help with this investigation?”

  “She helped us find the body at my uncle’s ranch, remember?”

  That was Doc’s doing, not mine, but I added for effect, “And I figured out who might have killed the guy and why.”

  Doc looked at me. “There is no ‘might have’ about it.”

  “This medium business is bullshit,” Hawke said. “Come on, Cooper, can’t you see she’s just playing you, pretending she’s a clairvoyant.”

  “Not clairvoyant,” Doc said. “What we’re talking about here is retrocognition, focusing on the past.”

  Hawke snorted. “It’s one big hoax, if you ask me.”

  “But nobody asked you, did they?” I snapped. “And you want to know why? Because your head is buried so far up your own ass admiring the view that you’re blind to everything else.”

  “Violet,” Doc warned.

  Hawke’s shoulders pulled in tight, giving him a hunchback appearance. “Watch your mouth, Spooky Parker.”

  I rolled my eyes at his use of my notorious nickname. “Are you going to stand there making angry faces at me until someone else ends up dead or let me help find whoever killed Ms. King?”

  “Don’t you mean until you kill your next victim?”

  I guffawed. “Is there even a brain in that coconut you call a head?”

  “Mark my words, Parker,” he bit out, “you’re going down, and I’m not talking about your lipstick on my dipstick. Unlike Cooper, I’m immune to psycho blondes.”

  Doc moved lightning fast, going nose-to-nose with the big oaf. “You need to think twice about the next thing that comes out of your mouth, Detective. That badge does not give you the right to insult the lady.”

  Hawke took a step back. “Call off your hound, Parker, or I’ll throw him in jail for assaulting an officer.”

  “Detective Cooper,” Doc’s focus stayed locked on Hawke, his body still taut, ready to spring. “If you don’t do something about this cretin, I will. And I don’t care if it lands me in jail for the night.”

  “Jesus, Hawke.” Cooper stepped in, playing referee. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “It’s her,” he huffed. “I’m sick of seeing this condescending, frizzy haired, meddling blonde at our crime scenes.”

  “My hair is not frizzy.” At least not tonight—I had my curls well-tamed.

  “Trust me,” Cooper said, giving me a flat stare. “I know how you feel about Violet … and her hair.”

  I scratched the bridge of my nose with my middle finger.

  With a slight shake of his head, he returned to Hawke. “But even more frustrating is the lack of answers in these murder cases.”

  Hawke jammed his hands on his hips, frowning across the valley at the Yates Shaft headframe. “This place is fucked up.”

  “Maybe, but using this all-brawn-and-no-brains tack isn’t helping. We have to find the truth using whatever tools we can find.” He pointed at me. “Tonight, Parker’s a tool.”

  “You’re the tool,” I told Cooper.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is that all you got for me?”

  “No, here’s something else.” I pulled my left hand from my coat pocket, giving the butthead another middle fingered salute.

  His mouth curved into a grin, but only for a heartbeat or two and then his stony mask fell back into place.

  “Fine, you can take Parker around the building,” Detective Hawke said. “But I don’t know that I’ll buy anything she says.” Hawke’s scowl moved from me to Doc. “Why did you bring your roommate along?” he asked Cooper.

  “He wasn’t thrilled with me hauling his girlfriend up here in the middle of the night to look at a dead body.”

  Hawke turned to Natalie, eyeing her up and down. She smiled back at him, charming him with a flirty bat of her lashes. Instead of asking for an explanation of her presence, he said to his partner in crime-fighting, “Keep a close eye on Parker. I wouldn’t put it past her to plant false evidence.”

  He was too busy walking away to see the karate kick I aimed his way.

  Doc chuckled. “That’s my scrapper.”

  “I like her windmill move better.” Cooper pulled his notepad out of his pocket along with a pen. “It had more finesse.” He pointed his pen at me. “Let’s get this song and dance done. I have a shitload of paperwork to do on this murder.”

  I touched Doc’s arm. “You ready to work your magic?”

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “Which magic are we talking about, Tish?”

  “Stop right there.” Before I could reply, Cooper interrupted us. “Don’t make me put a bullet in you tonight, Nyce. Now what’s first? The Sugarloaf Building or the body?”

  “The body,” I answered. “Then we’ll go inside.”

  “You sure?” Doc asked.

  “I need to see the war hammer,” I said for their ears only. “Make sure it’s mine.”

  “Who else’s would it be, Parker?” Cooper asked. “They don’t sell war hammers at any hardware stores around here.”

  If he wanted my help tonight, he needed to drop the attitude. “I know that, Detective Pissypants, but whoever gave me one might be passing them out to others. I’d like to confirm if it’s mine or not.”

  “It’s Detective Cooper at my crime scenes, remember?” he threw my words back at me with a smartass grin.

  I ignored him and looked at Natalie, who stood shivering next to Doc. “I need you to run interference for us. I don’t need to deal with Detective Hawke while I’m trying to focus on the lidérc. One asshole at a time is plenty.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Distract how?” Cooper caught Natalie’s arm as she turned to leave, holding her in place.

  She patted his cheek. “If I tell you that, Coop, you’ll see through all of my charms. Then I’ll have no chance of getting you under my wicked spell again.”

  I scoffed. “I doubt that.”

  Cooper glared in my direction.

  Oops, I’d opened my big mouth again. “I say that because Cooper is not under any spell of yours … or any other woman’s for that matter … at least none that I know of anyway.” I pulled my head deeper inside of my coat, like a turtle retracting into its shell. “How about we look at that body now, Detective?”

  With one last scowl in my direction, he let go of Natalie. “Be careful, Beals.”

  She saluted Cooper. “His bite can’t be any worse than yours.”

  “I haven’t bitten you … yet.”

  “Oh, I think you have, Coop.” She fake punched his shoulder. “I learned my lesson well.”

  “Once bitten, twice shy,” I threw out.

  “Zip it, Parker.” After watching Natalie walk away, Cooper led the way over to a tarp tented over what I assumed was Katrina King’s body. “You sure about this?”

  “It can’t be worse than a decapitated body on the morgue’s slab first thing in the morning, can it?”

  “I hope not,” Doc said.

  “There might be another black wart for your viewing pleasure,” Cooper said.

  I gagged. “Thanks for th
at memory.”

  “Paybacks are hell.” Without another word, Cooper flipped back the tarp.

  I winced, but it was short-lived. In truth there wasn’t much to see. Katrina had been wrapped up in the thick murky plastic that I recognized from the downstairs windows in the Sugarloaf Building. I could see a lumpy form with a pale arm sticking out. Clean cuts in the plastic around Katrina’s face gave a clear view of her pale, lifeless eyes. The cops must have had to trim away enough to figure out who they had on their hands.

  The thing that made me scratch my head was my war hammer—and it certainly looked like mine after a quick inspection. It had been buried into her chest through the plastic. Apparently, she’d been wrapped up in the plastic and then killed. Had she suffocated first? There was blood on the plastic. Would she have bled out like that if she’d already been dead? Probably not.

  I heard a sniff behind me and looked around at Doc. Was that a sniff because he was cold or because there was someone here with us? “What is it?”

  He was looking across the blue and red flash-filled yard at the Sugarloaf Building. “I thought I saw something move in the downstairs window.”

  All I saw was darkness.

  “There it is again,” he said.

  “I didn’t see anything,” Cooper said.

  Me either, but we were both duds when it came to ghosts. Well, mostly.

  I pointed down at Katrina. “What’s with the plastic?”

  Cooper shrugged and covered the plastic-wrapped body with the tarp. The war hammer’s handle acted as the center tent pole. “This is how we found her. I was hoping one of you could help me figure that out, along with why your war hammer is stuck in her chest.”

  Those were good questions. I didn’t think I’d be much help, but Doc might be able to provide a few key pieces of information.

  A freezing cold gust of wind blew past us as we stood over Katrina’s body, each focused on our own who and why.

  “Let’s go inside.” Doc took my hand, pulling me over to the Sugarloaf Building.