A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7)
Page 46
“It’s for Violet.”
“That’s heavy.” She passed it to Doc, who handed it to me. His eyes narrowed slightly when they met mine.
I hefted it. Something about it felt familiar. “What is it?” I asked Quint. “It’s too heavy to be another pair of purple boots.”
He chuckled. “Isn’t one pair enough?”
“No,” Doc answered before I could.
I winked at Doc and started unwrapping the package. “What did you bring me? It’s too early for Christmas.”
Quint dished up a waffle on the plate Natalie handed him. “It’s not from me. I found it on the front porch.”
I froze in the midst of tearing off the thick paper. My gaze met Doc’s and then Harvey’s. “You did?”
“It was leaning against the wall under the doorbell.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket. “This was next to it.”
My name was written across the front, the handwriting familiar. I tore open the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper.
If you want to survive, Scharfrichter, try not to lose this again.
“What’s it say?” Doc asked.
I gulped. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I lied, not wanting to drag my brother into my messy life if I could help it, and handed the paper to Doc to read for himself.
Cooper apparently sniffed out my anxiety. He lowered his cup, his eyes on the prize. “What’s in the package, Parker?”
I had a feeling I knew the answer, but didn’t want to find out if I was right. “How about we finish breakfast. I’ll open it later.”
“Come on, have at it,” Quint said, stuffing a piece of waffle into his mouth, appearing none the wiser to my acting. “Now you have me curious.”
With a frozen smile, I tore off the rest of the paper and exclaimed in mock surprise at the contents.
“Is that real?” Quint took the war hammer from me, touching the pointed tip.
I was pretty sure it was, especially since the last time I’d seen it that very point had been buried in Katrina King’s chest.
Quint’s pocket rang. He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the screen. “It’s Jeff Hughes.”
“Jeff from high school?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He handed the war hammer to me and scooted back from the table. “I need to take this. I’ll be a minute or two,” he said and headed into the dining room. “Hey, Jeff,” I heard him say, and then the front door creaked open and thudded closed.
With Quint out of earshot, I held up the war hammer. “Did anyone see the stork who left this baby on the porch again?”
Doc lifted the war hammer out of my hands, taking a closer look at it. “The leather’s been cleaned and the point sharpened.”
Natalie aimed her fork at it. “That thing is going to come in handy, you wait and see.” She winked at me and said in a sing-songy voice, “Ex’srays arcay.”
I shot her a warning look, glancing over at Cooper to see if he’d picked up on her Pig Latin translation of “Rex’s car.”
“Goddammit, Parker.” Cooper shoved his plate away, apparently too busy being pissed off to have heard Natalie’s words. “If Detective Hawke finds out that weapon is back in your possession, you’re seriously fucked.”
“You got a flood of trouble comin’ yer way, girl. Five foot high and risin’.” Harvey picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite, his eyes gleaming. “Looks like yer gonna need bigger waders to keep yer powder dry.”
The End … for now
More Books by Ann
www.anncharles.com
The Deadwood Mystery Series
WINNER of the 2010 Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense
WINNER of the 2011 Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart Award for Best Novel with Strong Romantic Elements
Welcome to Deadwood—the Ann Charles version. The world I have created is a blend of present day and past, of fiction and non-fiction. What’s real and what isn’t is for you to determine as the series develops, the characters evolve, and I write the stories line by line. I will tell you one thing about the series—it’s going to run on for quite a while, and Violet Parker will have to hang on and persevere through the crazy adventures I have planned for her. Poor, poor Violet. It’s a good thing she has a lot of gumption to keep her going!
The Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series
Bestseller in Women Sleuth Mystery and Romantic Suspense
Welcome to the Dancing Winnebagos RV Park. Down here in Jackrabbit Junction, Arizona, Claire Morgan and her rabble-rousing sisters are really good at getting into trouble—BIG trouble (the land your butt in jail kind of trouble). This rowdy, laugh-aloud mystery series is packed with action, suspense, adventure, and relationship snafus. Full of colorful characters and twisted up plots, the stories of the Morgan sisters will keep you wondering what kind of a screwball mess they are going to land in next.
The Dig Site Mystery Series
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Both are trying to unearth secrets that have been long buried, but an ancient Maya curse threatens to destroy them …
Unless they can learn to trust each other enough to make it out of the jungle alive.
The Goldwash Mystery Series
The Old Man’s Back in Town
From the award-winning author of the Deadwood Mystery series and the Jackrabbit Junction Mystery series
This short story is a bit of a puzzle. Each scene is a different variation of the same story for a reason, which you'll learn at the end. See if you can pick up on the clues along the way and figure out the puzzle before you finish the story. Thank you for giving it a try!
~ Ann
Overview…
In the lonely mining ghost town of Goldwash, Nevada, Christmas has come early. Unfortunately, the local bar owner must be on this year's naughty list, because Santa brought her something even worse than a piece of coal on this dark, cold winter night—her old man.
About the Author
Ann Charles is an award-winning author who writes romantic mysteries that are splashed with humor and whatever else she feels like throwing into the mix. When she is not dabbling in fiction, arm-wrestling with her children, attempting to seduce her husband, or arguing with her sassy cat, she is daydreaming of lounging poolside at a fancy resort with a blended margarita in one hand and a great book in the other.
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Table of Contents
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Dear Reader
Cast
About the Author
Contact Information
More Books by Ann
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Read an Excerpt of Robyn Peterman’s Fashionably Dead
Chapters
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A Wild Fright in Deadwood
Copyright © 2016 by Ann Charles
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means now known or hereafter invented, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, Ann Charles.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living
or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.
Cover Art by C.S. Kunkle
Cover Design by Sharon Benton (www.q42designs.com)
Editing by the Grammar Chick (www.grammarchick.com)
Formatting by Biddles ebooks
E-book ISBN-13 978-1-940364-44-5
Print ISBN-:13 978-1-940364-43-8
Fashionably Dead
Book One of THE HOT DAMNED Series
by
Robyn Peterman
*****
Praise for Fashionably Dead
Uproariously witty, deliciously provocative, and just plain fun! No one delivers side-splitting humor and mouth-watering sensuality like Robyn Peterman. This is entertainment at its absolute finest!
~ Darynda Jones, NY Times Bestselling Author of the Charley Davidson Series
Prologue
I drew hard on the cigarette and narrowed my eyes at the landscape before me. Graves, tombstones, crypts … she didn’t belong here. Hell, I didn’t belong here. My eyes were dry. I’d cried so much there was nothing left. I exhaled and watched as the blue grey smoke wafted out over the plastic flowers decorating the headstones.
Five minutes. I just needed five minutes and then I could go back …
“That’s really gross,” Gemma said, as she rounded the corner of the mausoleum I was hiding behind and scared the hell out of me. She fanned the smoke away and eyed me. “She wanted you to quit, maybe now would be a good time.”
“Agreed. It’s totally gross and disgusting and I’m going to quit, regardless of the fact that other than you, Marlboro Lights are my best friend … but today is definitely not the day,” I sighed and took another long drag.
“That’s pathetic,” she chuckled.
“Correct. Do you have perfume and gum?”
“Yep.” She dug through her purse and handed me a delicate bottle.
“I can’t use this. It’s the expensive French shit.”
“Go for it,” she grinned. “You’re gonna need it. You smell like an ashtray and your mother is inside scaring people to death.”
“Son of a … “ I moaned and quickly spritzed myself. “I thought she left. She didn’t want to come in the first place.”
“Could have fooled me,” Gemma said sarcastically, handing over a piece of gum and shoving me from my hiding place.
“Come on,” I muttered, as my bossy best friend pushed me back to my beloved grandmother’s funeral.
***
The hall was filled with people. Foldout tables lined the walls and groaned under the weight of casseroles, cakes and cookies. Men and women, most of whom I knew, milled around and ate while they gossiped. Southern funerals were a time to socialize and eat. A lot.
As I made my way through the crowd and accepted condolences, I got an earful of information I could have happily lived without. I learned that Donna Madden was cheating on her husband Greg, Candy Pucker had gained thirty pounds from eating Girl Scout cookies and had shoved her fat ass into a heinous sequined gown, for the funeral no less, and Sam Boomaster, the Mayor, was now a homosexual. Hell, I just wanted to leave, but I had to find my mother before she did something awful.
“I loved her.” Charlie stopped me in my tracks and grabbed my hand in his old gnarled one.
His toupee was angled to the left and his black socks and sandals peeked out from his high-water plaid pants. He was beautiful.
“Me too,” I smiled.
“You know I tried to court her back in the day, but she only had eyes for your Grandpa.” He smoothed his sweater vest and laid a wet one on my cheek … and if I’m not mistaken, and I’m not, he grabbed my ass.
“Charlie, if you touch my butt again, I’ll remove your hand.” I grinned and adjusted his toupee. He was a regular in the art class I taught at the senior center and his wandering hands were infamous.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a nice ass there, Astrid! You look like one of them there supermodels! Gonna make some lucky man very happy one day,” he explained seriously.
“With my ass?”
“Well now, your bosom is nothing to scoff at either and your legs … “ he started.
“Charlie, I’m gonna cut you off before you wax poetic about things that will get you arrested for indecency.”
“Good thinking, girlie!” he laughed. “If you ever want to hear stories about your Nana from when we were young, I’d be happy to share.”
“Thanks, Charlie, I’d like that.”
I gave him a squeeze, holding his hands firmly to his sides and made my way back into the fray.
As I scanned the crowd for my mother, my stomach clenched. After everything I had to put up with today, the evil approaching was just too much. Martha and Jane, the ancient matriarchs of the town and the nastiest gossips that ever lived were headed straight for me. Fuck.
“I suppose you’ll get an inheritance,” Jane snapped as she looked me up and down. “You’ll run through it like water.”
“Your Nana, God bless her, was blind as a bat when it came to you,” Martha added caustically. “I mean, my God, what are you? Thirty and unmarried? It’s just downright disrespectable.”
“I’m twenty-nine, happily single and getting it on a regular basis,” I said, enjoying the way their thin lips hung open in an impressive O.
“Well, I’ve never,” Jane gasped.
“Clearly. You should try it sometime. I understand Mr. Smith is so vision impaired, you might have a shot there.”
Their appalled shrieks were music to my ears and I quickly made my escape. Nana would have been a bit disappointed with my behavior, but she was gone.
Time to find the reason I came back in here for … I smelled her before I saw her. A waft of Chanel perfume made the lead ball in my stomach grow heavier. I took a deep breath, straightened my very vintage Prada sheath that I paid too much for, plastered a smile on my face, said a quick prayer and went in to the battle.
“Mother, is everything alright?”
She stood there mutely and stared. She was dressed to the nines. She didn’t belong here … in this town, in this state, in my life.
“I’m sorry, are you speaking to me?” she asked. Shit, she was perfect … on the outside. Gorgeous and put together to a degree I didn’t even aspire to. On the inside she was a snake.
“Um, yes. I asked you if … “ I stammered.
“I heard you,” she countered smoothly. “If you can’t bother to comply with my wishes, I can’t be bothered to answer you.”
“Right,” I muttered and wished the floor would open and swallow me. “I’m sorry, I meant Petra. Petra, is everything alright?”
“No, everything is not alright,” she hissed. “I have a plane to catch and I have no more time or patience to make chit chat with backward rednecks. It was wrong of you to ask me to be here.”
“Your mother died,” I said flatly. “This is her funeral and these people are here to pay their respects.”
“Oh for God’s sake, she was old and lived well past her time.”
I was speechless. Rare for me, but if anyone was capable of shocking me to silence, it was my mother.
“So, like I said, I have a plane to catch. I’ll be back next week.” She eyed me critically, grimacing at what she saw. “You need some lipstick. You’re lucky you got blessed with good genes because you certainly don’t do anything to help.”
With that loving little nugget, she turned on her stiletto heel and left. I glanced around to see if we’d been overheard and was mortified to see we had clearly been the center of attention.
“Jesus, she’s mean,” Gemma said, pulling me away from prying eyes and big ears.
“Do I look awful?” I whispered, feeling the heat crawl up my neck as the mourners looked on with pity. Not for my loss, but for my parentage.
“You’re beautiful,” Gemma said. “Inside and out.”
“I need to smoke,” I mumbled. “Can we leave yet?”
Gemma checked her
watch. “Yep, we’re out of here.”
“I don’t want to go home yet,” I said, looking around for Bobby Joe Gimble, the funeral director. Where in the hell was he and did I need to tip him? Shit, I had no clue what funeral etiquette was. “Do I have to … ?”
“Already took care of everything,” Gemma told me. “Let’s go.”
“Where to?” I asked. Damn, I was grateful she was mine.
“Hattie’s.”
“Thank you, Jesus.”
***
Hattie’s sold one thing and one thing only. Ice cream. Homemade, full of fat, heart attack inducing ice cream. It was probably my favorite place in the world.
“I’ll have a triple black raspberry chip in a cone cup,” I said as I eyed all the flavors. I didn’t know why I even looked at them. I was totally loyal to my black raspberry chip. My ice cream couldn’t talk back to me, break up with me or make me feel bad. Of course, my love could extend the size of my ass, but I wasn’t even remotely concerned about that today. Besides, I planned a very long run for later. I needed to clear my head and be alone.
“Sorry about your loss, Sugar,” Hattie said and I nodded. Her big fleshy arms wobbled as she scooped out my treat. “Do you want sprinkles and whipped cream on that, Baby?”
“Um … “ I glanced over at Gemma who grinned and gave me a thumbs up. “Yes, yes I do.”
“Me too,” Gemma added, “but I want mint chip, please.”
“You got it, Sugar Buns,” Hattie said and handed me a monstrous amount of ice cream. “It’s on me today, Astrid. I feel just terrible I couldn’t be at the funeral.”
“That’s okay, Hattie. You and Nana were such good friends. I want your memories to be of that.”
“Thank you for that, Darlin’. Ever since my Earl died from siphoning gasoline, I haven’t been able to set foot near that goddamn funeral parlor.”
I swallowed hard. Her late ex-husband Earl had siphoned gasoline since he was ten. His family owned the local gas station and apparently, as legend had it, he enjoyed the taste. But on the fateful day in question, he’d been smoking a cigar while he did it … and blew himself to kingdom come. It was U-G-L-Y. Earl was spread all over town. Literally. He and Hattie had been divorced for years and hated each other. It was no secret he had fornicated with over half the older women in town, but when he died like that, he became a saint in her eyes.