Gone Haunting in Deadwood (A Deadwood Mystery Book 9)

by Ann Charles

  “But you could see Cornelius clearly enough to pull him out?”

  “Yes. As I said, he’s focused and pulls in energy, receiving rather than blocking me.” He frowned at Cooper. “It was a similar situation with you at Ms. Wolff’s the night Violet killed the Timekeeper. I was able to sense you clearly except for that brief moment after you made contact with Violet.”

  “You mean when she plowed into me and gave me a black eye.”

  I gave the detective a pouty lower lip. “Poor baby.”

  “Again, Violet’s energy waves were blasting that night. I need to keep working with her to develop the ability to keep a leash on her in other realms without being knocked out of the ballpark when her emotions peak.”

  Maybe I needed to work on not reacting so strongly, but feeling my way through the dark was not like skipping through tulip fields. It was hard not to scream when things jumped out at me … or breathed down my neck.

  Speaking of breathing down my neck, I looked at Cooper. “Did you ever find out who called you that day and pretended to have news on your informant? The one who lured us back into the trap the chimera had set up?”

  “No. Brown said he didn’t know anything about it. He’d been hiding in the shed by then. He heard us pull up outside the woodshed, which was why he was watching through the knothole when Violet passed.” Cooper took his bowl and glass to the sink.

  “I’ll wash your dishes later, Coop,” Natalie said. “You probably need to get back to work.”

  He stared at her for several seconds, possibly trying to figure out if that was a dig or not, just like I was.

  I dragged my focus from Natalie. “How did your informant know I was a Scharfrichter?”

  “He said he could smell you. That sentinels have developed an acute sense of smell for creatures as part of their watchdog ability.”

  “Does he know what happened to the hunter’s corpse that had been hanging on his porch?” I asked.

  “He figured the chimeras ate it.”

  I thought of those blue guts and grimaced.

  “Thanks for supper,” he said to nobody in particular. “Duty calls.” He said his good-byes, sliding Natalie one last look before Doc walked him out.

  I hit Natalie with raised brows after he left. She bit her lower lip and turned away. Apparently, she was going to keep fighting her attraction. While I felt bad for Cooper, I applauded her willpower.

  After Cooper left, Aunt Zoe headed back out to her workshop while the rest of us joined the kids in the living room until bedtime. Addy asked Doc to go up with her and listen to more of the old radio program starring Cinnamon Bear, which he did without hesitation. My eyes were heavy by the time he came back downstairs. Natalie and Harvey said their farewells shortly thereafter and headed home.

  I went upstairs not long after and brushed my teeth. It had been only five days since I’d taken that not-so-joyous ride with Cooper out to check on his informant and accidentally killed a chimera. Five short days that felt like a year. I was losing myself to the Executioner part of my life, no longer questioning the idea of realms and creatures beyond my wildest dreams and nightmares. Or was I accepting it as part of who I was? To think that a short time ago, I thought Doc was a little odd because he said he could sense ghosts.

  Damn, how quickly life had changed.

  When I got to my bedroom, Doc was already in bed waiting for me. I crawled under the covers, seeking his warmth.

  “Christ, woman. Your feet are icicles. Did you walk through the snow before coming to bed?”

  “Maybe,” I said and snuggled closer.

  “I’m going to get you heated socks for Christmas.”

  I smiled at him. The moonlight coming through the window added a silvery glow to his skin. “Thanks for listening to that radio program with Addy.”

  He toyed with my curls on the pillow. “You want to know what I want for Christmas, Boots?”

  “What?”

  “Your family.”

  I stilled. Was that a marriage proposal? “My family?” I croaked.

  “I can’t remember Christmas with my parents,” he explained. “I was too young when they died. My granddad did his best, but he was a loner, so holidays were never big events for us.”

  My heart squeezed in my chest, making my eyes water.

  “I want to see what Christmas is like surrounded by your family.” He pulled my hips closer. “From putting presents under the tree on Christmas Eve to waking up early Christmas morning and watching Addy and Layne tear into their gifts. I want to experience the holiday with you.”

  I pushed him onto his back, rolling on top of him and smiling down at him. “You know the kids might get into a fight and ruin our happy little family moment.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Addy is going to expect you to make us cinnamon-swirled French toast for breakfast.”

  “I’m happy to deliver.”

  “Layne will want you to practice sword fighting with him.”

  “Swords are cool.”

  “And their mother is going to want a lot of kisses under the mistletoe when they’re not looking.”

  “Kissing their mom is one of my favorite things to do, day and night.” He pulled my mouth down to his, showing me.

  When I came up for air, I whispered, “You’re crazy to want us for Christmas.”

  “You and your kids are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  My tears threatened to return. “Even with my cold feet,” I jested, sliding one ice cube up the inside of his calf.

  “Seriously, woman. You have circulation problems, I swear.”

  I laughed, nuzzling his neck. “Maybe, but my hands are warm.” I slid my palm south over his abdomen. “See?”

  His body responded to my heated touch. “Two times wasn’t enough for you today, Boots? I’m an old man, you know.”

  I sobered. “After the dynamite blew up, when I was there in the dark all alone, I thought I might never see you again.” I kissed his chin. “How do you feel about just lying here and letting me love you this time, mon cher?”

  He cupped my face, his eyes dark pools in the moonlight. “That’s French, Tish.”

  * * *

  Wednesday, December 19th

  Something was making scuffling sounds next to my head.

  I opened my eyes. Doc’s profile filled my vision. He lay sleeping quietly next to me in the early morning light. He’d turned his alarm off after I’d finished having my way with him, deciding to sleep in rather than hit the gym today. I lay still, listening to the house creak. The furnace whirred to life.

  I must have dreamt the scuffling sound. Yawning, I closed my eyes and rolled over to give my left shoulder a break.

  I heard it again.

  It was almost like a fluttering noise, reminding me of a moth flapping around in a light fixture.

  I opened my eyes. Bogart the cat watched me from his perch on my nightstand. What was that damned cat doing in here again?

  Scuffle-flutter.

  The cat shifted. Movement under its front paws drew my eyes downward.

  A small bat with one freed wing struggled to buck off its furry captor. Its little black eyes stared at me as it struggled to flap its wing. Meanwhile, Bogart leaned down and licked the top of the bat’s head, purring loud enough for me to hear.

  Holy flying terror! I blinked and pushed off my pillow several inches.

  My movement sent the bat into a fluttering panic. It opened its mouth wide and let out a piercing squeak.

  I jerked backward with a gasp.

  Bogart hissed at me and hopped off the nightstand, leaving the bat behind. It stretched its other wing and tried to take off, only to crash onto my pillow next to me.

  I screeched, backpedaling across the bed, slamming into Doc.

  The bat tried to take flight again and flew right into my shoulder, landing on the quilt at my chest.

  I screeched even louder this time and scrambled over Doc, remembering
to be careful of his bruised ribs at the last minute, and fell out of the bed on the other side. My knee thunked on the floor, shooting pain up to my hip.

  “What the hell, Violet?” Doc frowned down over the edge of the bed at me.

  “Bat!” I yelled.

  As if on cue, the little flying beast took to the air again and slammed into the window, dropping to the floor.

  The door opened. “What’s wrong, Mom?” Layne asked, rushing into the room. Addy raced in after him.

  “Addy’s stupid cat caught a bat.” I pointed toward the window.

  “Oh!” Addy kneeled next to where the bat lay, not moving. “The poor little thing. What did you do to him, Mom?”

  “Me?! I didn’t do anything,” I pulled myself topside again, grabbing my robe from the end of the bed. “The thing panicked. It must have knocked itself out.”

  “It wasn’t the only thing panicking,” Doc said, chuckling from where he lounged in bed still.

  “That’s real nice, coming from a big strong man who lay there while his poor woman got attacked by a flying vampire.”

  Doc laughed even harder. “Layne, we’re going to need something to wrap the bat in to get it out of your mom’s bedroom.”

  “I’ll get a pillowcase,” Layne said.

  “Not a pillowcase,” I yelled after him. “Get an old towel.”

  “Addy.” Doc sat up. “We need to put the bat somewhere safe until it wakes up. Don’t you have a cat carrier in the basement?”

  “I’m on it!” She raced off to get it.

  Doc climbed out of bed after they left, grabbing his lounge pants from the chair. “You sure keep life titillating, Killer, both in and out of our bed.”

  Our bed. I liked the sound of that. “It’s not my fault. Addy’s cat likes to mess with me, I swear.”

  He grinned, pulling me into his arms. “I can’t blame Bogart. I like to mess around with you, too. Especially in bed, but the shower is a close second.”

  Layne returned with a towel. I left Doc and the kids to remove the bat from my boudoir and escaped to the shower. Life was back to normal today, which meant I had real estate to sell.

  An hour later, I kissed Doc and the kids good-bye as he shepherded them out the door and into the Picklemobile to take them to school. He left after I promised to stop by his office later at lunch.

  Aunt Zoe had headed out to her workshop after breakfast, a frown of determination on her face. I didn’t ask what was on her mind, figuring she’d tell me soon enough.

  I grabbed my bag and drove down to work. I was halfway across the parking lot, checking my messages, when I looked up and noticed Ray walking toward me. He must have come from Calamity Jane’s. Picking up his last check, maybe?

  I slowed, narrowing my eyes. Crud. Here we went again.

  His overly tan face scrunched up, ugly as ever. “This is your fault, Blondie.” He wrinkled his upper lip at me. “Trust me, this shit between us is far from over.”

  Bummer, and here I’d hoped it was just a fall fling. “What did I do? You’re the one who got busted screwing over your coworker.”

  “You and Tiffany are in this together, I know it.”

  “Ray, why would I be working with Tiffany to get you fired?”

  “Because you two know that I can outsell the both of you.”

  “Wow! That ego of yours must weigh a ton some days.”

  “You two thought you could knock me out of the race, but I’m not going anywhere. Three can play at this game.”

  “What game is that?”

  “You had Tiffany string me along and make me think she could get you shit-canned if I helped her steal a client or two.”

  “Dang! Who knew I had such power?” I sure hadn’t.

  “Then she ran to Jerry and tattled on me, turning him against me with her lies.”

  I sighed. It was too cold outside even for this steaming load of crap. “Ray, you screwed up. Quit trying to drag me down with you. This is all on you, not me.” I started to walk away.

  “We’re not done here, Blondie. You wait and see.”

  I flipped him off over my shoulder.

  “She’s coming for you next!” he yelled. “She told me so.”

  I snorted. Like that was news to me.

  I thought of Slagton and the shit parade heading my way.

  Tiffany was going to come for me, was she?

  “Bring it, bitch,” I said under my breath and stepped inside Calamity Jane Realty.

  The End … for now

  About the Author

  Ann Charles is a USA Today bestselling author who writes award-winning mysteries that are splashed with humor, romance, paranormal elements, 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 cats, 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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  More Books by Ann

  www.anncharles.com

  Books in 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!

  Books in the Deadwood Shorts Series

  The Deadwood Shorts collection includes short stories featuring the characters of the Deadwood Mystery series. Each tale not only explains more of Violet’s history, but also gives a little history of the other characters you know and love from the series. Rather than filling the main novels in the series with these short side stories, I’ve put them into a growing Deadwood Shorts collection for more reading fun.

  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

  Welcome to the jungle—the steamy Maya jungle that is, filled with ancient ruins, deadly secrets, and quirky characters. Quint Parker, renowned photojournalist (and lousy amateur detective), is in for a whirlwind of adventure and suspense as he and archaeologist Dr. Angelica Garcia get tangled up in mysteries from the past and present in exotic dig sites. Loaded with action and laughs, along with all sorts of steamy heat, these two will keep you sweating along with them as they do their best to make it out of the jungle alive in every book.

  The Goldwash Mystery Series

  The Old Man’s Back in Town

  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.

  Acknowledgments

  Every book I write involves many people helping me behind the scenes. Many, many thanks to:

  My husband for your love, patience, and appreciation of good tequila. You help me plot, edit, format, corral the kids, eat healthy, and so much more every damned day.

  My kids, Beaker and Chicken Noodle, for making me smile with your daily observations of the world around us.

  My First Draft team: Margo Taylor, Mary Ida Kunkle, Kristy McCaffrey, Jacquie Rogers, Marcia Britton, Paul Franklin, Diane Garland, Vicki Huskey, Lucinda Nelson, Marguerite Phipps, Stephanie Kunkle, and Wendy Gildersleeve. You deal with me leaving you hanging often and only threaten to tan my hide every few chapters.

  My critique partners, Jacquie Rogers and Kristy McCaffrey, for putting up with my sorry ass.

  My editor, Eilis Flynn, for tolerating me giving you my manuscripts in chunks.

  My WorldKeeper, Diane Garland, for helping me keep story details straight and nitpicking the hell out of me on the page.

  My Beta Team for helping me keep secrets and doing a bang-up job finding those final sneaky errors hiding in the manuscript.

  My brother, C.S. Kunkle, for illustrating what is lurking in my imagination and kicking ass on cover art.

  My graphic artist/cover designer, Mr. Biddles, for your patience while I peek over your shoulder.

  My readers for your cheers and shared laughs both online and in person. Without you there to swear to the authorities that the voices in my head are a good thing, I’d be writing from a padded cell.