Meanwhile, Back in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 6)

by Ann Charles

  If I’d been a mule, I’d have planted both back hooves in the detective’s bread basket right then.

  Inside, the smell of fermenting chicken feed still lingered in the dust-filled air.

  “Could you actually take a few steps inside?” Cooper pushed me further into the old building.

  “I’m wearing suede boots, Detective. They are not appropriate footwear for wading through chicken poop.”

  “Quit being such a girl.” He pointed at the stack of nesting boxes against the far wall. “You two search those,” he ordered, forgetting we weren’t on his payroll. “See if someone left anything behind.”

  Butthead! “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.” I waded in on my tiptoes, stepping between the ancient leftovers. The closer I got, the more I knew there was no way I was shoving my arm into those boxes, not while wearing one of Aunt Zoe’s favorite velvet shirts.

  Luckily for me, Harvey had no qualms about getting his clothes dirty. He began checking in the hens’ nesting boxes one at a time.

  Cooper nudged me aside. “Move aside, killer.”

  I frowned after him. “What did you call me?”

  “Killer.” He tapped on floorboards, listening in between taps. “Uncle Willis, didn’t there used to be a few loose boards somewhere around here?”

  “Why would you call me that?”

  Tap, tap. “Because you like to beat up people.”

  Oh, whew, just that. I jammed my hands on my hips. “Dear Lord, are we back to you whining about your broken nose?”

  “Not just my nose. What about your boyfriend’s face?”

  “Doc likes it when she’s rough.” Harvey said, reaching into another one of the boxes. “You should’ve seen the scratches on that boy’s back a couple of weeks ago.”

  My jaw fell open, my face instantly overheating. “I did not … where did you see … how do you know those are from me?”

  Harvey snickered. “It doesn’t take a detective’s badge to figure out who marked him. Your bite bruises were what had me hornswoggled. What do you think you are? Part vampire?”

  “I did not leave any teeth marks.”

  “Ha! Gotcha.”

  Cooper grinned at his uncle. “Real slick. I should have you interrogate her for me after her next crime.”

  I brushed away chicken feathers that were trying to stick to my velvet shirt, pretending I wasn’t sweating in humiliation. “If you two are done having a laugh at my expense, I’m going back outside.”

  “Hold your horses, Sparky.” Harvey grunted and reached up to his shoulder in one of the hen boxes. “Look what I found.”

  He pulled out a black bottle, similar to the one I’d seen in the old picture Doc had shown me recently.

  “Hey,” I stepped through the chicken poop. “That looks like the bottles I saw in that crate at Mudder Brothers.”

  Cooper took the bottle from Harvey, holding it up to the light coming through the cobweb-encrusted window. “It’s full.”

  I took it from Cooper, sniffing at the cork, smelling nothing but chicken dust. I’d probably be sneezing downy feathers for days. “You think it’s full of mead, too?”

  The detective didn’t answer. When I looked up at him, his gray eyes were all squinty with suspicion.

  “How do you know what was in those bottles in the crate, Parker? If memory serves me right, you used one as a weapon but never actually popped the cork.”

  Hells bells!

  I’d been so set on keeping the shotgun a secret that I’d forgotten to lock the door on all of my other closeted skeletons.

  I shoved the bottle back at Cooper. “Lucky guess.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I was just using the same trick on you that Harvey used on me a moment ago.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You already said that, and technically, we are standing in chicken shit.”

  “Parker,” he took a step closer, gunning down that crooked nose at me. “How do you know the bottles from Mudder Brothers contained mead?”

  The door to the chicken coop slammed open.

  I screeched and flew behind Harvey, feathers flying in my wake.

  Detective Stone Hawke’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. “What in the hell is going on in here?”

  “Fuck,” Cooper growled under his breath, tucking the bottle behind his back.

  “You’re late for the hen party,” Harvey said, thumbs in his suspenders, fat grin filling his cheeks. “Now get to strippin’, boy. Me and Sparky here got plenty of ones burnin’ holes in our pockets.”

  Chapter Seven

  Meanwhile, back at the ranch …

  A fox had gotten into the hen house and his name was Detective Stone Hawke.

  Before I had a chance to squeeze out through one of the small chicken-sized doors in Harvey’s old shack and scramble down the rooster ramp, Cooper hauled me out from behind Harvey and shoved me toward our intruder.

  “Hawke, don’t you have some questions for Parker?”

  I glared at Cooper, who still had that bottle of mead tucked behind his back. “Really?”

  The no-good son of a bitch was throwing me to the wolves … or rather the fox, in this case. Actually, Detective Hawke was more like his namesake, with that darting gaze and regal nose. Whatever he was, there were now too many animals of prey crammed into this coop for my tail feathers not to get ruffled. I snorted, partly because I had tufts of chicken feathers up my nose, but mostly out of frustration with both brutes.

  Detective Hawke bristled with suspicion, his thick black unibrow getting all squiggly. “Yes, I do, but first, what are you doing out here at your uncle’s ranch with these two suspects?”

  “They aren’t suspects.” Cooper’s words were clipped.

  Hawke jutted his square jaw, his pork chop sideburns framing his perturbed expression. “Did you clear it with the Chief first?”

  Ah ha! Not only was Cooper hiding the bottle we found from his partner, he’d also not shared that he was dragging Harvey and me out here to investigate the crime scene further. It didn’t take a relationship counselor to deduce that these re-partnered ex-partners were experiencing some serious communication problems. Their reconciliation was no longer all smiley faces and happy skipping.

  Before Cooper had a chance to answer Hawke’s questions, Natalie’s head poked around the doorway. Her smile split wide at the sight of all of us. “Hey! What’s going on in here?”

  Harvey rocked back on his heels. “It’s a hen party.”

  “Count me in.” Natalie rolled right along with him. “Who’s stripping first?”

  “We’re about to flip for it. Heads for Coop, tails for Hawke. What’s your call?”

  “Heads, definitely.” Her focus shifted to Cooper. “Vi and I made a bet about your nephew, and I bet my favorite hooker heels that I’m right.”

  No, she wasn’t. But now was not the time to prove her wrong. I had an opportunity to escape from Detective Hawke’s talons, and it had everything to do with Natalie’s ability to wrap macho jerks with inflated egos, like the blockhead standing in front of me, around her pinkie finger.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” I waved my hand under my nose, acting out a swoon. “Get me out of here.” I grabbed Detective Hawke by the arm of his tan corduroy blazer and dragged him outside with me.

  I cast Natalie a come-hither look as we stepped down next to her.

  She nodded, linking her arm in mine. “How about the three of us take a little walkabout and get you some fresh air.” She waved at Hawke to follow.

  He frowned back at the chicken coop, where Harvey stood in the doorway, thumbs in his suspenders, and then jogged to catch up to us.

  “Let’s get out of this wind.” I continued around the side of the barn and out of sight of the chicken shed.

  Cooper was going to owe me, damn it. For whatever reason, he did not want his partner to know what we’d been up to and what we’d found. While I doubted he was hiding something from Hawke to save
my ass, it might have something to do with Harvey. Cooper’s reply about us not being suspects had cemented my decision to help the bossy detective. But I deserved at least one get-out-of-jail-free in exchange for my part.

  In the driveway, Natalie’s truck was parked behind Cooper’s police SUV, while Hawke’s sedan cozied up beside them both on the grass.

  “That’s far enough.” Hawke dropped anchor, bringing Natalie and me to a stop in front of the barn doors Cooper had left open.

  The detective glanced at the barn and then back at me, stepping closer so that he was practically bumping toes with me. I’d managed to avoid the butthead for long enough that I’d forgotten about his lack of respect for personal space.

  “What are you three doing out here, Ms. Parker? This place is off limits, especially to you.”

  Please, as if I were going to roll over and show him my belly that easily. I held my ground. “A better question is what are you two doing out here?”

  Natalie pointed at Hawke. “He called me last night, saying he needed me to answer some questions about what happened here Sunday, and you were unavailable.”

  “That’s because your friend here hung up on me again.” Hawke explained to Natalie.

  “I was a little preoccupied last night when we spoke.” I had a creepy caller to track down, darn it. “I didn’t have time for your questions, Detective.”

  “You never seem to have time.” He crossed his arms over his chest, still standing so close that he almost whopped me in the boob with his elbow. “Maybe if I hauled you into the station, Ms. Parker, you’d find a moment or two.”

  “Bad idea.” I lifted my chin, wanting to step back and put some space between me and that minty-stinking cologne of his, but I figured he’d take that as a sign of weakness. “Unless you have a warrant for my arrest, I’d advise against it.”

  “Anyway,” Natalie wedged herself between us, which was a feat in itself. “Detective Hawke asked me to meet him here since it was halfway between the station and my parents’ place and I agreed.”

  I eased back a couple of steps. Was it only yesterday that she’d called requesting a raincheck on supper, saying she wanted to help her dad winterize the house before the weather took a turn? Where had the time gone between spine-chilling phone calls and searches for clues about a dead man?

  I glanced toward the side of the barn—still no sign of Cooper and Harvey. I needed to keep Hawke busy a little longer. “Fine, let’s get this over with, Detective. Where’s that damned pen and notebook of yours?”

  Hawke took his sweet ass time with the paper, watching me warily as he clicked his pen. “Why did you have Detective Cooper haul you out here?”

  Why did I have … What made Hawke think I was the instigator for this visit? Oh, right—his witch theory. The dear, confused bozo. Did he actually think I’d cast some spell over the mighty Detective Cooper and coerced him out here to do my wicked bidding? As if there were anything short of a noose along with its accompanying lynch mob that could drag Cooper somewhere he didn’t want to go.

  I thought about blowing on my knuckles and telling Hawke it was all in a day’s work for a witch as powerful as the nefarious Violet Parker, but Cooper’s warning about not taking Hawke’s witch suspicions lightly made me hold my tongue. While I was pretty sure playing it up wouldn’t end with me barbecuing on a stake, Hawke could do his darnedest to make my day-to-day travels very bumpy, and I had enough washboard-filled roads in my life as it was.

  I focused on Natalie. “Didn’t you tell Detective Hawke about me yet?”

  Her face lit up like the prairie grass at sunrise. “I didn’t think he could handle it straight up,” she shot back.

  “Handle what?” he asked.

  “The truth,” she answered.

  I moved closer to her, speaking out of the side of my mouth. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Nat. It might really freak him out.”

  She put her arm around my shoulder and led me a short hop away. “I think Detective Hawke can handle this.” She kept her voice loud enough for him to eavesdrop. “I mean, look at him.” We both turned and measured him for a few beats. Hawke lowered the notepad, shuffling his loafers. “He’s so big and strong and manly,” she flirted, wiggling her fingers at him.

  He frowned back.

  “Vi, surely a rugged detective like him has seen some real kooky stuff in his line of work.”

  I had to turn my face away from Hawke so he couldn’t see while I wrestled my grin back into submission.

  Natalie nudged me with her elbow.

  “I know, I know,” I said under my breath and pretended to cough. Schooling my expression, I faced Hawke again. “But can we trust him?”

  Hawke grabbed his belt with both hands. He took on that wide-legged stance I suspected he’d learned at the academy in: How To Look Like A Cop 101. “Ladies, I’m a detective. Classified is my middle name. Now spill.”

  Natalie led us back over. “Okay, Detective Hawke, but you have to swear not to tell a soul—not even your partner.”

  “You have my oath of silence.”

  Natalie and I looked at each other. I waited for her to come up with something hilariously brilliant.

  “Tell him, Vi.” She passed me the baton, damn her.

  I hesitated. What could I say? That I was a vampire? Wasn’t that what Harvey had accused me of back in the chicken coop? No, that was too over the top. Although, after Hawke’s silly witch theory, maybe a vampire wasn’t such a stretch. On second thought, the dumbass might just try to jam a stake in my chest.

  What then? I had to think quickly, time was ticking, and Hawke was eyeing me with plenty of disbelief.

  Natalie implored me with raised brows. “It’s okay, he gave us his oath.”

  I resisted the urge to flick her nose. She was supposed to help me on this.

  All right, what was something totally wacky that Hawke might believe with enough decent acting on my part? Something that even I might believe if it were acted out in front of me?

  Then it hit me.

  Prudence.

  Lord only knew I’d had my fair share of witnessing her peculiarities up close and personal.

  I crooked my finger at Hawke. He and Natalie leaned in close, their heads almost touching.

  “I can talk to ghosts,” I deadpanned.

  Natalie curled her lips in tight. I suspected they were damming a flood of laughter, judging from the sparkle in her eyes.

  “You’re pulling my leg, Ms. Parker.” He tucked his notepad and pen back into his pocket.

  “I wish I was, Detective. Trust me, this ability is no gift.” I channeled Doc from months ago when he fessed up about his sixth sense. “I’ve tried everything, from large quantities of hard liquor to a handful of recreational drugs, but I can’t stop the voices.”

  Hawke wore his skepticism like a mask. He wouldn’t be an easy sell on this, I could tell. It was going to take some time and finesse, both of which I lacked most days.

  “So,” he pushed out his chest, impersonating a wall of disbelief, “am I to believe that the reason you have been involved one way or another in all of these murder cases around here is because you talk to the dead?”

  “Exactly,” Natalie jumped in. “You can’t imagine how hard it has been for Vi—for both of us—to keep this hidden from everyone.”

  “Come on.” Hawke smirked at us in turn. “You really think I’m that big of an idiot? That I would buy this load of phony baloney?”

  “I told you this was a mistake,” I said to Natalie.

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” Hawke added.

  Yeah, I used to drink that flavor of Kool-Aid, too, but then I met Doc … and Prudence.

  Natalie gave me a sideways hug. “It’s okay, sweetie. You were honest. We both know in our hearts that someday the truth will set you free.”

  I thought about dredging up some tears, but I didn’t have it in me at the moment to crank on the waterworks.

  “If you ar
e truly hearing voices, Ms. Parker, it’s probably because you are either delusional or borderline schizophrenic. As I was just telling Detective Cooper last week, both mental conditions should be noted in your file as a possibility.”

  His snide tone made me want to flip a personality switch and go Lizzie Borden on him. Delusional or schizophrenic? Name calling was the game he wanted to play, huh? And here I was just going to have a little fun with this ghost talking act, but after facing off for a few huffs with his condescending gaze, I had a change of heart.

  I stepped closer to Hawke, invading his space as he so often did mine. Lowering my chin, I stared up at him through my eyebrows like I’d seen done in many creepy films over the years. “Tell me, Detective, have you ever looked in a mirror and chanted, ‘Bloody Mary’ three times?”

  He smirked. “Why would I do that?”

  Natalie knew the answer from one of our favorite Halloween childhood tricks. “It’s a well-known fact,” she told him in a spooky voice, “that if you chant ‘Bloody Mary’ in a mirror three times in a candlelit room, her bloody corpse will appear behind you.”

  “Depending on her mood,” I continued, faking a shoulder twitch, “she’ll either try to scratch your eyes out, strangle you, or steal your soul.”

  “That sounds like an old wives’ tale,” he said, but his smirk was gone.

  I reached out and scraped my fingernails down his blazer. The corduroy made for a nice sound effect. “Are you sure, Detective?” I twitched again, throwing in a little hitching laugh. “How about you join me some moonless night in a haunted house and we test it out?”

  “There is no such thing as a … haunted house.” His mouth said one thing, but he hesitated.

  He should pay a visit to Prudence up in Lead. “If you say so, Detective.” I grabbed one of the big brown buttons on his blazer and yanked on it, tearing it off.

  He jerked away in surprise. “Hey!”

  I held the button in front of my eyes, peering at him through the tiny thread holes. “I like to keep souvenirs,” I said in a creepy little girl voice and followed it with a squeaky, high-pitched giggle.