by Ann Charles
“Parker!” Cooper hollered, rounding the front of the barn, interrupting my ghost story. He strode our way, his eyes narrowing as he took in our trio huddled together. “What’s going on here?”
I looked at Hawke. “Shhhh. He doesn’t know.”
“What don’t I know?” Cooper stopped next to his partner. He must have his bat-hearing cranked up today.
“About Violet’s fear of the dark,” Natalie said.
“She has nyctophobia,” Hawke went along with us, staring down at my fist that still clasped his button.
Cooper glared at his partner’s profile. “Parker is not afraid of the dark.”
“I am, too.” At least I was now that there were things in it that I couldn’t rationally explain away.
“What in the hell are you playing at?” Cooper asked me.
Uh oh. I didn’t think I had the acting skills to pull this off in front of Cooper, too.
I turned to Natalie. “Would you be so kind as to allow me a moment with Cooper?”
Natalie wrapped her hand around Hawke’s bicep, patting it like he was straight from Muscle Beach. “Detective, didn’t you have some questions you wanted to ask me?” She tugged him away from Cooper and me, leading him toward the house. “How about we take a walk around the ranch while we talk in private?”
She led him off as easy as the Pied Piper. Cooper and I watched them go, me with a sigh of relief, him with a growl in his throat.
“What in the hell is that about?”
I shrugged. “He called her last night and arranged a meeting here today, wanted to ask her a few questions about Sunday.”
Cooper growled again.
“You seem to be stuck on repeater mode today. Where’s your uncle?”
“Going through the tool shed, looking for more bottles. We found four stashed in those hen boxes after you left.”
“I didn’t leave, Detective. You sacrificed me for your own gain.”
“If you’re gonna play with the big boys, you need to get thicker skin.”
“Well, if you’re gonna play with the big girls, you need to grow a set of …” darn, he already had balls, “claws.”
The lines on his face softened. “Can we not talk about your sex life anymore, Parker? I don’t want to spoil my lunch.”
I started to hit him back with something about at least having a sex life, but I wasn’t feeling that rabid at the moment, especially while Cooper was watching Natalie fawn over Hawke as they disappeared behind the house. Although, from the sound of the woman’s voice coming through my phone last night, he might have one, too. Just not with Natalie.
“When you’re done sputtering over there,” he continued, “care to explain to me off the record how you knew there was mead in those bottles at Mudder Brothers?”
Instead of answering, I lobbed a question back at him. “Why did you hide the bottle Harvey found in the hen box from your partner?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“You tell me your secret, I’ll tell you mine.”
“Hey,” Harvey called from the front corner of the barn. He waved us over. “You two are gonna wanna come see what I just found.”
Cooper took off toward his uncle at full stride. I hustled after him, my stomach fluttery at the pinched look on Harvey’s face.
“Did you find more bottles?” I asked as I fell in step next to Harvey, who led us toward the one building I hadn’t been in before.
“Nope. I found somethin’ a bit hairier.”
“Like what?”
He held the door for us and then walked over to a section of the wooden floor that was missing some boards. A crowbar and several planks had been tossed next to the gaping hole.
I let Cooper go first, happy to play second fiddle.
“Is it a body?” I asked, wincing my way closer.
There was something furry at the bottom of a pit.
Several things furry, actually.
Cooper pulled his pen from his pocket. “I don’t think so.” He leaned partway into the hole and poked one of the hairy tufts.
It didn’t roll over and bite him, thank the heavens.
Harvey held out a hay-baling hook. “This here’d make a good fishin’ hook.”
Cooper took it.
What he pulled up made me recoil. “What in the hell is that thing?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure,” Cooper spun the hook this way and that, “but it looks like a mask.”
It was the kind of mask worn completely over the head with a neck attached to it and all.
“That reminds me of something Lon Chaney Jr. would have worn during the filming of The Wolf Man,” I whispered, stepping closer, trying to make sense of it along with Cooper. “Do either of you two remember any reports of Sasquatch sightings in the Black Hills?”
“No.” Cooper sat back on his heels, holding the mask out toward his uncle. “Well, what do you think?”
“That’s not mine.” Harvey leaned over the hole, pointing into it. “Neither are all t’others down there.”
Chapter Eight
Thursday, October 25th
Meanwhile, back in Deadwood …
I spent the night running from the wolf man. Only it was Detective Hawke instead of Lon Chaney Jr. chasing me, and the mask looked more like what Cooper had pulled up from the floor cache in Harvey’s shed than the furry faced old movie version. The sideburns were Hawke’s, though, along with the unibrow and the obnoxious personality.
After dragging my tired ass to the shower, I scrubbed off my nightmare sweat. If only I could wash away the qualms I had about all of those masks as easily.
Cooper had found eight in all, each a little too realistic for my comfort. Harvey had sniffed and inspected each mask, much to my gasps and screeches of disgust, declaring one after the other had real human hair. After the third mask and my third mention of lice and fleas and Lord knew what else might be living on those masks, Cooper demoted me to watchdog and made me go stand in the doorway.
We’d managed to hide the masks back in the cache and return to the front of the barn before Hawke and Natalie returned from their walkabout. I sneaked a thumbs up at Natalie when Hawke wasn’t looking. She returned a thumbs down and then pointed at me and mocked strangling me to death.
If that was how she felt after a half hour in Hawke’s company, she was going to love going out on a date with him and prying his lips open with alcohol and whatever else it took (otherwise known as Plan B).
That had been the end of our adventures at the ranch for one day. Compared to all of that heart palpitating fun, sitting at my desk back at the office had been a real sleep inducer. With Doc down in Spearfish all day and then having the guys over for poker that night, I was reduced to texting a few words about the masks and the bottles of mead, telling him to call when the poker game ended and I’d fill him in with the details.
By the next morning, he still hadn’t called. I’d decided not to read anything into his silence other than the guys had been there late, and he was being considerate of my ongoing need for beauty sleep.
The quiet lasted through breakfast, what with the kids still not speaking to me. After my night of full moon hunts and terrorizing howls, I was happy to let my eyes glaze over while I looked out the kitchen window at Aunt Zoe’s glass workshop.
Ah, sweet, soothing silence. No fighting, no yelling, no guilt trips for ruining anyone’s life by letting a kind, helpful, handsome man come into our world. I could get used to living in this foreign land brimming with peace and tranquility.
After I dropped off my muted kids, I made a detour on the way to work and stopped at the Tin Cup Café. I needed an excuse to call Doc and find out how poker went with Cooper and his hundreds of questions—a way to butt into Doc’s evening’s events so I didn’t sound like the nosy girlfriend that I was. I paused outside the coffee joint’s front door, soaking up a ray of warm sunshine on this chilly morning, and pulled up Doc’s number.
Three rings i
n, he answered. “Morning, Violet.” Doc used my name instead of one of my nicknames. How odd.
I double checked that I’d called the right guy, and then stayed my original course “I’m grabbing some coffee, you want one?”
“Definitely. The game ran late last night. Make it a double, please.”
That confirmed my suspicions regarding the lack of a phone call. I heard a male voice say something inaudible in the background, and then the sound of a door closing. “You still at the gym?”
“I skipped it this morning.”
If he wasn’t at the gym, what was with that voice and the door? Maybe I self-prophesized my future and really could hear ghosts now.
“Are you at home still?”
“Yep.”
“Is somebody there with you?”
“Cooper just left.”
“You mean Detective Cooper?”
“That’s the one.”
“Did you win a breakfast from him in last night’s game?”
“Hey, there’s an idea for a wager.” I heard some shuffling sounds through the line. “He spent the night.”
“So, are you two romantically involved now or was it a slumber poker party?” Both ideas made me giggle.
“You must’ve downed a cup of smartass for breakfast, sweetheart.” He waited until I’d quieted to explain. “Cooper didn’t want to drive home, so he crashed on my couch.”
“Hold on.” I closed my eyes and leaned back against the brick wall fronting the building. “I’m picturing you and Cooper having a pillow fight in your pajamas.”
Actually, in my fantasy Doc was beating the crap out of a fully uniformed Cooper with a couch pillow and then handcuffing the detective and kicking him outside. I added the slamming of the front door for an encore.
“How about picturing you sans pajamas having a slumber party with me? If you want to wear one of those silky camisoles I peeled off you last time you spent the night, I have no problem with that, either.”
“What? No pillow fighting with me?”
“Naked pillow fights are completely acceptable. You’ll inspire me to invest heavily in the goose down market.”
“Naked? You have a one track mind, Mr. Nyce.”
“When it comes to your skin, Boots, I’m a real train wreck.”
“Will I need a reservation to bunk at La Casa de Doc now?”
“There’s always room in my bed for you.”
But was there room in his life for a killer and her two offspring plus one annoying chicken?
“I’m on my way out the door.” I heard the slam of a door as soon as his words were out. “I need to head down to Spearfish after I grab something from my office. How about I meet you in the parking lot in a few?”
“Sure. I’ll be the one carrying two coffees.”
“Great. I’ll be the one drooling over the hot blonde carrying two coffees.”
When he said stuff like that, it made me want to bite and scratch him all over again.
Doc was leaning against the trunk of his Camaro when I pulled into the parking lot behind Calamity Jane Realty. He looked stark raving handsome in his black pants and leather jacket over a cream button-up shirt. He opened my door, taking the drink carrier from me and setting it on top of the old pickup.
My boots had barely touched the ground when he pulled me close.
“Morning.” He kissed off the lip gloss I’d just applied on the way between the Tin Cup Café and work. “Mmmm, cherry-flavored Violet lips. My favorite.”
I stepped aside so he could close the pickup’s door and grab his coffee from the carrier. “Let’s go into your office, and I’ll give you another one of your favorites.”
He blew out a breath. “Damn, Boots. You’re not playing fair today. I’m running late already.”
Sipping my coffee, I gave him a sly wink. “All work and no play makes Doc a randy boy.”
That made him chuckle. “I was thinking last night about that massage you owe me.”
“Oh, were you?”
“And this morning,” Doc added.
“While you were eating breakfast with Cooper?”
“No. I was too busy dodging his questions about you and that bottle of mead then.”
I grimaced. “Sorry about that.”
“He told me about your find in the chicken coop out at Harvey’s place.”
“Did he tell you that he hid the bottle from Detective Hawke, along with those masks?”
“He mentioned the masks but nothing about his partner.”
“I think he’s keeping stuff from Hawke now.”
“Why would he do that?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who spent the night with him.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t talk much in his sleep.”
“Are the rumors true? Does Cooper’s teddy bear sleep with a loaded pistol, too?”
“No, it’s a 12-gauge.” Doc leaned down and teased me with his mouth for a few breathless beats. “Gotta go, Tiger. I’ll be at your place in time for dinner. Then we can head to Mudder Brothers and find out who’s stalking my girlfriend this time.”
“Happy number adding.”
He waved as he backed out of his parking spot and then rumbled away.
I whistled “Dixie” all of the way to Calamity Jane’s door.
“Violet.” Jerry didn’t even let me make it past his office. “Will you tell the others we need to huddle up. I’ll be out there in two shakes.”
Huddling for Jerry meant that all of us sat at our circled desks while he held court in the center like a head coach who’d called a timeout to direct us on our next play.
I nodded and joined my three coworkers out front, delivering his message while I tucked my purse in my desk. I settled into my chair, coffee in one hand, pen and paper in the other, and waited to get my huddle on.
Was that even a saying?
Jerry didn’t disappoint. “Okay, team. I just got off the phone with Honey, Dickie’s assistant.”
We all knew who Honey was. Unlike her golden sounding name, she had straight black hair, resembling Cher more than Goldie Hawn. Honey was nice enough but not super sweet like her namesake, and she pretty much ran the show while Dickie acted as the front man. I hadn’t figured out yet if she ran his personal life as well as his professional life, but Dickie did tend to spend more time than normal admiring her long hair and even longer legs.
“Honey said they would be arriving tomorrow with their crew. They’ll spend the weekend prepping for the show and plan to start filming on Monday.”
Eek, Monday. That would be here before I knew it. I took a big drink of coffee, wishing I’d spiked it with some Baileys this morning.
Jerry pointed at me. “Violet, you’ll run the first play.”
“What exactly does that entail?”
While I was getting better at deciphering Jerry’s sports metaphors, not having seen the play board, I didn’t know if that meant taking something to “the hole” or passing whatever off to Ben, Ray, or Mona.
“Leading Dickie and his film crew around The Prospector Hotel.”
Hold the phone! Did he just say … “Come again?”
“You know. Your most recently sold property,” Jerry added. “You’re still on good terms with Mr. Curion, right?”
“We still keep in touch.” And some days I felt like reaching through the phone and strangling Cornelius.
“I need you to pay him a visit, tell him about the upcoming Paranormal Realty filming, and see if he’d like some free publicity for his new acquisition.”
“But that hotel is not on the list of places we came up with for Dickie’s crew to film.” I knew that for a fact because I’d purposely left it out, knowing how eccentric its owner was ninety-nine percent of the time.
“I added it to the list,” Ray spoke up.
That earned him a glare. “Without consulting me first?”
“You’re the talent, Blon—Violet. Your job is to make Calamity Jane Realty look good on cam
era.” He tried to hide his sneer behind his tooth-whitened smile. “My job is to make the location look even better. The Old Prospector Hotel is a well-known haunt in the Black Hills. It’s the perfect location to get the ball off the sidelines and score out of the gate with a three pointer.”
The horse’s ass knew how off the bell curve Cornelius was. Hell, he had even gone so far as to try to woo Cornelius away from me after Ray’s attempt to secure a different buyer ended in a catastrophic fail.
I looked at Jerry, whose hair was freshly buzzed since I’d seen him last. “Doesn’t a basketball game start with a jump ball?”
“Quit being smart,” Ray snipped. “You know what I meant.”
“Violet,” Jerry’s gaze bounced between Ray and me, his blond brows wrinkled. “Do you foresee a problem with filming at Mr. Curion’s historic hotel?”
I could think of plenty of potential disasters involving my ghost-talking friend and his little buddy, a life-sized Safari Skipper who had trouble not bubbling over about the cool tricks I had done at the séances we’d attended together.
“Define problem?”
“Something that would make Calamity Jane Realty, you, or the hotel look bad in the public eye?”
Since it was Jerry asking me this, I ignored my gut reaction to the idea and gave it some thought. Cornelius had big dreams of opening a world renowned haunted hotel that brought visitors to Deadwood from around the globe. The TV show would bring him some free publicity, good or bad. Any of the ghost fans who watched the show might then flock to Deadwood to see the haunted hotel and drop money all over town, helping other business owners. Some of the diehard, ghost-loving buffs might even want to buy a house … from me.
Well, when I thought about it that way, “Nope, there are no problems.”
I’d just have to figure out a way to keep Cornelius in check so that he looked mildly eccentric, not ludicrously idiotic. For starters, no dressing like Abe Lincoln on camera and talking to walls.
“Excellent. You need to contact the owner after we finish with our huddle and have him sign the release papers Honey faxed to me yesterday.”
“Will do.”
“I’ll also need you to get a release for that supposedly haunted house up in Lead that overlooks the Open Cut.”
