by Ann Charles
“Okay,” I said, moving on before he could continue with more paranormal mumbo-jumbo that would make my eyes glaze over. “So, you believe that Jane didn’t want you coming down here? That she was trying to protect you by smashing your fingers?”
“I suspect it was more of a diversion.”
“To divert you from what?”
“This.” He pointed his light at where he’d been digging and brushing. “And whatever is down in that hole.”
I squatted next to the grate, touching the bar of steel he’d uncovered. “What is this?”
“A rudimentary lock. Someone went through a lot of work to keep this grate closed.” Cornelius brushed more dirt away, exposing a bent rod of steel secured in a block of cement, through which another thick iron rod had been jammed, firmly holding the gate closed from anyone trying to come up through the floor.
“If this were a mere sewer vent,” he said, “there would be a way to open it from the inside.”
“You’d need TNT to blow that sucker open.”
He tugged on the rod jammed through the loop of steel. It didn’t budge. “This was meant to keep someone locked out.”
Or something.
I took his flashlight and leaned close to the grate, peering with one eye between the bars. I could smell the steel of the grate along with an earthy smell drifting up through the slots. The ground appeared to be only eight to ten feet down. A square box with what looked like a dish attached to it sat on the dirt floor.
“What’s that?” I asked, angling the light toward it.
Cornelius leaned over the grate, his shoulder bumping mine. “It looks like an old carbide lamp.”
“Carbide?”
“A miner’s lamp from the early twentieth century.”
I angled the light further, focusing on the wall directly under us. “Is that a hole?”
“Or a tunnel,” he said.
My stomach knotted. “Where does it go?”
The flashlight went dark.
“Shit.” I shook it, and then banged it against the grate several times. “Where did you get this stupid light?”
“Your desk drawer.”
I clicked it on and off several times, knocking it against the grate again. The clang of metal on metal echoed through the hole.
A hand grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Violet,” Cornelius whispered in the darkness. “Do you hear that?”
I listened, hearing nothing but our breathing. “What? Is it Jane?”
Cornelius was silent for several seconds. I was about to ask him again if Jane was whispering in his ear when a whoosh of air blew up through the grate. Mixed in with the cool, musty air was a whiff of curdled milk with a hint of eau-de-roadkill.
“Do you smell that?” I gagged.
“That’s not your dead boss.” Cornelius yanked me to my feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
After piecing the closet floor mostly back together and barring the door with a chair under the handle “just because,” Cornelius headed off to his hotel to deal with a remodeling situation requiring his attention.
I returned to my desk with mere floorboards and an old barred grate between me and whatever might have been in that hole in the floor. I tried to settle into my normal real estate mode, but I kept catching myself listening for the sound of something moving around under my feet.
After dinking around with my Day-Timer for a while, I dissected my wallet in between pacing back and forth to the coffee maker. When Mona asked if I was feeling okay, a weird croaking sound came from my throat, reminding me of Cornelius’s pocket frog. Covering my mouth, I escaped to the bathroom and ordered the wide-eyed woman in the mirror to calm her silly ass down. By the time I returned to my desk, Ben and Ray were back from a breakfast meeting with a client. I smiled reassuringly at Mona and shook the tension from my hands, trying to focus on my computer screen.
Something thumped twice on the floor.
I squawked in surprise and leapt clear out of my chair, scanning the floor while panting. “What was that?”
Ray smirked. “Relax, Blondie. I’m polishing my boots.”
Looking over, I took in his socks and the two boots lying on the floor next to his desk. The two thumps had been the sound of his boots hitting the floorboards.
Holy shit-inski! I was losing it.
I sank into my chair, my hands trembling when I lifted my coffee cup to my lips.
“Are you feeling all right?” Ben asked, his forehead lined with concern.
I nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m great.” A high-pitched giggle slipped out between my lips, drawing a frown from Mona.
She lowered her rhinestone-studded reading glasses. “Maybe you should take this afternoon off, Vi. You’ve been pale since your meeting with Cornelius.”
“That’s no surprise,” Ray said with plenty of sarcasm. “Just the sight of that crazy kook and his freaky eyes would put me off my feed for a couple of days.”
“Shut up, Ray,” was all I could manage at that moment. I’d taken too many world-jarring hits already this morning to be on my game when it came to defending Cornelius from the horse’s ass.
I turned to Mona. As tempted as I was to run home and cling to Aunt Zoe’s Betty Boop cookie jar for crumb-covered comfort, I decided to run some errands instead and maybe check out some potential properties for Cooper. “I’ll be fine. I just need some fresh air.” A little space and time away from this building would fix me right up … I hoped.
I pulled my purse from my desk drawer. “I’m going to go take a look at some potential properties for Detective Cooper and grab lunch while I’m out. Let Jerry know I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
She nodded, still watching me closely as I passed by her on the way out the back door.
The cold air was a welcome relief. Since Doc was busy with clients down in Spearfish for the rest of the day, I didn’t bother trying to call him and share my newest source of anxiety. Instead, I ran my errands, relishing in the mundane. After a stop at the bank, I remembered Layne’s comment about seeing a white demon while out at recess and checked my watch.
Twenty minutes later it was recess time. I let my Honda idle in the Deadwood library parking lot while eating pretzels and string cheese in the warm cab. Layne sat on a bench in the recess yard, reading a book. So much for my kid burning off excess energy.
I kept my eyes peeled for Mr. Black or any new pale buddies of his, not sure what I’d do if the boogeyman showed up on the scene.
My phone rang, making me drop the cheese between the seat and console, darn it.
The number on the screen wasn’t familiar.
I swallowed the bite of cheese in my mouth. “Hello?”
“Guten Tag, Scharfrichter,” a wheezy voice greeted me in German. “Did you receive the clock?”
“Who is this?” I couldn’t tell if the caller was male or female, thanks to what sounded like a ten-pack-a-day smoking habit.
“Who I am is of no importance.” The German accent was almost non-existent when speaking English.
“Is this Mr. Black?” I pressed.
A hissing sound came from the other end of the line. “You should be careful when and where you speak that name, Scharfrichter.”
Maybe it was the string cheese, or it could have been the shitty morning I’d already had, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with whispered threats from anonymous callers. “Why? Is he like Darth Vader? Can he choke me with his mind powers if I say his name over and over?”
“There are worse things than dying, Scharfrichter.”
“Like what?”
“You do not want to find out.”
Prudence and her family’s brutal murder came to mind, making me hold in my smartass retort. “Why are you calling me? And don’t tell me it’s only to confirm that I received your little gift.”
“The gift was not from me.”
Then who … “You know what, I don’t care about that right now.” Using my third-eye c
hakra, I focused on the bigger picture. “Who’s taking the clocks from Ms. Wolff’s apartment? Is it you?”
“Nein.”
“But you know who it is?”
“Ja.”
“Who?”
“That is not for me to tell.”
The caller must have taken “police business” mantra lessons from Cooper. “Why are they taking the clocks?”
“The death of a timekeeper does not stop the flow of der Wanderer.” The caller’s breath rattled. “Nor will it stop der Jäger.”
I scribbled down the two German words, spelling them out how they sounded. “So, someone is taking the clocks to keep time for these ‘vonderers’ and ‘yeagers’?”
“A timekeeper does not work for anyone, only keeps the balance.”
“The clocks are being taken to keep the balance then?”
“Ja.”
“The balance between who or what?”
“Not who or what. The balance between here and there.”
Jeez on crackers! This was about as clear as a jar of sludge. “What does that mean?”
“Seek your answers elsewhere. My job is finished.”
“Your job was to deliver the clock to me?”
“Ja.”
“You screwed up. It’s broken.”
“Is it, Scharfrichter?”
Before I could answer, the line went dead. I stared down at my phone for several seconds, waiting to see if the call time would start up again miraculously.
The screen went dark.
I tapped the screen and hit redial. The phone rang and rang and rang. I hung up at the count of ten and stared blindly out the window, replaying the call in my head. By the time I shook out of my reverie, I realized the recess yard was empty.
Fishing out the cheese from between the seat and console, I blew it off, tossed it in my mouth, and then pulled out of the library parking lot. There was one place I could think of where I might find more answers to this damned clock business.
I dialed Zelda Britton’s phone number as I waited for pedestrians to cross the street at the stoplight in front of the Franklin Hotel.
“Hello, Violet.” Zelda’s sweet voice was a welcome sound after the German clock genie. “It’s great to hear from you.”
I didn’t waste time with formalities. “Zelda, I need to talk to Prudence right away. Is there any way I can swing by in about ten minutes?”
“I’m sure Prudence would enjoy hearing from you, but I’m not home right now.”
Dang it. “How about later this afternoon?”
“I’m actually visiting my mother in Nebraska this week. She’s not been feeling well and needed a little help around the house.”
“I’m sorry.” I turned right on Main Street, heading toward Central City. “I hope she gets well soon.”
“Oh, she’s on the mend already.” There was a muffled sound from her end and then she continued. “I’ll tell you what, how about I let you know where we hide the spare key and you stop in and have your chat with Prudence without me there.”
Alone with Prudence? My heart tried to pummel its way out of my chest at just the thought. I slowed, pulling into a street-side parking spot. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Zelda.”
“Why not?”
Because I needed someone there to act as a microphone for Prudence, or she might climb into my head and mess me up for good. “I wouldn’t feel right being in your house without you.”
“Nonsense. You’ve been in there many times without me.”
“But that was back when the Carharts owned the place.”
“So what. It was Prudence’s house then as it still is now. We mortals are temporary renters in her world.”
“I don’t think—”
“The spare key is hidden under the sitting room window that faces the Open Cut. You make the call.”
“Okay. Thanks, Zelda.”
“You’re welcome. Stop by sometime when I’m home for cider and cookies, Violet. I miss seeing your gorgeous blond curls.”
I smiled. If only she didn’t share an abode with a haughty ghost who liked to insult my family lineage when she wasn’t creeping the hell out of me. “Take care of your mom.”
I hung up, staring out at the gray sky.
Should I go to see Prudence on my own? What would happen without someone there to act as a middleman for me? Would she climb into my head and scramble my brains? Or would she appear in front of me like she had last month in my car and mime her responses to my questions.
Maybe I should wait.
My phone rang again. Damn, I was popular this afternoon. Hoping it was Doc, I looked down at the screen.
It wasn’t Doc.
I snarled at a number I’d grown to loathe. Detective Stone Hawke was calling, undoubtedly to accuse me of another crime I hadn’t committed. I was about to hit the Send to Voicemail button when a light bulb burned bright in my head.
My finger hovered over the screen as two more rings came through. Before I could change my mind, I answered. “This is Violet.”
“I’m surprised you answered your phone, Parker.”
“It’s been an interesting day so far, Detective Hawke,” I said, playing nice. “I might as well hear what you have to add to it.”
“You’re not going to put another fake hex on me, are you?”
“I’m not in the mood for foolery this afternoon.”
“You mean Coop told you to keep your claws retracted.”
“Detective Cooper may have mentioned maintaining good behavior.” More like threatened what he’d do if I caused more ripples for him at work. “Do you have a question for me, Detective?” God, it was making my tongue burn being so nice to the jerk.
“I need you to come to the station and take a look at some photos.”
Not the picture game again. “I’m in the middle of a walk-though of a potential property right now, and I have an appointment right after this.” The lies slipped out with ease. “How about you meet me here? We can go through your questions while I take care of what I need to in this house.”
There was a long pause on his end. “Since you’re being civil,” he finally said, “I guess I can, too. Where should I meet you?”
I rattled off an address I knew too well.
“You’re up in Lead?” he asked.
I shifted into drive and pulled out on the road again, wanting a moment alone to gather my wits before he showed up. “Yep.”
“Why does this address sound familiar?”
“Detective Cooper may have mentioned it before.”
“Why’s that?”
“It was the site of one of my past … uh … adventures.”
His snort made me grit my teeth. “You mean past crimes.”
I let that one slide since he’d unknowingly agreed to come play in a haunted house with me. “I’ll see you in ten minutes at the Carhart house, Detective Hawke.”
Before he could get another insult in, I hung up my phone.
It was time for Detective Stone Hawke to meet Prudence.
Chapter Twelve
The Carhart-Britton house stood high above the rocky bottom of the Open Cut, a huge hole in the ground left over from Lead’s golden days of mining glory. A Gothic Revival style, two-story home painted butter cream with chocolate trim, the historic house was a treat for the eyes. Hansel and Gretel would have stopped to lick the siding if it had been hidden in the trees.
I rolled to a stop in the gravel drive, shutting off the engine. My stomach knotted as I stared up at the white lace curtains in the attic window. Prudence preferred to stay tucked away up there with a dusty old crib, rocking chair, and little cupboard that held her stash of trophy teeth. My last trip up to her attic had been with Doc, who’d been knocked out cold by Prudence while she rode roughshod over him, using him as her personal ventriloquist doll. I still shuddered at the memory of that hair-raising moment.
The curtains in the attic window swayed, as if a breeze had caught
them in passing.
But it was no breeze. Prudence knew I was here.
I stepped outside, taking my time walking around the side of the house in spite of the freezing wind. The key was right where Zelda had said it would be.
Key in hand, I slowly climbed the front porch steps. I needed a moment alone with Prudence, but the thought of going inside the house made my knees wobbly. Teeth chattering from nerves and cold, I checked my cell phone for the time. If Hawke had left right after I’d talked to him, he should be here in a couple of minutes.
No more delaying. It was time to enter Prudence’s lair. I lifted the key. Before I could even slide it into the lock, the door creaked open.
“Yikes.” Chills raced up my arm. I stared into the dark crack, my breath coming in steamy puffs.
I should be used to Prudence’s games by now, dang it. But she was the only ghost I’d actually seen while fully conscious. Not to mention that she was unpredictable as hell, seeming to take pleasure in catching me off guard. Interactions with her always came with a jolt of fear that made me want to turn tail and run.
Like Cooper.
Oh!
A flood of empathy for Cooper made me frown. It was no wonder he was struggling with his newfound ability to see the dead in their wispy form. His pale-faced state followed by his dash to the nearest exit made complete sense. How long would it take for him to get used to seeing ghosts?
How long would it take me?
Drawing a deep breath, I pushed inside the house. The door clicked shut behind me.
I stood in the foyer, listening in the shadow-filled room for a sound. A ticking clock kept time in the stillness. A smiling image of Wanda Carhart in her blue gingham dress fluttered through my thoughts, followed by a pang of sadness. These walls had seen too much death.
My gaze darted around the narrow hallway. Zelda had left much of the house exactly as it’d been when the Carharts had lived here. Since Wanda had sold the furniture along with the house, it was no surprise, but Zelda later informed me that she left the previous furnishings in place because Prudence preferred it this way.
The furnace kicked on, rattling the vents. The aroma of cinnamon and apples wafted around me on a warm draft. The smell reminded me of my last visit to the house with Harvey and Cooper when Zelda had been busy baking an apple pie, only too happy to share with company.
