by Ann Charles
Ouch. That had to sting a little. Or a lot. I took a bite of French toast. Why hadn’t Reid said anything about my aunt to his kid back then?
“I liked Reid’s son,” Aunt Zoe continued. “He was courteous and friendly. And he really was genuinely great with your kids.”
I swallowed my bite. “Reid probably has a good explanation for keeping you from his son back then.”
“Yeah, right.” Her expression hardened. “All the more reason to keep this thing with him at ‘friend’ level for good. I see where I rated then and don’t expect anything more if we sailed around the horn a second time.”
Doc’s phone pinged. He pulled it out of his back pocket. “It’s a text message from Coop. He said to turn on your walkie-talkie, Violet.”
“I don’t even know where it is right now.”
He scooted his chair back. “I do.” He disappeared into the dining room, returning before I had a chance to console Aunt Zoe anymore. “Here,” he said, handing it to me as he returned to his chair to finish his breakfast.
“How do I turn it on?” I still wasn’t sure which button did what.
“It’s already on. Just push that button and talk.”
I held it up to my lips. “Uhhh, this is Violet. What do you want, Cooper?” I set the walkie-talkie down on the table.
There was a crackly sound from the speaker and then I heard, “Vi, you’re supposed to say ‘over,’ remember? Over.”
Natalie must be listening in on Cooper’s walkie-talkie. Or he’d given her one of her own so that she didn’t bust a cap in his ass.
I picked it back up. “Shut up, Nat.”
“Shut up, Nat. Over.” Harvey weighed in through the damned thing. “That’s how you do it, Sparky. Over.”
Doc started laughing next to me. His funny bone was working overtime already today.
I elbowed him and then spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Does anyone else out there with their ears up want to give their two freaking cents on how to use this stupid thing?” I made sure to add an “over” at the end.
“Violet.” Cornelius’ voice came through this time. “I believe the saying is ‘Got your ears on,’ not ‘up.’ ”
I hit the button and growled at all of the buttheads.
“If you’re done screwing around, Parker,” Cooper came back on the line, “we have a situation in Lead that you need to check out. Over.”
Aunt Zoe and Doc traded wrinkled brows.
“What kind of a situation?” I wondered if it had anything to do with why Prudence had called me earlier. “Over,” I added before one of the other jackasses said it for me.
“I have a feeling your imp has been at it again. Over.” Cooper didn’t sound very happy about it, either. Then again, he might just be tired after that disastrous birthday party crashed by a slew of uninvited guests. Not to mention he’d asked Natalie to spend another night with him on their way out the door.
I rubbed my forehead, feeling the beginning of a headache taking hold. “What did the little shit do this time? Over.”
“It appears that it tried to eat one of Lead’s police cars.” There was a long pause and then a very disgusted-sounding “Over and out.”
Chapter Nineteen
I was so over this damned imp business. How could something so small cause so much grief? I thought back to my twins when they were in their terrible twos and in the thick of teething and chewing on anything they could wrap their sticky little fingers around. Okay, let me rephrase that. How could something so small be so hard to catch?
I pondered that problem throughout the morning while sitting at my desk at Calamity Jane Realty. Mona and Ben went on with their usual daily activities—Mona typing up a storm in between talking to old clients, current clients, and potential clients on the phone; Ben researching prices, printing MLS listings in preparation for some appointments next week, and just being a nice guy in general.
Jerry showed up midway through the morning, handing out digital, light-up nametags in the shape of stars for each of us and told us to wear them to the premiere party.
Mona beat me to the punch on asking, “For God’s sake, why?”
To which Jerry let out a booming, Thor-like laugh. “You’re the best, Red.” Then he sat at the desk next to her and made a phone call. And then another. And another.
At eleven-thirty, I shut down my computer and grabbed my purse. I told everyone I’d see them at the party tomorrow evening since Jerry was closing the office for the rest of today and all of tomorrow, and then I left out the back door.
Doc was waiting for me in the parking lot behind the wheel of my SUV with the engine running. I slid into the passenger seat, tossing my purse in back, and then leaned over for a quick kiss. “You smell good.” Judging by his damp hair, I guessed he must have showered again after sparring with the kids. “How was the elbow-striking extravaganza at the Rec Center?”
“Your kids are mini-ninjas. We practiced saving drowning people in the pool afterward. They’re getting good at diving.”
He pulled me back for a longer kiss, sucking some of the cherry-flavored gloss off my lower lip. “I don’t suppose we have time to stop by my place and bounce up and down on my bed while Cooper and Harvey aren’t home.”
“Sure, if you want to spend this evening plucking lead pellets out of each other’s backsides.” I buckled my seat belt. “You and I both know that Cooper will hunt us down and shoot us if we make him wait at the taxidermy shop.”
Doc shook his head and shifted into gear. “And here I thought Natalie would take some of the bite out of his bark.”
“She’s only human, you know.”
My cell phone started ringing. “It’s probably Cooper wondering why we weren’t there ten minutes ago,” I said as I fished it out. I looked down at the phone and for the second time today Zelda’s name showed on the screen. “Shit, I forgot to call her back.”
“Who?”
“Prudence.” I held up my phone. “She’s going to be doubly pissed now.” I stared down at Zelda’s name, weighing the pros and cons of taking the call.
“Are you going to answer it?”
“No.” I cringed and sent it to voicemail, setting the phone in one of the cup holders. “I’m busy right now. She needs to wait until I can fit ‘Get my ass flogged by a dead Scharfrichter’ into my schedule.”
“Which will be when?”
I shrugged. “After I’ve had a couple of drinks is probably best.” I frowned as he turned left out of the parking lot, heading toward Lead instead of Central City, where Jones’ Taxidermy was located. “Where are we going?”
“We need to swing by Gold Diggers Automotive Repair up in Lead.”
I’d passed by that garage many times, but hadn’t needed to pay for their services yet, thankfully.
“Why? Do you need something for the Picklemobile?” Doc had worked for a mechanic years ago when he was still in college. He’d fixed up Harvey’s old pickup after he’d borrowed her for the winter so he could store his ’69 Camaro SS. Now the Picklemobile ran like she was new again, skipping the exhaust backfires that used to announce her presence with an embarrassing BOOM.
“No. I want to take a look at the damage the imp inflicted on that police car Coop was talking about this morning.”
I made a face, not sure I wanted to see the destruction that my imp-related negligence had caused. I was sure some guilt would follow, and then more stress, ending with a slight feeling of job incompetence. A visit to Prudence somewhere in that mix would only add to my self-inflicted demise.
Doc leaned his elbow on the center console, kicking back behind the wheel. “How was work?”
“A breeze, mostly. Jerry is pretty jazzed about the party tomorrow night. He thinks it’s going to be a huge boost for Calamity Jane Realty’s bottom line.”
“Not to mention Ben’s and your client lists.” He glanced my way, his forehead lined. “We’re going to have to do something about your face and hair.”
We were? Why?
I flipped down the visor and did a mirror check. Sure, I looked a little rough around the edges, and the twisted chignon updo I’d tucked my hair into was slightly messy, but at least I’d added a touch of mascara before leaving work. “What’s wrong with my face and hair?” I flipped the visor back up. “We’re just going to see a bunch of long-dead animals, right?”
“I meant when it comes to you at work.” He caught my hand and married his fingers with mine, settling his elbow back on the console again. “Now that you’re a TV star, you’re going to have guys swooping in left and right, trying to steal your heart.”
I guffawed. “I don’t think so. I’m Violet ‘Spooky’ Parker, remember? It’ll be more like a bunch of angry men and women storming Aunt Zoe’s house with pitchforks and torches. Detective Hawke will undoubtedly be leading the charge.”
“Nah. You’ll have them eating out of your palm in no time with your natural charisma.” He lifted my knuckles to his lips for a kiss. “How do you feel about wearing one of those long-nosed, bird-beak masks that doctors wore during the black plague in Europe?”
We passed the cutoff for US Route 385 and started winding up into Lead.
“That won’t hide my hair.”
“We could tuck it into a top hat.”
“That’s a lot of tucking into a small hat.”
“How about hiding it under one of those wide-brimmed straw hats that were popular in the 1960s and 1970s?”
“You mean a floppy-brimmed hippie hat?” My mom, the flower child, had several in her closet that I could borrow.
“Yeah. With a daisy pinned to it.”
“Sure. And while I’m at it, I could pair it with a tube top and low-rise bell bottoms.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s quite a picture you’re painting.”
Doc glanced down at my chest. “I’d like to see you in a tube top.”
No, he wouldn’t. After nursing twins for a year, a tube top rode low on me, sort of like a hula hoop. “I think your rose-colored glasses might need an updated prescription.”
“You underestimate the lure of your curls and curves when it comes to the male sex.”
My cell phone rang again. I checked it. Speak of the devil. “Crap.”
“Prudence again?”
“Almost as bad. It’s my mom.” I accepted the call, putting it on speakerphone. Maybe if she knew Doc was listening, she wouldn’t talk about sex with my dad or my catalogue of past dating mistakes. “Hello, Mother.”
“Violet Lynn, where are you?”
I frowned at the tension in her voice. “Doc and I are driving up to Lead, why?”
“Are you behind the wheel?”
“No, Doc is.”
“Good. Am I on speakerphone?”
“We’re listening to you on the stereo speakers, so yes.”
“Hello, Hope,” Doc said, slowing for a pickup turning up the hill opposite Gold Run Park.
“Oh, Doc.” Mom sighed in happiness at the sound of his voice. “I’m so glad you’re still in the picture. Have I told you that lately?”
“Yes, you have, Hope,” Doc said, his eyes creased with laughter. “Just the other night, as a matter of fact, when you called to talk to the kids and I answered the phone, remember? You even offered to pay me monthly installments to stay with your daughter if I ever felt like leaving her.”
What the hell? “Thanks for that vote of confidence, Mom.”
“I was kidding around, Violet Lynn. Mellow out. Don’t be such a downer.” My mother, Hope the hippie, laughed. Actually, it sounded more like a titter. A drunken titter. At noon on a Saturday?
Once again, what the hell?
Doc and I traded worried glances.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“Well … I might have a little bad news for you.”
My chest tightened. “Is Dad okay?”
“Your father is fine.” Her voice lowered. “And by ‘fine,’ I mean hot-to-trot and rarin’ to go lately, in and out of the bedroom. He’s been doing these breathing exercises to increase the circulation in his p—”
“Mom!” I covered my eyes and did a whole body cringe, pressing back into the seat to get as far away from her voice as possible, dreading what might come next through the speakers. “Please! I told you no more talk about your and Dad’s sex life within earshot.”
Or around Doc, for that matter. I was relatively certain that my boyfriend did not want to think about my parents having wild monkey sex the next time they stopped over for dinner and drinks.
“Oh, get off of it, Violet Lynn,” my mom chastised. “You need to chill, baby. And get your mind out of the gutter while you’re at it. I was going to say increase the circulation in his pulmonary blood flow.”
I lowered my hand from my eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”
Hold on. Breathing exercises? That rang a bell. “Hey, where did Dad learn about these breathing exercises?”
“Corny told him about them when they went to lunch last week.”
Corny? I leaned forward, gaping at the phone screen. “Since when have Dad and my friend become lunch buddies?”
“Violet, Violet, Violet.” In my mind’s eye I could see her shaking her head. “This world really doesn’t revolve around you, dear.” She feigned boredom, as if she’d given me this talk once a week for the last thirty-five years.
I shook my fist at the phone.
Doc laughed into his elbow to muffle the sound.
I took a deep breath of my own, trying to find my way back to “fine” and “hot to trot” and “raring to go” in the process.
“Mother, what was the reason you called?”
“Yes, about that …” she trailed off.
About what? I opened my mouth to pester her, but Doc held out his index finger. I scowled and crossed my arms, tapping my foot as I waited for her to get around to finishing her thought.
“Your sister called this morning,” she finally said.
I stopped breathing entirely as I waited for the other shoe to drop … right on my head, same as always.
“She’s hit a small snag in trying to fix the tiny mess she made.”
I looked to the heavens, drawing on the power of the great and powerful Zeus to keep my anger in check and stop me from throwing lightning bolts at the Bitch from Hell, wherever she was.
I cleared my throat. “Are you referring to Susan stealing my identity and using it to illegally marry a sugar daddy older than Julius-frickin’-Caesar? You mean that tiny mess?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said, basically blowing off my outburst. “Anyhoo, it turns out that your old man has a nephew.”
My jaw clenched. “He’s not my ‘old man,’ Mother, and he never will be!” Lately, whenever I talked to her, she’d been having too much fun with “me” being married to a guy old enough to be her father.
“Susan said that his nephew is quite displeased that you are in his uncle’s will instead of him.”
Doc reached over and squeezed my shoulder as he steered through downtown Lead.
“Did Susan explain to this nephew that there was a mix-up and she is trying to fix it?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Doc, you might want to cover your ears,” my mother said in a conspiratorial tone.
“Mom,” I started in a high, strangled voice and then paused. Breathe. “What did Susan say?”
“Nothing. Your sister said nothing.”
“Okay, so then the problem is just the small matter of a lack of communication.”
“Sort of.” Mom sighed. “It’s also a small matter of sex.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Language, dear,” said the kettle who taught me most of the swear words I knew—well, Mom was in line after teacher Natalie, of course. Oh, and my neighbor, Claire Morgan.
“Don’t tell me Susan slept with this ‘displeased’ nephew.”
&n
bsp; “Of course not. Violet Lynn, you have such a jaded opinion of your sister.”
A sharp, edgy laugh of disbelief flew from my lips, making Doc wince. “And I wonder why that is, Mom. After decades of dealing with Susan’s dick moves, why on earth would I think badly of Satan’s concubine?”
“Pish-posh and bygones,” she said, dismissing thirty-plus years of putting up with my evil sister just like that. “And your father has talked to you about calling her names in front of me.”
Technically, my mother was on the phone, not physically in front of me, but I didn’t quibble. “Explain this small matter of sex.”
“It seems that Susan wasn’t the only woman your old man had married. It turns out he has another wife from a previous marriage he forgot to divorce.”
“Wow. Just wow.” What a piece of shit my sister used my name and Social Security number to marry.
“And a child, too.”
“What? Susan told me he had no kids.”
“He lied.”
Doc turned, heading up past the high school.
“If he was still married when Susan and he exchanged vows, then her—I mean my—wedding is null and void, right?”
“Yes,” Doc and my mom said in tandem.
I sank back into my seat, relief making me almost dizzy.
“But the official will is still legal and binding,” Mom continued. “According to Susan, he mentioned you by name in it, but not as ‘his wife.’ ”
I frowned over at Doc, who was shaking his head while white-knuckling the steering wheel.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“It means you’re still stinking rich,” Mom answered flippantly. “And now your old man’s only child and nephew are having dying duck fits.”
Chapter Twenty
Dying duck fits …
Well, apparently, irritable fowl syndrome was contagious, because after hanging up with my mother, I spent several minutes coughing out curses about my sister’s shenanigans while we sat parked outside of Gold Diggers’ garage.