Never Say Sever in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  “Not until later. She had to run down to Rapid this morning.”

  Cooper snatched the cookie out of his uncle’s hand. “You’re confusing me for you, Uncle Willis. I’m here about Jonesy’s B&E. This has nothing to do with Nat’s whereabouts.” He took a big bite out of the cookie and grunted before stuffing the rest in his mouth.

  Uh oh. Cooper didn’t typically eat sugar or anything else that might sweeten his disposition. For him, all-out laughter was a sign that he was fraying at the edges. So, a cookie at breakfast meant one of two things—either hooking up with Natalie was having some weird chemical effect on his brain, similar to the Tin Man when he got a real heart; or Cooper had reached an all-new level of stress thanks to the three-limbed other starring in last night’s crime scene.

  The detective reached for a second cookie. “I don’t give a shit about your fancy party, Parker. You’re going to have to find a way to fit apprehending this three-limbed perp into your busy superstar schedule.”

  Cooper was right and I knew it, but was it asking too much to have just one damned day off before I started thinking about a creepy fiend that had gone around taking bites out of those poor stuffed critters?

  I shuddered again at the whole freaky mess and took another drink of coffee while pushing one more button on the walkie-talkie. The screen lit up blue. “Hey, I found the ‘on’ button.”

  Cooper grabbed the walkie-talkie away from me. “We need to catch that thing before it takes a bite out of someone who’s still breathing.” He reached for the cookie jar. “That is far more important than any fucking—”

  The back door flew open and Aunt Zoe rushed in along with a bone-chilling gust of wind. Her old work shirt and blue jeans were smudged with soot streaks and dirty palm prints. Several tendrils of her silver-streaked hair had escaped her leather tie and swirled around her face.

  After a glance my way, she shut the back door. “Get dressed, Violet. We have to go.”

  Before I could blink, she rushed into the laundry room, rustling around in there out of sight. Something clanged, followed by a grunt and then several curses.

  What the hell?

  I shivered and pulled my robe tighter around me, calling after her, “Go where, Aunt Zoe?”

  “To Lead,” she said, hurrying back into the kitchen while rubbing her elbow. She’d changed into a black cable-knit sweater and a clean pair of jeans. “That was Dominick Masterson on the phone. He has requested your presence.” When I continued to sit there frowning up at her, she added, “And when I say ‘requested,’ I mean ‘demanded.’ You know how Masterson is.”

  I sure did.

  Shit!

  Dominick Masterson was trouble with a capital T. No, make that three capital Ts. He was an old spirit, and by that I didn’t mean he liked watching black-and-white silent films and listening to 1920s ragtime music. For one thing, Dominick wasn’t human. (I’d once heard him referred to as a “guardian,” but I wasn’t sure what that entailed.) For another thing, he wasn’t simply a regular old other either. Slick, dangerously charming, and wily as all get out, he was neither my enemy nor my friend, but I had to work with him nonetheless.

  Dominick had been around the Black Hills for a long time—how long? I had no idea and he wasn’t selling his secrets. But something told me that he’d been here long enough to know the answer to why there was a three-limbed bogeyman running around the hills taking bites out of anything it could get its teeth on, so I should probably heed his call and find out what he wanted. Not to mention that it was his ugly little imp that I’d accidentally freed and had to somehow catch before it made an even bigger mess than it already had up in Lead.

  However, there was the teeny-tiny fact that I’d just executed his prized pet lidérc last night without his permission … or even his knowledge. I’d hoped to have a bit more time to practice my game face in the mirror before Dominick figured out the Hungarian devil had gone missing from its ward-secured cage up in the Sugarloaf Building. But it appeared I’d missed the gravy train with its biscuit wheels this time, dang it.

  I cowered slightly behind my coffee mug. “Do you think he already knows that I killed his smoky bastard?”

  She shrugged. “He refused to clarify his purpose for calling while we were on the phone, claiming that eavesdropping had become a popular sport these days.”

  Eavesdropping? I frowned at the walkie-talkies on the table. Was someone trying to ear-hustle my phone conversations? As in a certain delusional detective who was probably trying to get a warrant at this very moment to prove I had a troupe of flying monkeys hidden away in Aunt Zoe’s attic right next to a pentagram made with virgin’s blood?

  I squinted up at Cooper. “What aren’t you telling us about these walkie-talkies?”

  “That they take lithium batteries.” He shrugged off my middle-finger salute. “The rest is police business, Parker.”

  “I’m going to cram your police business up your—”

  “Violet,” Aunt Zoe cut in, squeezing my shoulder. Along with a whiff of lavender soap coming from her, I could smell the familiar, musty scent of the thick, sleeve-like glove she used to protect her hand while heating the glass in the furnace. “Finish your coffee.”

  Calmed momentarily by her comforting scent, I lifted the mug to my mouth and swallowed the rest of my grumbling along with the last of my coffee.

  “As soon as you’re finished,” she added, “you need to hurry up and get dressed. You and me and Harvey are going to see what that charming son of a bitch is up to now.”

  Lowering my cup, I hesitated for a couple of reasons. To start with, it was my day off, damn it. To end with, Aunt Zoe had a history of extreme vulnerability when it came to Masterson’s previous Don Juan endeavors.

  Harvey took the cookie jar from Cooper, reaching inside for more sweets. “Why are ya draggin’ me along? It’s colder than a polar bear’s toenails out there with that darn vortex swirlin’ down from the North Pole.”

  “Yeah, what he said.” I raised my empty mug in agreement.

  She stole the cookie jar from Harvey, knocking his hand away as he tried to reach for it again, and set the jar back in the center of the table. “Because other than Violet and Doc, you’re the only one I know who’s immune to Masterson’s mind games.” She put the lid on the jar with a firm clunk.

  One of Dominick’s tricks was what I referred to as his “charm” spell. It didn’t involve any fancy potions or magic, though. All it took was a simple smiling look from the slickster for women—and men—to become fawning zombies, happy to do whatever Dominick desired.

  For some reason, though, that charm bullshit didn’t work on Harvey. We had yet to figure out why that was, but for now it was to my advantage since the old trigger-happy boy was my bodyguard. When it came to Doc, his ancient Oracle bloodline shielded him from Masterson’s powerful mojo.

  As for me, Dominick’s nearness alone spurred a warning reflex of revulsion mixed with a good dose of nausea. As secret weapons went, feeling the need to upchuck when my enemies came near wasn’t very cool. Neither was the fact that those in my trade supposedly smelled of “death,” according to some of the non-humans I’d met of late. I wasn’t sure if that meant I reeked as badly as five-day-old roadkill, or if the scent I gave off was a little mellower, like a bin full of dirty socks and sweaty underwear. Or rotten eggs.

  Why couldn’t I smell like sugar and spice and everything nice like the other girls?

  “I’m gonna freeze my twig-and-berries off, woman,” Harvey groused, brushing the crumbs out of his beard.

  “You sure this is a good idea, Zoe?” The line of barbed wire and fence posts across Cooper’s forehead said there were plenty of reasons it was a bad idea in his opinion. “Maybe we should get Nyce to go in your place.”

  “Cooper’s right,” I told her. “Your history with Dominick makes me nervous about having you along.” The asshole had shown more than once the power he had over Aunt Zoe with just the wink of an eye. I aimed my co
ffee mug at her. “Let’s call that sneaky snake back and tell him we’ll meet him when we’re good and ready.”

  She snatched the mug out of my hand and glared down at me. “We both know that meeting with Dominick Masterson is never a good idea, but he insisted on my presence along with yours, so we’re both going to talk to him and we’re doing it now. Besides, this is a good test.”

  That must be why Dominick had called here at the house rather than on my cell phone. What was his angle with dragging my aunt along?

  Cooper’s face creased even more. “I think you need some backup besides Uncle Willis.”

  Harvey slapped his hand on the table, delivering his verdict. “Coop’s right. I’ll take Bessie. She’s all spit-shined and ready for a good ol’ Pecos promenade.”

  “Your shotgun is useless against Dominick,” I reminded him.

  “Maybe fer you, girlie, but Bessie gooses my gumption.”

  Aunt Zoe carried my mug over to the sink. “While I appreciate your concern, Coop, I’ll have the best weapon there is against Masterson standing next to me.” She returned to my side, smiling down at me. “Our very own Scharfrichter.”

  I groaned at the guttural-sounding German word for my killing trade along with the responsibility that came with the title.

  Cooper seconded my groan. “Now I’m really worried.”

  “But Aunt Zoe, what about—”

  “I’m done discussing this, baby girl.” She grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. “Go get dressed. And don’t forget to grab an extra backbone or two while you’re at it.” She nudged me toward the stairs. “There’s no telling which way the mule is gonna jump.”

  Chapter Three

  Speaking of mules …

  “I don’t want to do this,” I told Aunt Zoe on our way out of Deadwood.

  She spared me a quick frown from behind the steering wheel of my SUV, which I’d let her drive since she knew where we were heading.

  Before she could finish that frown with a “Buck up, baby girl,” or something else motivational about facing off with a slippery scoundrel on a blustery January morning, Harvey spoke from the backseat. “You remind me of a stubborn-assed hinny my aunt had back when I was still growin’ potatoes behind my ears.”

  “Are you comparing me to a donkey now?” I turned in my seat to glare at him.

  “I said a hin-ny,” Harvey enunciated.

  Aunt Zoe chuckled. “That’s a step up from a heifer.”

  According to whom?

  “A hinny is a mix between a stallion and a jenny,” Harvey continued.

  “Jennies are female donkeys,” Aunt Zoe explained.

  “So, you’re comparing me to a hinny then.” I continued my glare, not sure that was any better than a donkey.

  Harvey grinned wide enough for his two gold teeth to show. “That hinny had the hardest hooves I ever did see. Kicked a hole clear through her stall door once after my aunt shut her inside for eatin’ a path through her prized sunflowers. Woo-wee! I tell you, when that girl got herself in a lather, she raised hell and stuck a block under it.”

  I still wasn’t certain if I was one step up from heifer yet in his assessment. “What’s this have to do with me not wanting to go talk to Dominick?”

  “Like that ol’ hinny, you got yer hooves dug in this mornin’. Look at you, tuggin’ at the rope and you don’t even have a notion of what Masterson wants. For all you know, maybe he plans to pat you on the head and tell you what a good job yer doin’.”

  “So, you think I’m being stubborn?” He could have just said that. “Like your aunt’s mu … I mean, hinny.”

  “Oh, that hinny was worse than yer typical stubborn mule, but a helluva lot smarter, too. She could smell trouble from a mile away, but wouldn’t scare like any horse. Nope. She’d just lower her head and face whatever was comin’.”

  “So, you think I’m stubborn but smart and don’t scare easily?”

  “Nah, I’ve seen you jump at chickens in the dark.”

  Aunt Zoe laughed.

  “That’s not fair.” I scowled at both of them in turn. “There was a juggernaut coming for me that night.” Well, as far as I had it figured, anyway. That damned chicken of Addy’s had nearly given me a heart attack. Elvis was lucky I didn’t coat her in flour and fry her up for breakfast the next morning.

  Harvey’s grin reached his earlobes. “Beware of Elvis the killer chicken! You’re such a big bad Scharfrichter.”

  “Shut it, old man.” I wrinkled my nose at him before turning back toward the front, adding over my shoulder, “Or I’ll feed you to that damned three-limbed ghoulie from last night.”

  “Now there’s no need to get all het up about things.” He sniffed. “All I was sayin’ is that yer stubborn like that ol’ hinny.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “But what most don’t understand,” he continued, leaning forward over the center console so that his head butted into the front of the cab between Aunt Zoe and me, “is that hinnies and mules have a strong sense of self-preservation. They don’t like to follow you into dangerous situations, a feelin’ most folks confuse for stubbornness.”

  “That’s definitely better than being a heifer,” Aunt Zoe told me as we passed Gold Run Park on the left.

  The park sat tucked away in the valley below the old Yates mineshaft headframe. I’d taken the kids there last fall to play around on the mining castoffs left over from yesteryear.

  A century-plus of gold booms and busts had left plenty of scars behind in Lead, evident both on the landscape underneath the town’s buildings and houses, as well as above. The terraced park now sitting where many of the Homestake Mine Company’s buildings had slowly decayed for decades was a prime example.

  Still staring out the window, I told my cab mates, “The hinny in me says this is a bad idea. If Dominick has already figured out that I executed his lidérc last night, he’s going to want something in return.”

  At the least, I figured he’d ask for some sort of bizarre retribution. At worst, he’d want a life for a life, and that was where my hinny-ness would undoubtedly land me up to my hips in alligators. I highly doubted he’d hear me out on my reasoning for killing his deadly “pet.” Nor would he understand why I refused to allow the lidérc to remain in its ward-lined cage, where it could escape yet again and come for me and mine.

  Harvey grunted. “Did Masterson sound like he was in a horn-tossing mood on the phone, Zoe?”

  “I couldn’t tell. But he’s very good at keeping his cool no matter the circumstances. When Reid punched him during the Chamber of Commerce’s Christmas party last month, the silver-tongued devil took the hit and kept on smiling, just as cold and smooth as the ice in his veins.”

  Aunt Zoe had come home from that party in a huff, ready to start throwing dishes at the wall, as well as at a couple of hostile males. Instead, she’d done as she always had when she needed to vent some steam—gone out to her workshop and fired up her glass furnace.

  Out the windshield, the visitor center that overlooked the Open Cut came into view. Decades ago, after digging deep into the earth under the Black Hills in pursuit of gold, Homestake had opted for an alternate method of extracting the precious metal from the ground—open-pit mining. Many, many trips around the sun later, the Open Cut remained as a reminder of those golden days of the past. Now Mother Nature was at work instead of the miners, weathering the terraced sides of the huge pit year after year, working slowly but surely at softening the sharp edges the mining company had left behind.

  Up on the hillside rimming the Open Cut I could see the beautiful historic house where a particularly crotchety ghost had resided for well over a century, supposedly waiting for me to show up and continue where she’d left off—executing troublemakers. Was Prudence watching over the huge hole in the earth from her perch up in the attic window? Could she sense I was near? Was there some connection growing between us that explained how she seemed to know more and more about what I was up to when she wasn�
�t around?

  “Hell, maybe Masterson just wants to shoot the shit with you two.” Harvey leaned back. “His long life has gotta be lonely most days. There’s only so much hard liquor and wild women a man can enjoy until there’s nothin’ else left to make your ticker giddy up and gallop.”

  I guffawed. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Not for a minute,” he shot back without hesitation. “I’ve yet to get tired of wild women.”

  Harvey’s reputation down at the senior center backed that statement. “I meant the part about Dominick looking for companionship.”

  “Maybe a wee bit, but mostly not.”

  “What about you?” I asked Aunt Zoe.

  She glanced my way. “Your eye is twitching.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  Harvey leaned forward again, checking on me. “Sparky does look like she’s chewing her bit more than usual.”

  “I do not look like I’m chewing …” I finished with a growl and flipped my visor down, staring at my reflection in the lighted mirror. Okay, so my curls were poking out every which way below the red beanie I’d pulled over my bedhead mess. And maybe I should have spent a few minutes putting on some makeup to cover the blue, green, and yellowish bruises of my fading black eye instead of watching that funny video of cats freaking out over cucumbers that Natalie had sent me. I smiled wide in the reflection. At least I’d made sure to brush my teeth and wipe the cookie crumbs off my lips before leaving the house.

  I slammed the visor up, aiming a mock glare at Aunt Zoe. “You should have given me more time to fix this up.” I circled my hand in front of my face.

  “You look as beautiful as always,” she lied.

  “Your nose is growing.”

  Grinning, she rolled along a few more blocks and then made a left turn and started up the steep hill behind the historic opera house.

  “Almost there,” she said.

  “Almost where?” I asked, holding onto the dash as we bounced through a series of ovary-rattling potholes.