An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014

by Ann Charles

  “I’m serious. Will you please do me this one favor?”

  “No. I don’t do personal favors, especially for the woman who probably bashed out the headlights of a perfectly good ‘69 Camaro.”

  “It’s not Doc’s car and I’m not the one who did the bashing.”

  “Who did?”

  “That’s not important,” I said. “The point is they are broken and I feel it’s unsafe for him to be driving around Deadwood.”

  “Bullshit, Parker. Who owns the car?”

  “Some guy.”

  “I’m not sending out anyone unless you come clean.”

  I covered the mouthpiece and swore at Cooper, then put the phone back to my ear. “Fine.”

  “I heard what you called me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There must have been some interference.”

  “It was your voice,” his chair creaked again, “and I do not fornicate with monkeys.”

  Oops, he had heard me. “Are we going to do this or not?”

  “Give me a name, Parker.”

  “Rex Conner.”

  This time the pause was filled with the sound of his breathing. I wondered if he remembered where he’d heard that name before.

  “The same Rex Conner that inspired you to throw up all over my tie back in August?” he asked.

  Yep, he remembered. “That’s him.”

  “What is the father of your children doing in town?”

  “Harassing me.” I glanced down at the Subaru. I really needed to get down there before one of them came looking for me.

  “Would you like to file a report on why you bashed out his headlights?”

  “No. I didn’t do it, damn it.” I sighed. “You know what, never mind, Cooper. I gotta go.”

  “Violet,” the terseness in his voice stopped me from hanging up.

  “What?”

  “Is there something you need to tell me about Rex Conner?”

  “Yes. He’s an even bigger asshole than you are!” I hung up then, blaspheming both men all of the way downstairs.

  “Everything okay?” Dickie asked when I crawled in the Subaru.

  “Just dandy.” I backed out of the drive and headed back to Calamity Jane’s to drop off Rex. Halfway there, my phone rang. I used the earpiece Doc had bought me. “Hi, Jerry.”

  “Violet, I had an idea. Scrap that last place on the list and take them up to the Carhart house.”

  “What?” That was the last place I wanted to go. I was allergic to the ghost in that house. She used people like puppets to talk to me, making me break out in panic. “Jerry, that place is on the sale pending board.”

  Zeke and Zelda Britton were in the process of obtaining financing to buy it.

  “I know, but take them there anyway. Ray informed me it’s definitely haunted and you have a history with the entity there. Maybe this ghost friend of yours will make an appearance for Dickie and Honey.”

  Ray! That meddling son of a bitch. “Fine, but I have to drop off Mr. Conner first.”

  “Why? Did he choose one of the first two places?”

  “No. He had a little accident and needs to ice his nose.”

  “Damn.” There were a couple of seconds of silence, then, “Well, in the meantime, let’s focus on Dickie and Honey. Get out there and wow them, Violet.”

  “Will do.” I hung up as I was pulling into the parking lot.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I heard Rex mutter.

  Up ahead, a familiar sedan sat blocking Rex’s Jaguar, a red flashing bubble perched on the roof.

  I eased to a stop in front of Cooper’s car. Rex was out the door before I shifted into park.

  “Sit tight for a minute,” I told Dickie and Honey, “and we’ll head to another house I think you’ll really like.”

  I stepped outside in time to hear Rex say, “Hello,” in a nasally voice.

  Cooper eyed him from head to toe, hovering on the bloody towel before his gaze slid to me. He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

  “What?” I feigned innocence.

  “What’s the problem, officer?” Rex dabbed at his nose.

  “Are you the owner of this car?”

  Rex nodded.

  “I was cruising by and noticed you’re missing both headlights.”

  “I had a little accident this morning,” Rex explained. “I’ll get them fixed in the next day or two. They have to special order the headlights.”

  Cooper nodded. “Right. There aren’t many Jaguars up here in the hills.” He flipped open his notepad. “According to your tags, you’re Rex Conner.”

  “That’s me.”

  Cooper tapped his notepad. “Well, Mr. Conner, I’m going to need you to come over to the station with me.”

  “For broken headlights?”

  “No, regarding a recent murder case.”

  “Murder? What are you talking about? You must have the wrong guy.”

  “Is this your phone number?” Cooper asked, showing Rex a number on the paper.

  Rex nodded. “That’s my cell phone.”

  “Right.” Cooper pocketed the notebook. “Mr. Conner, your number was listed in the phone of a murder victim found on August thirteenth.”

  “What?”

  “Would you like me to drive you back to wherever you’re staying so you can get a new shirt, or would you rather come straight over to the station with me now?”

  “This is insane. I’m a well-known scientist.” Rex rearranged the towel he still held to his nose, frowning down at the blood-stained cloth.

  “And I’m a small town detective. Now that we’re done with the meet and greet session, let’s go.”

  “Fine. My bags are in the trunk. I’ll grab a shirt and we can go to the police station.”

  “We could swing by the ER if you’d like. It’s right down the road.”

  “No.” He touched his nose gingerly. “It’s just bruised.” Rex glared at me over the towel. “In spite of someone’s attempt to turn it inside out.”

  “Lucky you.” Cooper hit me with a steely glance as he held open his passenger door. “Mine ended up broken.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  All the way up the hill into Lead I dodged and weaved. Unfortunately it wasn’t because of any other traffic, but rather a butt load of questions from Honey and Dickie about the blood-splattered history of the Carhart house. I made sure to skip over my bit part in the various tragedies that had been acted out there.

  What I really needed was silence. I wanted to prepare for how I was going to make sure Prudence the ghost didn’t actually join our party today while Dickie did his best to lure her out. Unlike Lilly Devine’s place, I had a feeling it wouldn’t matter at the Carhart house that Dickie wasn’t as much of a medium as he said he was. His being open-minded about the possibility of paranormal activity would be all Prudence needed to get her toe in the door.

  “What a lovely place,” Honey said after I pulled into the Carhart driveway and cut the Subaru’s engine. “Is it as pretty on the inside as out?”

  I smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “It’s a beautiful house,” I answered with my old mantra.

  I stared through the front windshield at the buttercream colored Gothic-Revival style house with its steeply pitched roof and even steeper cross gables. The Carhart family had meticulously maintained the place over the last few decades. I admired the house’s elegant lines and point-arched windows that were emphasized by a fresh coat of chocolate-colored trim paint. In spite of all that had happened in there, the place had a nineteenth century charm that still shined through.

  I looked up at the attic window. There was nobody standing there looking out, but I knew that Prudence waited inside; I just couldn’t see her. Thinking about that gave me a rash of chills. I dropped my hands from the steering wheel before Honey noticed my goosebumps.

  “If you two are ready, I’ll take you on a tour of the house.” The lockbox still hung from the front door, and I knew the
code by heart. Wanda was staying with her sister until closer to the final move-out date. She’d left most of the furnishings in the place for now, according to what she had told me on the phone a week ago.

  “I can’t wait to see the inside,” Honey said, shoving open the door.

  I could. The plush shag rugs, birch floors, stained glass, and impressive staircase had lost their appeal.

  “You say this place is haunted?” Dickie asked as we climbed the porch steps.

  “That’s the rumor,” I told him, punching in the code. I held open the door and followed them inside. The place smelled like caramel mixed with vanilla today. My sweet tooth panged in my mouth. “I have a favor to ask of you two.”

  “Sure,” Honey said, digging her video camera out.

  I wasn’t sure how to make this request without creating more questions, so I spit it out. “Don’t touch me while we’re in here.”

  I shut the door and locked it.

  They both turned, frowning at me in unison.

  Jinx, I thought.

  “I’m sorry,” Honey said, “if I made you uncomfortable in either of the other places. I didn’t mean to.”

  “You didn’t,” I said with a smile, trying to smooth things over. “It’s an odd request that I have while we’re in this particular house.” When they both continued to frown at me without moving, I added, “I like my personal space buffer.”

  “Does this have something to do with a ghost?” Dickie asked.

  Definitely! “What do you mean?”

  “I mean have you found that if you maintain a certain amount of space around you that you have more brushes with the ghost?”

  It was the opposite actually, but he didn’t need to know it. “Yes, that’s it.”

  He nodded. “I understand. I need a certain amount of space in order to make sure the interactions are pure.”

  I gave them wide berth in the foyer and led them into the living room. “Notice the wrought iron vent grates and the original molding from when the house was built.”

  Honey ooooohed.

  Dickie whistled through his teeth. “Nice chandeliers.”

  “Wow,” Honey walked around touching things, seeming to forget she had a camera clutched in one of her hands. “This place is beautiful.”

  I told everyone so.

  After touring them through the dining room and kitchen, I instructed them to head upstairs and I’d catch up in a minute, claiming the need to check my emails. As soon as I heard them talking upstairs, I scurried into the kitchen over by the stove, facing the slatted pantry doors.

  “Prudence,” I whispered to the ceiling, feeling sort of like Samantha on Bewitched calling for her mother. “I need you to keep quiet today and not play any of your parlor tricks with my guests.” I started to walk away and then returned to my spot by the stove, looking up at the ceiling again. “Don’t bug me about finding the timekeeper either. I’ve no idea where you might have lost a watch. The ‘librarian’ you requested will be here soon.”

  Zelda Britton, who was in the process of purchasing this place with her husband, was a librarian. If Prudence’s previous request for such a person meant something else, she would have to be mad at herself for being overly cryptic when giving me orders from beyond.

  I found Dickie upstairs in Wanda’s bedroom, checking out her walk-in closet. The bare light bulb overhead flickered as I entered the small, elongated rectangular room

  “You looking for a new dress?” I joked.

  He chuckled. “Gingham is my favorite, you know.”

  “I’m sure your fans would adore you in a nice red pattern.”

  I thought I heard the floor creak out in the bedroom, but when I peeked out the closet doorway, nobody was there. I narrowed my eyes, hoping Prudence was going to be a good girl today.

  Dickie touched the sleeve of one of Wanda’s black and yellow gingham dresses. “Really? I always thought black was more my color.”

  I’d noticed that. I led the way out of the closet.

  He looked around the room with its antique headboard and dressers and soft beige tones. “It’s hard to believe all of that violence you told us about happened in this house. It feels so serene, so calm.”

  I thought of my last encounter with Prudence here and held in a snort. “The owner has taken wonderful care of it over the years in spite of the violence.”

  That made me wonder if Prudence had been whispering in Wanda Carhart’s ear all of these years on the decorating. To look at Wanda and her Little House on the Prairie outfits, one wouldn’t think of her as knowing how to deck out a house, yet this place deserved to be the cover model for an antique homes magazine. The woman had trouble keeping ice cube trays in the fridge, for Pete’s sake.

  We strolled out into the hall.

  “Is that the attic?” Dickie pointed at the door in the ceiling. At my nod, he asked, “May we go up there?”

  I hesitated. I thought of the attic as Prudence’s lair and wasn’t sure she’d like me allowing these strangers to trudge around up there. On the other hand, there were some interesting antiques up there and I was pretty certain Honey would enjoy getting some of it on film. In the end, my boss’s wishes for me to make Dickie and Honey happy won out over Prudence’s wishes. After all, it was a minor blip in her world.

  “Sure.” I grabbed the broomstick handle with a hook on the end and handed it to Dickie, careful not to get too close. “Just be careful on the ladder. It’s a little rickety.”

  “Honey?” Dickie called as he pulled open the attic door.

  I unfolded the attached ladder for him.

  “Honey, where are you?” he called again.

  “Maybe she’s in one of the other two bedrooms.” I brushed off my hands. “I’ll go check while you head up.”

  I made sure Dickie made it up the ladder okay and then headed off in search of Honey. She was nowhere to be found. I even returned to Wanda’s room and checked the closet, but found it empty as well.

  “You okay up there?” I called to Dickie as I passed by the attic ladder.

  I heard a sneeze, and then, “Yeah. There’s lots of interesting furniture up here. Tell Honey to hurry up before my lungs fill with dust.”

  If I could find her, I’d happily deliver the message. I was anxious to get the hell out of the house before my lungs filled with panic.

  “Honey?” I called, walking down the stairs.

  The front living room was empty, as was the dining room. “Honey?”

  I stepped into the kitchen and found Honey standing with her back to me next to the stove, almost exactly where I’d stood fifteen minutes before.

  “There you are,” I said, walking around in front of her. She had the camera held arm’s length in front of her at an awkward angle, eyelevel yet tipping to the left. The red record light was blinking, so I tried to keep out of the shot. “Oops, sorry about that, Ho—”

  Then I looked into her face and choked on the rest of her name. Her eyes were rolled back, white. Her jaw hung slack with a line of drool running down one side of her mouth.

  “Honey?” I whispered and reached out toward her. Then I remembered where I was and pulled back, afraid of who would start talking if I touched her.

  “Honey,” I said in a stronger voice. “Can you hear me?”

  The drool stretched down to her collarbone.

  I looked around, saw a jar of wooden spoons next to the stove, and grabbed one. I poked her in the ribs. “Honey,” I said, “come back.”

  The camera tipped further. I reached for it, afraid she’d let go in her trance. Extracting it from her hand, I placed it on the counter, and hit the Stop button on top of it. It dinged twice.

  A gasp from Honey dragged my focus back to her face. Her eyelids fluttered, her mouth opening and closing.

  Crap, what was going on in her head? I suspected this was Prudence’s doing, but what if Honey was diabetic or epileptic? I dropped the spoon and grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing, throwing my Prudenc
e aversion aside. “Honey, open your eyes,” I said in a calm, firm voice.

  Her eyelids continued to flutter, but her mouth stopped its dying fish routine.

  “Honey, if you can hear me,” I thought of something that might pull her back from wherever, “Dickie needs you up in the attic to film some antiques.”

  Her eyes closed. She started to lean backwards, pulling me forward until I stumbled on the toes of her boots, but then I caught the counter and braced myself. She seemed to snap back upright, almost head butting my chin.

  She coughed and gasped a couple of times before meeting my gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that? What?”

  “Do you remember anything that happened in the last few minutes?”

  She touched her jaw, and then frowned down at her hand. “Yuk, is there something on my chin?”

  “You were drooling.”

  “Oh, gross! I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Do you have any medical conditions that would cause you to have a seizure?”

  She leaned back against the counter, shaking her head.

  I put my arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you into the sitting room and settled on the couch. I’ll bring you something to drink.”

  She let me lead her out of the kitchen. “How long was I out?”

  “I don’t know.” I pointed at the leather sofa, moving her toward it. “I walked in the kitchen a few minutes ago and found you looking catatonic, holding the …” Wait a second. I remembered the way the camera was pointing. She’d been filming herself. “Out of curiosity, when prepping for a show like this, do you ever film yourself talking into the camera?”

  “No.” Honey dropped into the couch cushions, her frown deepening. “I was in the kitchen.”

  “I know.” I thought we’d established that already.

  “No, you don’t understand,” she leaned back into the cushions, covering her eyes with the heels of her hands. “The last thing I remember is filming that upstairs bedroom that looks out over that huge pit next door.”

  “You don’t remember coming down here?”

  “No. I remember hearing you coming up the stairs as I focused on a weird drawing on the wall and that’s it. Then I woke up in the kitchen, drooling like a zombie.”