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

by Ann Charles

  “When it comes to your ranch, I want to be in control of what juicy stuff they hear.”

  “You can never tell which way a pickle’s gonna squirt.” He waggled his fingers at Honey as she approached with her cell phone in one hand and her camera bag over her shoulder

  “Just try to be good,” I whispered through a big smile and rolled down my window. “Hi, Honey.”

  “Morning.” She glanced back at the hotel. “Dickie will be here shortly.”

  “This is Willis Harvey.”

  Harvey leaned forward. “You can call me Bill.”

  I did a doubletake. Bill? I mouthed.

  Harvey winked at me.

  “Nice to meet you, Bill. Thank you for letting us take a look around your ranch today. I hear you might have a ghost for us to see.”

  “Maybe more than one. I’ll introduce you to Bessie, too.”

  I smacked Harvey’s leg.

  “Who’s Bessie?” Honey asked.

  “My guardian angel.”

  Here we go again. I was thankful that Dickie was walking out the hotel lobby doors so that we could get one step closer to the end of today.

  After introductions were made, we cruised on up Strawberry Hill and south on State Route 385. Several twists and curves up a winding gravel road and we bumped into Harvey’s ranch.

  “Home sweet nightmare,” Harvey muttered.

  Shooting him with a pointed glare, I stopped in front of his porch and killed the engine. “How about we start inside and finish with your old family cemetery?”

  “Is the cemetery close by?” Dickie asked as he joined Harvey and me on the front porch.

  “Just two whoops and a holler past my old barn there.” Harvey pointed toward the barn, behind which we’d found part of a human scalp with the ear still attached back in July. But Dickie didn’t need to know that detail.

  “Let’s say ‘Hello’ to your pappy’s ghost, shall we, Bill?” I said to Harvey, pulling open the screen door.

  Harvey led the way.

  An hour later, we’d traversed his house and the barn and inside his attic. Luckily the only excitement had been in the barn when a rat had raced across the top of Honey’s boots, making her scream and high-step for a few seconds. Other than critters, Harvey’s place was nice and quiet on the ectoplasmic front.

  “Let’s drive back to the family cemetery now.” I stepped out onto the front porch, holding open the screen door for everyone to follow. I had a feeling that the sooner we could get back to town and away from this place, the sooner my tension headache would break.

  Dickie and Honey were wrapping up, videotaping Harvey’s commentary about the history of his family’s ranch.

  I heard a suckling-snorting sound behind me and looked around to find Red, Harvey’s fat yellow dog, splayed out on the porch while chewing on what looked like a dirty, old boot.

  “Hey, Red,” I let go of the screen door and walked over to the old dog. “Can’t you find something better to chew on?”

  Red spared me a few pants and then returned to tugging on the leather uppers. The eyelets and hooks looked like tarnished brass. They were probably pricey boots before Red got ahold of them.

  The screen door creaked open. “What’re you buggin’ old Red about?” Harvey asked me.

  I pointed at the boot. “He’s eating one of your boots.”

  Harvey shuffled over. “That ain’t my boot.” He bent over with a grunt and tugged it free of Red’s jaws. When he held it up, a dollop of slobber dripped from it, splatting on the porch right next to my taupe-colored, open-toed suede bootie.

  I grimaced at the saliva-coated leather and the dirty sock jammed partway in it. “I supposed that isn’t your sock either.”

  The screen door creaked as Dickie and Honey joined us on the porch.

  Red whined up at us, licking his chops.

  “This here?” Harvey reached into the slobbery mess and pulled out the sock with his fingertips. “Nope. Wool makes me itch all over.”

  “I know all about your issues with wool.” Too much.

  “What’s in there?” Honey asked.

  I frowned as she approached, wishing I’d ignored Red and his chew toy. “You mean the boot?”

  “No, the sock.” She pointed at the toe. “There’s something in it.”

  “Probably a dead mouse,” I said, hoping to scare her back a step. It worked.

  Harvey tipped the sock upside down and shook it out on the porch. A collection of bones rattled onto the boards, along with chunks of what looked like light tan turkey jerky.

  The three of us bent over to get a closer look.

  “Is that …” I gasped and stood upright so fast that stars floated through my vision.

  “They look like metatarsals and phalanges,” Honey whispered, a mixture of awe and disgust in her tone. She gaped up at me. “You don’t think …”

  “Yep,” Harvey said. “I do think so.”

  “What is it?” Dickie asked, horning in on our circle.

  “The partial remains of a foot,” Honey answered. She reached for her camera. “We need to get this on film.”

  “Oh, shit,” I muttered, kneading my forehead with my palms.

  Dickie pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He lowered onto one knee and peered even closer. “Look at the dried pieces of skin. These must be really old.”

  I frowned at Harvey. “Cooper’s head is going to explode when you call him.”

  “Me?” Harvey dropped the sock and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I ain’t callin’ Coop. I did it last time. It’s your turn.”

  “No, I called him last time.”

  “But ya blamed me.”

  “Who’s Cooper?” Dickie asked.

  “Deadwood’s detective.” I pointed at Harvey. “And Bill’s nephew, which is why he’s calling.”

  “I’d love to get an on-camera interview with Mr. Cooper,” Honey told Dickie. “I have release forms in my camera bag.”

  Staring down at the bones, Harvey shook his head. “What we got us here is a hair in the butter.”

  “More like the whole damned scalp.” I grabbed my phone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Parker,” Detective Cooper said when he joined Harvey and me in the kitchen an hour later, “would it be too much to ask for you to go one month without finding a body?”

  “It’s only a foot.” I met Cooper’s glare head on. “And it’s not even fresh.”

  “You’re splitting hairs.”

  “Besides, I didn’t find this one, the dog did. I just called it in for him since his English isn’t so good.” I sipped on the cup of black coffee Harvey had made while we waited for Cooper and several members of the sheriff’s department to finish studying the boot and the bones. “Maybe you should make Ol’ Red your partner. He has a better track record at sniffing out clues than you. Harvey could get him one of those Sherlock Holmes hats.” I chuckled at the image of Cooper and Red in my head.

  “Are you done?” Cooper asked.

  “Almost.” I grinned at Harvey. “Dickie and Honey could start an all new television series about Cooper and Red’s crime-solving adventures.”

  Harvey’s gold teeth glinted. “They could call it The Canine and the Cop.”

  “I love it. Ol’ Red gets top billing.”

  Cooper scrubbed his hand down his face. “I think I’ll throw you both in jail this time, and let Red eat the key.” He took the cup of water and ibuprofen his uncle was holding out for him. “Thanks.” He gulped them down and then grimaced across the room at where Dickie and Honey were talking with one of the deputies. “What’s the story with those two?”

  “They’re here to film your great grandpappy’s ghost,” Harvey answered.

  “My boss has me showing them around,” I added. “They have a reality TV show called Paranormal Realty. They’re in town to scout out filming locations and plan their show.”

  Cooper squinted from me to Harvey and back. “You two are going t
o be on television together?”

  “I hope not,” I said.

  Harvey hooked his thumbs in his suspenders. “Your uncle’s gonna be a big star, boy.”

  “The world won’t know what hit it.” Cooper pulled a key from his pocket and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  Harvey nudged me with his elbow. “I think you’re going steady now.”

  “The key to my garage.”

  “Why do I need to get into your garage?”

  Harvey nudged me again. “Maybe he’s keeping his case board there and saving you the hassle of breaking and entering this time.”

  “I didn’t break and enter last time.” I had a key then, too.

  “No, but you did trespass,” Cooper said.

  “Now you’re splitting hairs.” I held up the key and raised my eyebrows.

  “I’ve cleaned up the garage so you can let buyers see it when you show the house.”

  “What about your motorcycle?”

  “Reid’s storing it for me for the winter.”

  I closed my fist around the key. “How’s Reid doing?” I hadn’t seen the poor guy since Aunt Zoe had clocked him.

  “He’s limping along.”

  I worried my lower lip. When I’d mentioned Reid’s name to Aunt Zoe yesterday as a litmus test, there’d definitely still been an abundance of acid.

  “Coop,” Detective Hawke said, stepping inside the front door and coming our way.

  I caught the scowl that flitted over Cooper’s face before he fit his stony mask back into place.

  “What?” Cooper’s back seemed to stiffen as he waited for Hawke.

  “The sheriff needs you outside.”

  Cooper cursed under his breath. Head down, he strode out the door.

  “Parker,” Detective Hawke turned his burly brow my way. “There’s nowhere to run and hide today, Chicken Little.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, bracing for whatever Hawke had been wanting to badger me about for the last few days. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

  “Relax, Parker. I’m not a proctologist.”

  He’d sure been a pain in my ass since our first meeting.

  The detective pulled a pen from his blazer pocket. A pad of paper came next, which he flipped open. He clicked his pen, shooting me a wincing glance. “How’s your temper today?”

  I kept a poker face. “That depends on what your pen writes down on that pad of paper.”

  “Don’t take your frustrations out on my pen, Parker.”

  “If you’re that concerned about it, maybe you should deputize it and threaten to arrest me if I lay a hand on it.”

  Harvey snickered and handed me a couple of ibuprofen. “You’re probably gonna need these by the time he’s done.”

  I needed them an hour ago. I chased the pills with a drink of water and then lifted my chin. “I’m waiting, Detective.”

  “According to your statement on the Hessler case, you were romantically involved with Wolfgang Hessler.”

  I frowned as the gears ground in my head. “What … wait … Wolfgang … why are … who said …” I stopped, my tongue untangling, and skipped beyond the first five W’s that had tumbled from my lips. “Let’s get something straight. I was not romantically involved with that man.”

  “Did you not write in your official statement that you’d gone on a date with Hessler?”

  “Yes, we did go out to The Wild Pasque once, but that hardly constitutes romantic involvement.”

  “And did you not also state that you were on a dinner date with him again the evening he took you to his house and tried to light you on fire?” Hawke flipped his notebook back several pages and read, “He said he had to kill me because he loved me.” One thick eyebrow was raised when he looked up at me. “Those were your words, weren’t they?”

  I sputtered again. Harvey slapped me on the back. “Yes,” I said when I’d pulled myself back together.

  “So have we fully established that you were romantically involved now?”

  “No, you’ve established that I was romantically involved with Wolfgang by misconstruing the events that took place during the two dates I had with a psychotic murderer. I would disagree and say that since he and I exchanged only three kisses during our brief client-Realtor relationship, and one was forced upon me while I was tied up and on the verge of being barbecued, this was more a case of me selecting the wrong recipient for some misguided flirting.”

  Hawke scribbled something in chicken scratch while shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work, Parker. It’s no wonder Coop keeps a bottle of whiskey in his desk drawer these days.”

  “Leave me out of Cooper’s problems.”

  “Fine. How long have you been friends with Wanda Carhart?”

  “Friends?” I looked over at Harvey, who mocked zipping his lips.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call them friends,” Harvey stepped in on my behalf. “It’s not like they get together for beer and chit-chat about who knocked up who and whether the baby-daddy knows about it.”

  Hawke smirked at Harvey. “Are you her lawyer now?”

  Harvey harrumphed. “Maybe I am.”

  My phone rang. I glanced down at the screen and saw Natalie’s name. Whew! Perfect timing.

  “It’s my boss,” I deadpanned to Hawke. “I need to take this or I could get in big trouble at work.”

  I turned my back on his suspicious gaze and answered the call. “Hi, boss, what can I do for you?”

  “Did you just call me boss or hoss, as in Hoss Cartwright from Virginia City?” Natalie asked, her voice sounding tired.

  Why in the hell would I call her Hoss? She knew I was more partial to Marshal Matt Dillon, all tall and handsome with that sexy, commanding voice of his, not Bonanza’s Cartwright men and their drama. Dressing up like Miss Kitty was one of my favorite Halloween costumes. Maybe I could convince Doc to put on a cowboy hat and U.S. Marshal badge this year for trick-or-treating with the kids and me. He was almost as big as James Arness.

  Where was I? Oh, right. Putting on an act. “Yes, I’m still stuck out here at Harvey’s place.”

  “What’re you doing at your bodyguard’s creepy ranch?”

  I glanced over at the detective, who was watching me like a … well, a Hawke. “No, I’m not alone, but I can find a private place.” I tilted my phone away from my lips. “I need to step outside, Detective. How about we continue your version of the Spanish Inquisition another time?”

  “Violet, what the hell’s going on?” Natalie asked in my ear.

  “Just a minute, please,” I said into the phone and then palmed it. I didn’t wait for Hawke’s answer. I rushed past Dickie and Honey and out the door. Edging around the crime scene tape, I weaved through the sheriff’s crew.

  Privacy awaited me over by the clothesline between the barn and house. I leaned against one of the poles and soaked up the bright October sunshine flickering in between puffy marshmallow clouds. The cool fall wind toyed with the end of my scarf. I should’ve grabbed my jacket on the way out.

  “Hey, Nat. Sorry about that. I’m in a bit of a pickle here.”

  “Why are you at Harvey’s place talking to Detective Cooper?”

  The odor of exhaust coming from one of the sheriff’s cars idling by the barn tickled the back of my throat. “Actually that was Detective Hawke. Cooper is busy talking to the sheriff.”

  “Detective Hawke? You mean Cooper’s new partner?”

  “Actually, I found out he’s an old partner. The scuttlebutt is that they used to work together down in Rapid City, but then Hawke screwed him over and Cooper transferred up here to Deadwood.”

  “So Cooper really must not be thrilled about any of this.”

  “He’s swearing more than usual these days.”

  “Why is the sheriff out at Harvey’s anyway?”

  I caught the end of my scarf, tucking it into my neckline. “Harvey’s dog found a boot.”

  “This is the same dog
that found that guy’s head?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Damn, that dog has a nose for trouble.”

  I practically heard that punch line clunk on the ground. “That was lame, Nat. Try again.”

  “How about this: Sounds like old Red is good at sniffing out trouble.”

  “No, that was worse. You should just move on.”

  “Fine, but Cooper needs to partner with that dog.”

  I laughed. The breeze whipped up, carrying it away. “Great minds think alike.”

  “What’s the big deal about this boot?” Natalie asked.

  “There was still a foot in it.”

  There was a long pause from her end, and then, “Holy shitballs of fire.”

  “Well, actually, it was a few chunks of dried flesh and the bones, so not like a whole foot, still juicy, ankle and all.” I shuddered at the thought of that, turning my back to the mayhem buzzing around the front porch.

  “What are you, Violet? Some kind of human magnet for missing body parts?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if I’m cursed.”

  “Maybe some old gypsy woman has it out for you.”

  Either one of those would help make sense of my run of bad juju since coming to Deadwood. “Of course, the TV people that Jerry has following me around had to be here to see it.”

  “What did Jerry say about this when you told him?”

  “I haven’t yet. I figured I’d wait to see what the sheriff said before I crossed that bridge.”

  “What’s Cooper think? Is it another murder?”

  “Cooper’s not saying anything, as usual. Harvey heard one of the deputies complain about probably having to spend the day scouring the graveyard behind Harvey’s place to see if the boot came from there.” I frowned up into the trees that climbed the hillside next to Harvey’s house, peering into their shadowed underbellies. Was something up there watching us hop around like vultures picking at a fresh kill down here?

  “I would think a freshly dug grave would be easy to spot.”

  I rubbed over the goosebumps on my arms. “I asked Cooper if it might have come from that cave nest where they found those remains and other nasty stuff months ago.”

  “What did Deadwood’s favorite detective say?”

  “The butthead told me that was police business.”