by Ann Charles
Silence.
Her pickup was out front, though. I called her name a few more times before heading out the back door and along the stone path to her glass workshop. A peek through the window found her sitting at her worktable with a pencil in hand and design pad spread out in front of her.
I joined her inside, closing the door behind me. Her workshop hadn’t changed since I had been a kid. Block and metal tools hung from a pegboard on the wall over her workbench. Next to the currently unlit furnace sat a basketful of heat resistant sleeves and mitts. Glass pieces of different shapes and designs were strewn everywhere on flat surfaces throughout the room.
The place smelled like cinnamon thanks to the air fresheners Aunt Zoe used to offset the odors that came with her line of work. Willie Nelson’s voice played through her stereo speakers, singing about being a highwayman. If I closed my eyes, I could be ten years old again, visiting for the summer.
“Violet,” Aunt Zoe’s surprised voice interrupted my trip to the past. She checked the clock over her workbench. “It’s a bit early for lunch, isn’t it?”
“I’m not here to eat.” I hopped up on her worktable next to the sketch she was drawing. “Is that a new vase?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. Her chair creaked as she leaned back. “Why are you here?”
“What are those?” I pointed at some designs on the side of her vase drawing.
“Ribs.”
“Vases have ribs?”
“Violet Lynn, answer my question.”
I looked up from the drawing and held her blue gaze. “Wilda Hessler wants Cornelius to kill me.”
A storm of emotions crossed her face, from eye-widening shock to dipped brows of confusion to lip-tightening worry. At the end, vertical wrinkles of anger were left in the storm’s wake. “Boy, as if that little brat hadn’t wreaked enough havoc when she was alive. Who’d have figured she’d be worse after death?”
“She’s trying to drive Cornelius crazy with her constant malicious whispering. He said that he’s afraid he’ll start following her commands soon just to shut her up.” I rubbed my arms, feeling a chill where there wasn’t one. “Wolfgang said something along those lines that last night we were together.”
Only he’d already done several grisly deeds per her bidding and those hadn’t satisfied her vindictive lust.
“Cornelius is serious? He’s not just playing this up for drama’s sake?”
I understood why she’d ask that. Cornelius was known around town and down at the cop shop for his eccentric garb and odd actions. “No, he was more of a scared and honest Abe this morning than an eccentric Ghost Whisperer.” I told her about his messy suite, stained robe and boxers, and bloodshot eyes.
“Did he out-and-out say that Wilda wanted him to kill you?”
“Yep, me for starters was how he put it. I’m on her A-list.”
Aunt Zoe sighed. “You can’t catch a break, can you, child?”
I shook my head. Not with Wilda, nor with Tiffany. I was turning into a well-hated woman around town.
“So, what do you think? Can I do anything to help Cornelius?”
Aunt Zoe chewed on her lower lip. “Executioners usually deal with the living.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“But not always.”
I kicked my feet. “You mean like demons?”
“No, demons infect a living body and take it over, which allows you the opportunity to kill it—although it’s not as simple as stopping the heart.”
“It’s not?”
“No, but that’s a discussion for another time.” She gave me the stink-eye. “When we have the book back.”
“I told you it’s around here somewhere, I’m sure of it.”
“You’d better be right about that.”
“I’ll find it, I promise.”
Aunt Zoe nodded once.
“If not demons, what were you referring to when you said we don’t always deal with living things?”
“Take Prudence, for example.” Aunt Zoe picked up her pencil and started doodling on her sketchpad. “She’s a ghost, clearly not living, and yet you are interacting with her.”
“More like she’s forcing herself upon me.”
“And then there’s Willis’s great grandfather.”
“You mean Grandpappy?”
She nodded. “You were able to talk to him and he’s long dead.”
“Yes, but that was only with Doc’s help.”
“So you say, but the point is, you—an executioner—talked to him—a ghost.”
And I talked for him as well as evidenced by the audio recording Cornelius had taken of that séance. While Harvey and Cooper had been asking their long lost relative questions, I had been answering away unbeknownst to me while I was lost in the past. Actually, I wasn’t answering for Grandpappy, merely repeating what his ghost said to me as I stood there next to him in the dark on their family’s ranch. It all still made my head spin, but Doc and Cornelius had long, strange paranormal terms to describe what had happened, so apparently it made sense to them.
“So, you think that with Doc’s help, I could actually talk to Wilda?”
“Maybe.”
“Hmmm.”
“You don’t sound happy about that answer.”
I laced my fingers together and frowned down at them. “What if I don’t really want to talk to Wilda?”
“Why not? I thought that’s what this conversation was all about.”
“Because she scares the dickens out of me.”
Aunt Zoe rested her hand on top of my laced fingers, her skin warm and comforting. “She can’t hurt you.”
“Do we know that for sure?”
“Don’t you think she would’ve by now if it was possible? Why do you think she uses others to do her bidding?”
She had a point. “What if she uses Cornelius against me when I’m in the midst of reaching out to her?”
“Do you think he’s that far gone already?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, maybe you need to have your bodyguard there to protect you from Cornelius.”
“Harvey?”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Then again, maybe it could hurt … as in Wilda hurting me, Cornelius, even Doc. I hopped down and paced in front of Aunt Zoe. “What can I possibly say to Wilda to make her stop trying to kill me?”
“Let me think on that a little more.”
“Wouldn’t it be best if I could figure out a way to make her go away for good?”
“Of course, but that’s not your job.”
“I could give it the old college try while she’s standing in front of me.”
“And potentially expose yourself to something worse.”
“What’s worse than a psychotic little girl ghost trying to make my friends kill me?”
“A psychotic little girl ghost whispering in your ear to make you kill your family and friends.”
“Jeez, Aunt Zoe.” I stopped pacing and shivered. “That’s really creepy. I’m probably going to have nightmares about that now.” I was serious about that. My mind seemed to be collecting new nightmare fodder left and right.
“You’re the one who asked.”
I pointed at her. “Remind me not to have you tuck me in and tell me bedtime stories anytime soon.”
She chuckled but then sobered quickly. “Truth be told, Violet, I don’t know if you confronting Wilda is a good idea, let alone safe. Opening doors that are usually closed can lead to unwanted visitors coming through.”
“I can’t let her do to Cornelius what she did to her brother.”
“I understand, but you need to make sure this is a charge you want to lead.”
“As opposed to what?”
“Letting Doc try his hand at it.”
“Wouldn’t that put him at risk for Wilda to possess him?”
“Possibly.”
“And he’s more susceptible to ghosts than I am.” We’d pr
oven that several times during visits to Prudence and others. How strong was Wilda if she set her sights on Doc?
I returned to pacing the floor, unable to hold still.
“You’d know that better than me.”
“I need to put a stop to that little bitch’s reign of terror.”
Aunt Zoe frowned at me. “There’s something else.”
Her tone alone gave me pause. “What?”
“Isn’t Cornelius’s suite where you saw Kyrkozz?”
I stopped my memory from replaying that ghastly scene before the film could get rolling. “Yes.”
“I thought so.”
“Why do you have that worried look in your eyes?”
“There’s a possibility another unwanted guest could appear there again.”
“Such as Kyrkozz,” I whispered.
“Or worse.”
What could be worse than an orange-eyed, black pustule-covered demon who liked to make an entrance via breaking out through my ex-boyfriend’s skull?
“True,” I rubbed my clammy palms together. “But at least this unwanted guest might be one I could actually kill.”
“Sure.” Her eyes darkened, a cloud passing behind them. “Unless it kills you first.”
* * *
Unless it kills you first.
With those words echoing through my head, I returned to work and tried to focus on the exhilarating world of real estate. When that didn’t keep me from chewing my knuckles about Wilda and Wanda, I claimed I had an appointment to meet a potential client up in Lead and escaped to my SUV.
Doc was not going to be thrilled about another séance in Cornelius’s hotel suite. The last time we’d tried it, Doc had been bombarded with thirteen ghosts wanting to take whatever he could offer, which wasn’t more than a brief chance at inhabiting a living body once more.
He was going to be doubly unthrilled to hear it was with Wilda that we needed to mix and mingle. She had “passed through” him one time before, knocking the wind out of him. I doubted he’d enjoy another visit with the freaky child who’d poisoned her father and possessed her brother to the point of insanity.
But I couldn’t do this without his help. I wouldn’t want to do it without him, either. The two times I’d reached out into the darkness when Doc wasn’t there had resulted in what Aunt Zoe had warned about—opening the door for unwanted, terrifying guests. Doc had ways of playing bouncer at these so-called doors, controlling who went where during séances, using abilities that boggled my mind.
Me? I just tried to kill what needed to be killed and hoped I lived through it.
Since I was out and about, I decided to run over to Central City and pay a visit to Jeff Wymonds’s house, one of my listings. He and I had an open door policy, which meant that anytime I wanted to stop by his place, I was welcome inside even when he wasn’t there.
Jeff also had let me know once upon a time that if I wanted to drop by while he was there and play a little hokey-pokey in his bedroom, possibly filling my oven with one of his baby buns, all the better. Although last I’d heard he had a girlfriend and was practicing his baby bun baking in her oven, so I was probably off the hook for impregnation by the friendly but testosterone-flooded bozo.
Wymonds’s truck wasn’t in the drive. That didn’t surprise me since it was the middle of the day on a Monday. He should be at work for a few more hours, which was why I wanted to drop in now. With worries about Wilda weighing on my brain, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to Jeff’s R-rated comments about his experiences with his new girlfriend’s pierced tongue.
Since he wasn’t home, I didn’t bother ringing the doorbell. Instead, I opened the lock box and let myself inside. The whole time I kept thinking about how Cornelius had pleaded with me before I’d left his suite to help him get rid of Wilda. It was so out of character for him to beg, and that’s what really spurred me to bring in the cavalry.
I needed to get a hold of Doc and see if he was coming to supper tonight. If so, we could step outside again and talk about Cornelius’s ghost problem and what Doc thought could be done to help get rid of the little brat.
As I scooped up four Realtors’ cards from the bowl I’d left on the dining room table, I realized I wasn’t alone.
Someone was breathing in the kitchen.
And moaning.
My heart shot off the starting line at a full-on sprint.
Slowly I turned around to face whatever was waiting for me in the kitchen.
The sight of Jeff’s thong-flossed butt cheeks at the counter made me recoil in surprise. My gaze lifted to the bare-chested, tattoo-dotted woman on the counter in front of him with her head tipped back and her nipple rings bouncing while Jeff worked hard at filling her baby oven.
“Oh my God!” I wheezed, dropping the business cards.
“What the hell!?” Jeff looked over his shoulder at me without breaking his stride. His angry brow smoothed at the sight of me standing there with my jaw on the dining room floor. “Oh, it’s you, Violet Parker.”
I covered my eyes, but my hand was too late. I’d seen too much to ever return to the happy land of Swiss mountains and twirling nuns.
“I’m almost to the end zone here,” Jeff reported in from the playing field. “I’m driving in for a touchdown any second now.”
His girlfriend cheered, “Go, Big Daddy, go!”
Dear Lord, it was football sex.
That was it. My poor brain split in half, both sides flopping around and gasping like dying fish. There was no way on earth that I was sticking around for the post-game show.
With the peanut butter sandwich I’d eaten back in Aunt Zoe’s sex-free kitchen threatening to come blasting up and out through my pie-hole, I raced out the door. I didn’t stop until my SUV was parked several miles away at the Piggly Wiggly in Lead.
Why, dammit?
Why did they have to pick today to have a nooner?
Why had there been no cars in the stupid drive?
Why did I have to see the father of my daughter’s best friend with his pants around his ankles?
And why was Jeff wearing what looked like a woman’s lacy red thong?
I had a gut-rollicking feeling that the sight of those bouncing nipple rings on his girlfriend’s tattooed chest was going to stick with me until death did us part.
Hey, there was an upside to being murdered after all. I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life having that scene replayed in my brain every time I saw Jeff Wymonds.
Sighing, I rested my head on the steering wheel.
How was I going to do walk-throughs of that house after today? I could hear the play-by-play that would go on in my head every time …
To your right is the kitchen. Notice the beautiful maple cupboards and tile countertops on which the previous owner had football-themed sex with his girlfriend while she wore the gold nipple rings he bought for her back in October.
I banged my forehead on the wheel, wishing I could remove the sordid sounds and images from my memory.
I’d learned a lesson today. No more open door policies with my clients. If I ever walked in on old man Harvey having sex, I’d undoubtedly turn into a pillar of salt.
My cell phone rang.
I looked down and saw the name Jeff Wymonds on the screen.
“Oh, hell no.” I sent it to voicemail and went inside the grocery store to wash my eyeballs in the bathroom sink.
When I came back outside, Deadwood’s Fire Captain—otherwise known as Aunt Zoe’s old flame—was leaning against my driver’s side door.
“Hey, Sparky,” Reid Martin’s dark blue eyes twinkled, his lips smiling along with his salt-and-pepper mustache.
Reid looked like a mid-fifties version of Sam Elliott, deep voice and all. He’d broken Aunt Zoe’s heart years ago and it had taken her a long time to glue it all together again and move on with her life. But now Reid was back, willing to face off with her shotgun if it meant having a second chance at winning her love. He swore he wouldn’t run from
commitment and wanted the opportunity to prove it, but Aunt Zoe had built an impressive fence around her mended heart. It was going to take a lot of climbing for Reid to get inside. Time would tell if he had the stamina to make it over the top and back down the other side, but he seemed pretty damned determined these days.
“Good to see you, Reid.” And I meant that, especially since he had his pants on and no lacy thong showing. I looked around the lot, seeing his red dually fire department pickup sitting a few rows over. “You shopping for food for the rest of the crew or just grabbing a late lunch?”
“Lunch. I saw your vehicle when I came out.” He glanced around and then stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I need to talk to you. Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure.” I took a drink from the bottle of water I’d bought to help wash away the bad taste of catching Jeff in mid-sex. “What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to Zo.”
“She’s out in her glass workshop today. She’ll probably be there most of the night, too.”
“Did she have a big order come in?”
“Yeah. The owner of that fancy gallery over in Jackson Hole is opening three more in some upscale resort towns in the Colorado Rockies. He needs her glass pieces by the first of December before the ski season really kicks off.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is that the same guy she went to Denver with last month?”
I grimaced. “Yes.”
And the same guy whose place she’d stayed at for a night during that trip, but Aunt Zoe had insisted each time I’d prodded for details that their friendship was purely platonic. It seemed the gallery owner was recently divorced, and Reid had taught her all about getting burned by newly divorced men. She wasn’t going to make that same mistake twice, even if the gallery owner looked a bit like George Clooney.
Reid kicked at a stone. “I’m glad she’s keeping busy.” He didn’t sound very glad at the moment, but I was relatively certain it had to do with who was buying her pieces, not the work itself. “Is she taking the shipment over to Jackson Hole?”
“Seems like she said he’d be stopping by at the end of the month with a trailer to pick it all up.”
I couldn’t tell by his guarded expression whether that was good news or not. “How about you invite me over for supper tonight?”