by Ann Charles
His gaze held mine, matching me glare for glare. “What are you going to do, baby? Call in one of your bodyguards to threaten me again?”
Not this time. “I will personally tear you apart, piece by piece.” Just as Natalie had been doing to his stupid Jaguar for months.
A door shut somewhere, the sound echoing off the nearby hillside.
Rex smirked. “You don’t scare me. I’ve always liked a woman with a bite, which your sister learned the first time we fucked in your bed.”
Once upon a time, that sucker punch would have knocked the wind out of me, but not anymore. “I swear to you, Rex, if I catch you anywhere near my children, I’ll—”
“Violet?” A familiar voice called from behind me. “Everything okay here?”
Ben Underhill, my other coworker besides Mona, joined us in the middle of the parking lot. He had his keys in one hand and a listing sheet in the other. His brown eyebrows were wrinkled as he glanced between Rex and me.
Ben had walked in on Doc and Rex and me that day months ago right after I’d issued my kidney-removal threat. He knew enough about Rex and me to see through the fake smile the slick prick had donned for Ben’s benefit.
“Everything is fine,” I said, letting go of Rex’s collar.
The searching look Ben gave me made it clear he wasn’t buying my lie, but he turned to Rex with a smooth grin that I’d seen him greet clients with time and again over the last few months. “Mr. Conner, I haven’t seen you around for some time now. Did you ever find a place to live?”
Rex continued watching me with that stupid smarmy smile in place. “I did,” he said, his tone dismissive.
“That’s good to hear. Is it in Lead or Deadwood?”
“Lead.”
Well, at least that put him a few miles away from me and mine instead of across the street in Aunt Zoe’s neighbor’s bed, where he’d been sleeping off and on since slithering into town. His days of spying on us may have finally come to an end—well, close-range spying, anyway.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Rex said, “Violet and I were in the middle of something.” He reached for my arm, but I dodged him and took a step back.
“Did Mona find you your new place?” Ben pressed, moving partway between Rex and me, acting as a five-feet-eleven-sized wall. “Or did you go through another agent?”
Rex sighed and set his sights on Ben. “Neither.”
“Darn. I’m sorry Calamity Jane Realty wasn’t able to help you with your lodging issue.” Ben pretended to scratch his neck and waved me away in the process. “Was there an ad in the paper?”
I took another step backward.
“No. I met someone who had a place available to rent.”
“A local?” Ben dogged him.
“He claims he’s been here for a very long time.”
I started toward Calamity Jane’s door, happy to make my escape. I’d bring Ben a latte tomorrow morning as thanks.
“In fact …” Rex raised his voice, undoubtedly for my benefit. “My landlord knows Violet well and has a message he wanted me to give her when I saw her next.”
Curious, I paused and looked back.
“Who’s your landlord?” Ben asked before I did.
Rex’s smirk returned, even oilier than before. “Dominick Masterson.”
Alarm sirens whooped in my head.
Ben glanced at me with a slight frown before asking Rex, “You’re living at one of Mr. Masterson’s properties?”
“Actually, I’m living in the suite over his three-car garage.”
Shit on a hot tin roof! What were the odds of Dominick becoming bosom buddies with my ex by mere chance? Likely one in a billion.
I ground my molars at this new chess move by Dominick. What was that saying about enemies? Something about round them up, force-feed them a bushel of hot peppers, and make them share a portable toilet stocked with a single roll of one-ply toilet paper? No, not that one. The other one from the nineteenth-century German professor whom I’d learned about in college. Oh, yeah—the best weapon against an enemy is another enemy. Was that Dominick’s game plan?
“What’s Dominick’s message for me?”
“He said you’ve been on his mind a lot lately.”
That wasn’t a big surprise, since I was supposed to be catching that damned lidérc of his.
“And that he’s looking forward to your next meeting.” Rex lifted his chin and puffed out his chest, reminding me even more of what a toad he was. Actually, that would be an insult to toads.
“Is that it?” No threats to kidnap my aunt and lock her away in his love-slave dungeon for decades?
Rex deflated. “Were you expecting something more?” When I didn’t answer, his eyes widened for a second, and then a sneer settled on his lips. “How intimately do you know Dominick Masterson, Violet?”
Of course the jerk’s mind went straight to the gutter.
I shrugged as an answer. “Consider your job done, message boy.” To Ben, I asked, “You heading out for a while?”
“Yeah. I have a meeting with a potential client. Jerry is still down in Rapid City and Mona is on her way back from a meeting with one of the members of the Deadwood Historical Committee.” He looked toward Rex, who’d walked away and was unlocking his Jaguar. “You want me to stick around to make sure he leaves?” he said under his breath.
I shook my head. “He’s done throwing his weight around for now. Thanks for running interference.” With a quick wave, I headed for Calamity Jane’s back door.
Ten minutes later, I was still pondering what Dominick was up to when it came to Rex. Was he keeping my ex under his thumb because he knew about Rex’s potential to derail me via my children? Or was he stockpiling people connected to me like some kind of living chess game? Was this a sort of backup insurance in case I tried to weasel out of catching his lidérc? Or did he believe that Rex mattered to me on some level and was trying to undermine me? If it was the latter, the joke was on Dominick. As far as I was concerned, he could turn Rex into a pillar of salt. At least then I could make use of him at the dinner table in lieu of child support when it came to keeping my kids fed.
While I tried to decipher the meaning behind Dominick’s message, the sound of someone coming in the back door made me stiffen. Rex better not have changed his mind about leaving me be. I palmed my stapler, ready for round two.
The clacking of boot heels followed soon after, along with the sweet smell of jasmine—Mona Hollister’s calling card. I set my stapler down.
She dropped her keys on her desk. “How was your late lunch with Detective Cooper? Is he interested in any of the listings you showed him?”
I’d sort of fibbed to her earlier about my meeting with Cooper this afternoon and excluded mentioning Harvey altogether. Mona knew a few things about my crazy other life, but only the ghosts and séances stuff. I hadn’t let her in on how I faced off with monsters of all sorts and beat them to smithereens with whatever weapon I could get my hands on in the heat of the moment—an old rifle, a crowbar, a war hammer, or my new mace, which I had yet to try out on an actual troublemaker.
I looked over at my auburn-haired coworker. Dressed in a form-fitting, gold sweater dress and a leopard print cashmere scarf that matched her leopard print boots, she managed to look both sophisticated and wild at the same time. Someday I hoped to reach Mona’s level of “adulting,” but for now I’d settle for managing not to spill coffee or cookie crumbs down my shirt for one whole week.
“I think Cooper is holding out for a place like Doc’s.” Which was where Cooper was living for now, along with his uncle and Red, Harvey’s lazy yellow Labrador. Meanwhile, Doc was playing house with me and my kids at my aunt’s place.
“Homes like Doc’s are hard to come by,” Mona said, settling in behind her desk. “Cooper might have to wait months for one of those jewels to come along.”
At one time, the notion of Cooper living at Doc’s place indefinitely would have made me stuff Addy’s swear jar full of
quarters within a day or two. But now that Doc was spending night after night with me, and my kids had warmed up to the idea of him eating breakfast and supper with us regularly, I wasn’t in any hurry to move Cooper along on his merry way. If Doc’s place was full of tenants, there’d be no rush for Doc to return to his bed instead of mine.
“If you hear of something coming up for sale,” I told her, “let me know.” I returned my focus to my computer screen and my worries about Dominick’s dastardly plans while Mona began clacking away on her keys.
“What are you going to wear for the big party coming up?” she asked me a few minutes later.
I turned her way. “What big party?”
Her fingers stilled. “Jerry hasn’t told you?” At my continued blank stare, she let out a little unhappy-sounding sigh.
My stomach dropped like a broken elevator. “Don’t tell me he has another ‘big marketing three-pointer’ in the works.”
Jerry Russo was an ex–pro basketball player who liked to score on the marketing court now that he’d traded in his sneakers for a real estate license. His competitive edge hadn’t dulled one iota since leaving pro ball, and the “full-court plays” he liked to run these days often involved Ben and me in grand schemes that made me want to hang up my real estate cape and relocate under the nearest rock. From billboard ads making me look like a 1950s pin-up girl and Ben akin to a gigolo for hire, to a paranormal television reality show that starred us acting as tour guides in local haunted houses and buildings, there was no limit to how far Jerry would go to make Calamity Jane Realty the top-ranked real estate agency in western South Dakota.
“Well …” Mona hesitated, frowning out through the plate-glass windows that faced Sherman Street.
“Out with it, Mona.”
“He’s rented Charles’ Club for the premiere of the Paranormal Realty show.”
Charles’ Club was Deadwood’s version of an old gentlemen’s club, minus the male-only restriction. It was located on Main Street above Chuckwagon Charlie’s. Tucked away behind frosted-glass doors, it sported all sorts of plush furnishings, including a gorgeous mahogany bar along one wall, fancy glass chandeliers, and three expensive red-felt pool tables in the back. The food was drool-inspiring and worth all of the bundles of cash they charged to eat it.
“So, he’s throwing a party for us?” I might be able to handle a small get-together on premiere night with just us employees and our family members if it meant free food and drinks at Charles’ Club.
“And he’s invited several influential business owners from Deadwood and Lead, along with a few from Rapid City.”
My left cheek twitched several times at that news. I covered it with my hand. “To what end?”
“You know Jerry. He’s always thinking bigger.”
Standing at well over six-and-a-half-feet in height, Jerry didn’t need to be thinking any “bigger,” dammit. His head was already in the clouds most days when it came to these madcap promotional experiments.
Mona took off her jeweled reading glasses. “Vi, I can see by your face that you’re not loving this party idea, and I understand your hesitation, but I see Jerry’s side, too.”
I sat back, crossing my arms. “Enlighten me to how Jerry linking me with haunted houses in this town where I’m already known as ‘Spooky’ Parker is a good thing.”
“He thinks this will make you and Ben look invested in the local communities and land you some new clients—or at least send some profitable referrals your way.”
I weighed her words for a few seconds, trying to look at this potential catastrophe from an outsider’s perspective. “Has Jerry seen some sort of sneak peek of the show?”
“Not that he’s mentioned.”
“Then why is he so sure this isn’t going to send Ben’s and my careers swirling down the crapper?”
“He told me that one of the producers contacted him a few days ago and informed him she is sure it’s going to be their most popular show to date. Deadwood is hot right now when it comes to ghost hunting, and the show’s top brass has put a significant amount of promotional dollars into it already.”
I cursed six ways from Sunday, making Mona wince, and then rattled off a hail of F-bombs as a grand finale.
When I paused to take a breath, Mona cut in with, “You should be happy about this, Vi.”
“Happy about looking like a lipstick-covered poodle in a pink disaster of a dress on national television?”
Jerry had picked and paid for my clothing for almost every day of filming. Pink apparently screamed “girl power” to him, because it was his color of choice when dressing me. Maybe I should buy him a Barbie doll of his own so he’d leave my wardrobe alone.
“It’s not national. The show only broadcasts throughout most of South Dakota and eastern Wyoming. Besides, that pink dress looked great on you.”
I groaned loud and long before keeling facedown onto my desk. I’d known that the show would eventually air, but now that the not-so-magical moment was almost here, I wanted to lock myself in my aunt’s basement along with my daughter’s chicken, Elvis. We could share her coop and live happily ever after on chicken feed and eggs.
“Well, at least only the few folks in this small part of the country who actually tune into the show will witness my on-screen faux pas.”
“Right,” Mona said, but there was something in her tone that made me look up at her.
“What?”
“What what?” she shot back, trying to act innocent.
“What aren’t you telling me, Mona?”
She grimaced. “The producer mentioned that they are hoping this series of shows will garner Paranormal Realty some national attention.”
“Series of shows?” I sat up slowly. “I thought it was a single episode.”
“Apparently, they had so much good footage that they made it a three-part series.”
“Sweet hell on wheels!” I wondered how Doc felt about relocating to South America with the kids and me. I heard they had great steaks in Brazil. Or was that Argentina?
“Violet.” Mona rose and came over to my desk, patting my shoulder. “Rosy says the shows are great. She helped edit them herself. You know she wouldn’t do anything to make you look bad on television.”
Rosy was a member of the camera crew for the Paranormal Realty show. She’d saved my bacon twice since showing up in Deadwood—first by deleting a scene she’d filmed that starred me and a creepy little ghost girl with a haunted clown doll who wants me dead, and second by hiring me to buy Cooper’s house last month, which was also one of my listings so I’d made all of the commission. I was a big admirer of Rosy, but this fan girl had her limits.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I told Mona. “I trust Rosy’s editing expertise, but there is no way I’m going to watch myself on television once, let alone in three different shows. I’ll go to Jerry’s premiere party for an hour and then excuse myself politely and go home to hide under the covers.”
Mona visibly cringed.
My eye twitched this time. “What now?”
“Jerry is renting four big-screen televisions to set up around Charles’ Club so that everyone will be able to watch the first show along with us. He wants to treat it like an exclusive, red-carpet screening party.” She picked up a pencil from my desk, fidgeting with it. “He’s determined to make Ben and you local stars.”
The ringing of my cell phone interrupted the second act of my swearing monologue.
I looked down at the screen and saw Zelda Britton’s name. Zelda was the owner of a previous home listing of mine that came with a condescending ghost who used to share my Executioner profession over a century ago before her throat was slit. Zelda often acted as Prudence-the-ghost’s understudy these days, including such “medium” performances as voicing the insults and acting out the slaps from the uppity Executioner when we conversed.
I sent the call to voice mail. The last thing I needed right now was to be disparaged by a dead woman about my inability to kill
bad guys the correct way.
“What if I don’t want to be a star?” I asked Mona, who’d returned to her desk. “What if I just want to sell real estate in a small town and enjoy my life the way it is?”
To be honest, there would be a few things I’d change given the option, such as relocating several “exes”—mine and Doc’s, for starters—to a bear-filled cave in Siberia, and making all of the spine-tingling “others” that I’d been dealing with lately disappear in a Samantha-the-witch finger snap.
“You need to tell Jerry that.” Mona rested her reading glasses back on her nose. “Because when I brought it up as a possibility, he couldn’t believe anyone would not want to enjoy a slice of fame and fortune.” She scowled over the top of her glasses. “I think he might have been hit in the head a few too many times with a basketball. But he’s sure easy on the eyes,” she added with a wink.
Mona and Jerry had a thing going, even though she denied it in the daylight. I didn’t know what had happened in the past between them and she wouldn’t tell me no matter how much I pestered her, but a while back I’d walked in on them in the midst of a back-bending kiss in his office. Lately, she swore there was nothing more to that kiss than curiosity, but I kept catching the looks she sneaked his way when she thought nobody else was watching.
My cell phone rang again. Zelda’s name showed on the screen once more. I reached toward the button to send the call to voice mail, but then hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t a Prudence-related call. Zelda’s husband might be out of town again and she might need some help.
“I’d better take this,” I told Mona and accepted the call. “Hi, Zelda. How are things up in Lead?”
“I think we have a problem,” Zelda whispered.
We? Was that the royal version of that pronoun, or did she mean me and her? “What do you mean? Did something happen to Zeke?”
“No, he’s fine. It’s Prudence.”
I glanced at Mona, who didn’t know I was on a first-name basis with the ghost in Zelda’s house, and I preferred it to stay that way. Mona was clacking away on the keys again, but I knew she was listening to my side of the conversation. “What’s going on?”