Meanwhile, Back in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 6)

by Ann Charles

  “You haven’t saved me. He’s still bugging me every other day.”

  “Well, stop looking for trouble and he won’t.” He glanced around the parking lot, and then focused back on me, lowering his voice. “Listen, I need your help.”

  I looked behind me and then back at him. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, I’m talking to you. Knock off the wiseass shit.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I want to go out to the ranch again.”

  “And you want me to go with you as your Realtor?”

  “No, as Nyce’s helper.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to see what Nyce picks up on his ghost radar.”

  “Why do you need me for that?”

  “Because when I talked to Nyce about it on the phone earlier, he said he won’t do it unless you come along, too.”

  “He did?” I wondered what that was about. Doc could do his medium song and dance without me.

  “Yes. He expressed concern about what he may find out there and mentioned that you two work as a team now, so if you go, he’ll go.”

  “We’re a team now? Wow, that’s like a form of commitment, don’t you think?”

  Cooper hit me with look of disbelief. “You must be confusing me for one of your girlfriends, Parker, because I could swear you just asked me about your relationship with your boyfriend? What’s next? You want me to tell you what shoes to wear on your next date?”

  I bared my teeth at him. “You know, if you want me to say ‘Yes’ to this field trip of yours, you should be a little nicer to me.”

  “Fine.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Yes,” he continued in a robot voice, “that did sound like a form of commitment to me.”

  I snorted at him. “You really do have a heart made of rusty iron, don’t you?”

  “Whoever told you I have a heart?”

  We stood there mired in a glare standoff for several heartbeats. Then I suddenly felt worn thin, tired of the tension coiled around me and tightening by the minute. “I’ll think about it, Detective, but not because you so rudely asked me to do it. It’s your uncle’s ranch and I’m more worried now about his welfare after finding that body in his barn.”

  “I thought I asked nicely.”

  “The word please didn’t once cross your lips.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  I thought about poking them in a Three Stooges move.

  “I’ll let you know when I think we have a clear window so that Nyce and you can work your little magic trick.”

  “If you’re going to be a skeptic out of the gate, I might change my mind.”

  “Christ, you’re a royal pain in the ass.” He reverted to his robot voice. “I promise to keep an open mind about your ghostly friends.”

  The ghosts were definitely not my friends, especially Prudence and her hair-raising ventriloquism act. I was dreading returning to her lair with the film cameras in tow, especially with how irrational she was getting about her missing box of teeth.

  Box of teeth … a bell dinged in my head. Oh, hey! Here was a golden opportunity! “Before I agree to go out to the ranch, I have one demand you need to fulfill.”

  “This is not a hostage situation, Parker. You don’t get to have demands.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m holding Doc hostage. If you want us to go out there, I need you to do something for me.”

  “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Nope.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Name your price.”

  “I want those teeth that are tucked away in your evidence locker down at the station.”

  “No.” He didn’t even take a moment to think about it.

  “Okay then,” I grabbed the knob on the back door. “Fun talking to you as always, Detective. Good luck with that ghost hunting business of yours.” I saluted him. “Who you gonna call and all that jazz.”

  “Parker!”

  I didn’t even flinch under his barbed glare. “No teeth, no deal, Detective.”

  “You have a lot of fucking nerve.”

  Of course I did. I was a killer. “You have no idea.”

  Without further ado, I left him standing there huffing and puffing, probably daydreaming about blowing my house down.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tuesday, October 30th

  Meanwhile, back at the Galena House …

  The next morning, I rushed out of the house before the kids were awake, choking down a lemon bar as I scrambled into the Picklemobile. The camera called extra early today. Yesterday Jerry had reminded me that I needed to make sure I answered on time, dressed as his own personal Barbie doll, minus the big boobs, impossibly tiny waist, and high heels-ready feet.

  As I drove to the office, last night’s surprise visit from my parents replayed in my head, prompting frowns from the woman in the rearview mirror. Why did my parents have the uncanny ability to choose the worst possible moments to walk in the front door?

  Take that time many, many full moons ago when I was living under my parents’ roof with two young toddlers in tow. I had gone to a chamber of commerce function in Rapid and met a nice, middle-aged couple who were kind and funny from the get go. They were entrepreneurs who sold what they called “Evening Activewear” for couples and talked me into hosting a sales party for them, promising me a nice profit for my time.

  Being young and stupid, I had agreed, having no idea that inside of their Evening Activewear sales trunk were odd and somewhat frightening sex outfits that came with interactive toys. Even more jaw-dropping was the live demonstration they performed right there on my parents’ living room shag carpet in front of Aunt Zoe, Natalie and her current loser boyfriend, and a sweet old couple who lived down the street. To make horribly uncomfortable matters even more squirmy, my parents returned early from their movie and ice cream date with my two toddlers right in the middle of the S&M sampler display, which included a whip, a leather thong, one of those ball-in-mouth muffles, and a first aid kit containing a large tube of antibiotic ointment.

  To this day, I am not allowed to have any friends over at my parents’ house besides Natalie. I was hoping they’d make an exception for Doc if the time ever came to introduce him.

  The on-the-carpet sex sales show was just one example of Mom and Dad’s history of inconvenient interruptions. The time they didn’t knock before entering my dorm room in college and caught me in the midst of getting a hands-on breast exam from a hot guy in my Chemistry 201 class was another. Their appearance in Aunt Zoe’s drive last night as I was climbing out of the Picklemobile after a day of beating myself up for being the world’s crappiest mother added one more instance to the ever-growing list.

  My mother did not need to know about Layne’s black eye. She’d questioned my single-parenting abilities enough over the years without evidence of my failures, often trying to set me up on dates with her version of the perfect potential father material for my twins. But no amount of makeup would hide that black and blue puppy before Aunt Zoe had supper ready for all of us. In the end, I washed my cover-up off his face and made Layne and Addy both swear an oath of silence about school and Doc—neither of which I wanted to talk about in front of my parents.

  Downstairs, I’d explained the black eye deal by claiming there was a bully on the loose at school, which wasn’t exactly lying since the bully may or may not be their grandson—time would tell. But throughout supper, while Mom had coddled and baby-talked to my son, Dad had shot me looks edged with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief.

  I never had been good at hiding the truth from him, not back when I swore the entrepreneurs hadn’t performed any sexual activities in his favorite recliner, or last night during dessert when I’d told him the kids and I were getting along great up here in Deadwood and then crammed my gullet full of Aunt Zoe’s famous lemon bars.

  By the time Aunt Zoe and I waved them goodbye from the front porch, the kids were in bed and I was practically asleep on my feet. W
ith a starring role in front of the camera coming again bright and early, I’d kissed Aunt Zoe goodnight and headed to bed. Sleep had come surprisingly fast. The nightmares even faster, one in particular starring my son in a bleak, rage-filled future as a serial killer. The crowd outside his jail cell chanted how his mother had driven him to it, their cries echoing long after I’d woken up drenched in sweat.

  Criminy, this parenting business was going to turn me into a silver-haired, shriveled hag by age forty.

  I parked behind the office, stopping in only to make sure we were still on for the Galena House. Jerry made eye contact as if I hadn’t caught him and Mona in a lip lock yesterday. Mona was still inspecting her fingernail polish when the three of us were in the room together.

  Ray texted me while I was powdering my nose in the office restroom: Get your ass over here, Blondie. We don’t have all day.

  I typed back: Funny, I don’t remember signing up to receive inspirational texts from the president of Dickheads Anonymous.

  Before he could reply, I shoved my phone in my purse and headed out the back door.

  Twenty minutes later, I passed Rosy the Riveter on the way up the front walk of the Galena House, her camera focused on the front of the square, two-story boarding house.

  She thanked me for the coffee I’d stopped to grab, promising to make me look better than Loni Anderson and Dolly Parton combined in exchange for the caffeine hit.

  Dickie and Honey were huddled up in the Galena House’s downstairs hallway when I crested the porch steps. As I approached, handing a coffee to Dickie, Honey stepped back and turned aside, letting out a rally of sneezes.

  “Excuse me,” she said, taking the hot tea I’d brought her. “Thank you for this.”

  I nodded, looking around. “Where’s Rad?” I’d grabbed a hot tea for him, too, since he’d been so sick the last couple of days of filming.

  “Back at the hotel room sleeping,” Honey said, and then sneezed again. “He’s too sick to film, was up coughing all night.”

  “He should probably get that checked out,” Dickie said, slurping down some coffee. “You better take some cough medicine, too. It sounds like you’re going down next.”

  Honey shook her head. “I’m fine, it’s just allergies. These houses and buildings are so old and full of dust.”

  “And ghosts,” Dickie added. His gaze traveled over my dark red blazer and straight black velvet skirt, ending at my black boots. He saluted me with his coffee cup. “Nice outfit today, Violet. You’ll look great on camera.”

  “Thanks,” I said, keeping mum that it was one of the outfits Jerry had picked out and bought just for this occasion. The fewer people who knew that I had less clothes sense than a retired pro-basketball player the better.

  “Anyone see Ray around?” I wanted to stay on opposite sides of the hall from him if at all possible today.

  “He’s upstairs in Miss Tender’s apartment using the facilities.”

  I checked the time on my phone. Ohhhh, poor Freesia. I could set my watch by Ray and his daily trip to the litterbox.

  “Violet, we should be ready to set up for your part in about fifteen minutes,” Honey said, swiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “Do you need more time to practice your lines or are you ready to roll?”

  “I’m ready.” I’d practiced while getting dolled up this morning. I held up my phone. “I’m going to make a quick phone call out on the front porch.”

  She gave me a thumbs up and then focused her energy on fussing over Dickie, reminding me of my mother last night with Layne.

  I passed Rosy coming in through the main door on the way, her camera balanced on her shoulder while she sipped from her coffee. “Thanks again, Violet. You da’ bomb.”

  Some days I felt very bomb-ish, the atomic variety.

  Outside on the porch, I pulled up Doc’s number on my phone.

  “Morning, Tiger.” He sounded sleepy. It must have been a late poker night over at Reid’s place. Their weekly game had been moved up a day due to Halloween.

  “Are you still in bed?” I’d rather be there with him than hanging around a haunted boarding house.

  “If I say yes, will you come over and perform a wake up service in your purple boots and those matching panties with the pink heart on the front?”

  “Hey, who told you about my Halloween costume?”

  “You wear that and we’ll never make it to the bar.”

  “Promises, promises.” I stepped down the front porch steps, turning my face up to soak up some rays of sunlight shining through a break in the clouds. I could use more sunshine in my days and more of Doc in my nights. “So, who was your fourth for poker?”

  “Willis.”

  “I thought he had a date.” Why else would Harvey have sent me a text yesterday afternoon that asked: Boxers, a leather thong, or commando?

  “He didn’t mention anything about one.”

  I heard the beep of Doc’s coffeemaker. Coffee was ready. It was nice to start my day without Cooper chewing on me for once, although Ray’s not-so-friendly follow up texts were waiting in my phone’s message box.

  “How was your night?” Doc asked. “You didn’t get a whim to do some early trick-or-treating at any more morgues, did you?”

  “No dead bodies for me, but my parents dropped by.” I wondered how Doc felt about meeting them. If he were as skittish about it as I was? If we’d reached that stage in our relationship yet? If we ever would?

  “They drove up from Rapid City just to say, ‘Hi’?”

  “And drop in for supper.”

  “Did you have a good visit?”

  “Not really.”

  “What happened? Your sister didn’t tag along, did she?”

  “No, but I sort of had a problem I didn’t want them to know about.”

  I heard his pantry door creak open. “What kind of problem?”

  “Layne has a black eye.”

  “Really? I didn’t think Addy had hit him that hard.”

  “It wasn’t Addy. I got a call from his school principal yesterday.” I gave Doc a condensed version of the story, nodding at Honey when she stepped out to give me the five minute signal.

  “Did Layne tell you why he picked the fight?”

  “No. He didn’t want to talk about it, and with my parents there last night, I didn’t make him.”

  There was a long pause from his end. I checked my phone screen to make sure I hadn’t lost his call. Then he spoke, “How do you feel about me stopping by your aunt’s place to talk to him on my way to work?”

  “You want to talk to Layne?”

  “Yes, man-to-man, no mother or sister or great aunt involved. Unless that makes you uncomfortable.”

  I was actually wondering if it would make Layne uncomfortable being that one possible reason for his aggression might be Doc’s presence in our lives. “You think he’ll be more willing to open up to a man?”

  “Maybe. There are things that go through a boy’s head that might not be something he wants his mother to know because she might not understand.”

  I could believe that after growing up with my own flower-child mother, but I was curious about something. “Are you speaking from experience?” Doc’s mom had died when he was young, but there could have been other women in his young life. His grandmother, maybe.

  “I come with the same equipment as Layne, and I’ve been in my fair share of brawls.”

  I hesitated, happy that Doc was willing to try to help with Layne, yet feeling torn about giving up some control over my kids to someone else, someone besides Aunt Zoe or my parents. I’d been playing solitaire in this parenting game for a long time. In spite of all my whining and bitching about how hard it was, part of me wasn’t sure I was ready to share my children on that level.

  “It’s just an offer to help, Violet. Don’t feel obligated to take me up on it.”

  I didn’t, but we had to start somewhere if Doc really planned to stick around like he’d mentioned.

/>   “It’s worth a try,” I said, keeping my fingers crossed that Layne would be on good behavior and that Doc wouldn’t press my boy too hard for answers. Then again, maybe Layne did need to be pressed. Maybe I was being too molly-coddling and making things worse.

  God, I wished children came with an instructional video on how not to screw up their lives from the get-go.

  Honey popped outside again, giving me the one minute finger.

  “Doc, I gotta go.”

  “Okay. Call me after you finish the big romance scene where you get messy making pottery with your ghost lover’s help.”

  I chuckled. “Good looks and you’ve watched a romantic movie.”

  “I tend to think of it as a paranormal suspense.”

  “Come on, Ghost is definitely a romance.”

  “Oh, hey, I meant to ask you if the rumors are true?”

  “What rumors?”

  “The ones about you winning the next lightweight boxing championship belt. Last night during the game, Cooper gave us a demo of your knockout boxing moves.”

  Damn that detective! “Cooper has a bucket mouth.” Just like his uncle.

  “Did you really go at him with your patented windmill swings, Tiger?” The laughter in his voice was all but tumbling out of my phone.

  “Cooper’s lucky I didn’t knock him on his ass.”

  “God, I wish I could have seen that.”

  “You’ve seen me make a fool of myself in front of Cooper plenty of times before.”

  “I actually think you managed to impress him with it.”

  “Well, I do have a wicked wind up.”

  He outright laughed at that.

  Ray strode out onto the porch. “Shut it down, Blondie. They’re waiting for you.”

  “Time’s up,” I told Doc. “Let me know how it goes with Layne.”

  “Will do if you promise to stop by and show me some of your moves later.”

  “Sure. You’ll be impressed.”

  “I always am. Break a leg, Tiger.”

  I hung up and shoulder bumped Ray back a step as I passed in front of him. Jerry had warned us that we needed to say nice things to each other and not fight in front of the TV people, but he hadn’t mentioned whether checking the dickhead into the boards was a no-no. Wait, that was a hockey reference, not basketball. I needed to keep my sports metaphors straight.