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

by Ann Charles

  Honey led me up the stairs to the attic where the fun and games and filming would commence today. Freesia was waiting up there on the sidelines; her smile spread further up her face at the sight of me.

  “Hi, Violet.” She came over. “You look smokin’ hot, girl. How’s show business treating you?”

  “Like roadkill skunk.”

  That made her giggle. “Have you seen Cornelius lately?”

  Boy, Freesia sure had a moose-sized crush on Abe Lincoln, Jr. If Cornelius had his head screwed on straight … no, never mind. There was no way in hell Cornelius’s head was on straight. Some days I wondered if it were attached at all.

  “I saw him last week,” I whispered, aware that Rosy was about to give us the let’s get rolling cue. “Any Realtors come by in the last few days to look around?”

  She shook her head. “We both know it’s a bad time to try to sell a house, especially a haunted boarding house that was the setting for multiple, bizarre murders over the years.”

  “Don’t give up hope yet. I’m in the process of wrapping up a sale for a house with a bloodier history than this place.” If the Carhart house could sell after all that had gone on under that roof, the Galena House had a sure-fire chance. I just needed to find buyers with the right mindset.

  “Really?”

  I nodded. “You know, I was thinking that maybe I can put an ad on the same ghost-lovers website where Cornelius first saw The Old Prospector Hotel advertised.” Or was it a magazine? I’d have to ask him the next time I saw him.

  “Hook another ghost groupie?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you know if Cornelius is planning to go to any Halloween parties?”

  Maybe her attraction to Cornelius was more like an obsession, or a fetish for men who wore stove pipe hats and long woolen coats.

  “He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about a party.” At her forlorn expression, I felt compelled to add, “but I can certainly ask him and let you know what he says.”

  Her smile returned, reminding me of the sunshine poking through the scattering of dark clouds outside. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Ready, Violet?” Honey sneezed before she could catch it, and then turned away to blow her nose. The poor woman was sinking right before our very eyes.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Two hours later, I’d gone through my lines more times than I could remember while Rosy moved around, filming from different angles each time. With Rad and his camera out of commission, Rosy needed to make it look like I was being filmed by multiple cameras so that the show kept its same look and feel on the screen.

  Now it was Dickie’s turn to work his medium magic on screen over and over, which truth be told made me want to giggle with the way he added periodic swooning to his smoke and mirrors show. Although after the last séance Doc, Cornelius, Freesia, and I had performed in Ms. Wolff’s apartment downstairs, Dickie’s claim that he was sensing a dark and menacing presence in the Galena House attic wasn’t far from the bulls-eye. I wouldn’t call the white haired, scythe-wielding juggernaut in Apartment 4 on the first floor “dark,” but he certainly had scared the bejeezus out of me that night with the way he had come at me swinging.

  In between takes, I got Honey’s okay to head downstairs and return a call from a new client who’d contacted me yesterday searching for a mid-priced three bedroom house in the area. To avoid being heard on camera in the attic, I made the call on the front porch.

  When I finished lining up an appointment, I headed back inside, choosing to ignore the call and voicemail from Cooper that had come in while I was on the line. Aside from Ray’s earlier occasional glares between my takes, my morning was missing its usual second cup of angst, thankfully. I had a feeling listening to Cooper’s voicemail would dump a whole pitcher of worry over my head.

  At the base of the stairs, I hesitated, glancing down the hall at the door to Ms. Wolff’s apartment. One of the pieces of police tape had come unstuck and was lying on the floor. I tiptoed down the hall trying to be as quiet as possible and plucked up the piece of tape. Out of curiosity, I tried the doorknob. It turned easily, unlocked.

  Why was the door unlocked? Cooper had been insistent about Freesia keeping this apartment a no trespassing zone. Had Freesia let the film crew in? No, Dickie’s charm wasn’t that persuasive. What about Ray? Had he sneaked in for a peek? Had he let Rosy in while Freesia wasn’t looking?

  I pushed open the door enough to stick my head inside and sniff, checking for evidence of Ray. With the way he was flea dipping in Stetson for these filming days, I should be able to tell if he’d been in the apartment. The place smelled of stale wood varnish and old plaster walls, as usual.

  I started to close the door when the sound of a clock cuckooing from inside stopped me cold. My head cocked; my ears went into canine mode as I listened for the sound of movement inside. Of all of the times I’d been in Ms. Wolff’s apartment since that first ghastly time with Harvey, I hadn’t heard any of the clocks cuckoo. They’d only ticked and ticked and ticked.

  I stood there on the threshold with my ear shoved in the crack of the open door, counting the cuckoos. When I reached thirteen and the number was still climbing, I pulled my head back and frowned at the little grandfather clock brass knocker on the outside of the door. What was going on? Was one of the clocks broken? How many times was it going to cuckoo?

  Glancing around to make sure there were no surly Deadwood detectives snarling behind me, I pushed inside the apartment. I quietly closed the door behind me and leaned against it.

  I stood there listening to the cuckoos, my heartbeat picking up rhythm to match my breathing. Nothing moved in the apartment, at least nothing that I could see in the kitchen to my left or in the dining room at the end of the hall. It took a quick self-pep rally to encourage my feet enough to walk down to the clock-covered walls.

  When I stood in front of the wall staring at all of those freaky-ass clocks, I noticed two things. First, Cooper hadn’t been lying; there were several missing from Ms. Wolff’s large collection. Second, and here was the real head scratcher, none of the cuckoo mechanisms on the clocks were moving. As in none of them were showing evidence of cuckooing, yet I could still hear the clock going off loud and clear.

  Was I losing my mind? Had I slipped into a parallel universe? Was that even possible? Or was the ghost of Ms. Wolff messing with me? No, according to Doc she wasn’t hanging around, but the ghost of Freesia’s uncle, Jake Tender, could still be here after what had occurred with Doc during that nearly deadly séance a few weeks ago.

  Or maybe what I was hearing was coming from one of the clocks hanging in Ms. Wolff’s bedroom. I tiptoed through the living room, avoiding even a glance at the corner where Harvey and I had found Ms. Wolff’s tangled body such a short time ago.

  In Ms. Wolff’s bedroom, the cuckooing continued just as loud as before, the volume consistent no matter where I moved through the apartment. Also, as I’d noticed in the dining room, a few clocks were missing from the wall above the dresser and none of those remaining were showing signs of cuckooing.

  What in the hell? Was I hearing things? Hallucinating? Could Freesia and the film crew hear the cuckoos up in the attic?

  I looked around the room, catching sight of myself in the dresser mirror. Skirting the bed, I stood in front of the mirror, straightening my jacket, trying to see myself through the eye of the camera.

  Something moved behind me.

  I gasped and whirled, adrenaline roller coastering through my veins.

  Nothing was there besides the open door, the bed, the other dresser, and the wall of ticking clocks.

  That damned cuckooing wouldn’t stop!

  Turning slowly back to the mirror, I stared at my reflection again, everything blurring around the edges.

  Then I saw it again. There just over my shoulder. On the wall. Something was moving.

  I stepped a few inches to the left and focused on where I’d seen the movement.
In the mirror’s reflection, one of the clock mechanisms was circling.

  I looked over my shoulder, staring at the actual clocks not their reflections, and they were as still and lifeless as the rest of the apartment props.

  Back in the mirror, the cuckoo popped out again and again, the scene carved below it circling nonstop on its track.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, I mapped which clock it was with my pointer finger, since several of them looked alike except for the finer details—fourth from the right, diagonally above the other dresser.

  As I counted, an idea struck me. Something I’d seen from a movie where a message was left on glass, invisible until it was steamed up. I leaned even closer to the mirror and breathed on it, making a small circle of fog. Nope, nothing.

  Sliding over to where Layne’s photo had been stuck in the frame before, I huffed on the glass, the circle wider this time. Still nothing.

  I moved to the center and did it once more. This time there was a small mark in the upper middle. I stood up on my toes and nearly touched my nose to the mirror, taking a deep breath—

  BOOM!

  Something slammed into the mirror, making it rattle.

  I screamed and scrambled backward, my hamstrings connecting with the edge of the bed, making me fall flat on my back on the mattress.

  I lay there staring at the mirror, listening to that infernal cuckooing while my breath rushed in and out.

  Was that real? Had I actually heard something hit the mirror, or was it just my imagination?

  When nothing else happened, I stood up, my eyes locked onto my reflection. Behind me in the mirror, the cuckoo bird still popped in and out. I took a step closer to the mirror, ever so slowly reaching my finger out again to touch it.

  BOOM!

  The mirror shook in its wooden frame.

  I yipped and yanked my arm back.

  BOOM!

  It rattled again, the pounding incredibly loud, like the crack of thunder when lightning strikes too close.

  BOOM!

  Holy shit! There was something on the other side of the mirror trying to break through.

  Was it someone with white hair, snake eyes, and a blood splattered ax? Had we somehow trapped the juggernaut on the other side the last time we’d played around in the paranormal world? Could he actually break through and come into this dimension? Had I been watching too much Twilight Zone after the kids went to bed?

  BOOM!

  My feet didn’t wait around to figure out any answers. I raced out of the bedroom and flew across the living room, wincing as another boom resounded from the bedroom. I wasted no time getting out the front door, yanking it closed behind me.

  I held onto the doorknob for several seconds, my eyes squeezed tight, waiting to see if the knob turned on its own in my hand, scared to death it would.

  The sound of the cuckoo clock was muffled by the wood and the blood pounding in my ears.

  The doorknob didn’t twist or turn, thank God. I would have probably screamed the house down if it had. I had no desire to face off with the ax-wielding albino again now that I knew his blade could take me out of the—

  “Parker!”

  I screeched and leapt back away from the door.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Detective Cooper stood glaring at me from the other end of the hall, just inside the front door of the boarding house. “You know you’re not supposed to go near that apartment.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him about what I’d seen and heard on the other side of Ms. Wolff’s door, but then thought twice and squeezed my lips closed.

  He stalked toward me, his face rigid. “Why is the tape on the floor?”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  I stepped back when he got close. He scooped up the loose tape. “You didn’t use that master key to go inside, did you?”

  “No.” I hadn’t needed a key at all.

  He reached out and turned the doorknob. It was locked. He rattled the door while he squinted down at me, double-checking whether it would budge.

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t have it in me at the moment. Why was the door suddenly locked? I certainly hadn’t taken the time to twist the lock during my panic-filled evacuation.

  “Well, what the hell were you doing here?”

  “I thought I heard something in there.”

  “Don’t you mean someone?”

  “No.” I licked my lips, nervous to voice the question on my tongue.

  “What did you hear?”

  “A clock cuckoo.”

  He pressed his ear to the wood. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Hmmm.” Crap. Why was I still hearing it?

  “It’s probably just your cuckoo brain making you hear things.”

  “Probably.” I was happy to let him insult me for the moment if it meant not getting my ass chewed out for trespassing behind crime scene lines.

  His gaze narrowed as he stared hard at me. I got the distinct feeling he was going all Matrix on me, trying to scan my mind for rebellious plans.

  I pointed at the ceiling. “The TV folks are up there. I should get back to them.”

  “Come with me first,” he ordered, leading the way back out the front door. “I have something for you.”

  With one last peek at Ms. Wolff’s doorknob, I followed him. Outside on the porch, I could no longer hear the cuckoo clock, thank God.

  Cooper pulled a box from his coat pocket and held it out to me. “Here.”

  “What’s this?” I took it warily. “Did you buy me a corsage to wear to the prom, Detective?”

  “Real funny. You know, I have yet to figure out what has Nyce so infatuated with you.”

  “It’s my secret love potion.”

  “More like love poison.” He tapped on the box. “Quit wasting my time and open it.”

  I did. Inside the lid was another box, only this one had familiar Chinese markings on it. I shook the puzzle box I’d found in the attic at the Carhart house back in August. “Are the teeth still in here?”

  He nodded, glancing up and down the street. “Put it away, would you?” His tone was rushed, almost nervous.

  I stuffed the puzzle box back into the nondescript cardboard box he’d put it in. “You took this without getting permission?”

  “I borrowed it from the evidence locker for now.”

  “Will you get in trouble for that?”

  “That’s my concern, not yours.”

  “I don’t want to get you fired.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Parker.”

  “I don’t want you stalking me because I made you lose your job, making my life even more miserable than you already do.”

  A hint of a grin cracked his mouth. “Since I’m still part of the Carhart case, I have access.” He pointed at the box. “Now that you have the teeth, we have a deal.”

  I nodded slowly, still trying to piece together what I’d experienced in Ms. Wolff’s apartment. Why had the clock cuckooed only in the reflection? What if the juggernaut made it through the mirror? How long would I have before he hunted me down and started swinging at me again?

  “Parker.” Cooper waved his hand in front of my face. “What’s wrong with you this morning?”

  I shook off the cold fingers of dread that had started to wrap around me. “I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Yeah,” he frowned out across Deadwood’s rooftops. “Me either.”

  “That’s because you stayed up too late getting your butt kicked at poker.”

  “Or something like that.” He turned back to me, his eyes back to their lovely shade of piercing steel. “I’ll be in touch about our field trip to the ranch.”

  “I’ll be tingling in excitement until that moment.”

  “Tingle away, but you’d better keep your head down.”

  “You plan on running around with your guns blazing?”

  “No, but Detective Hawke is.” His eyelids narrowed, his gaze warning. “And you’re in his sig
hts.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Meanwhile, back in Scharfrichter Land …

  I avoided Ms. Wolff’s apartment and its damned infernal cuckooing the rest of the day, hanging out on the front porch while Dickie recorded a piece in front of the taped off door of what I figured would soon become the infamous Apartment 4 when the episode aired.

  Rosy hailed me as I was on my way out to the Picklemobile after we were done shooting for the day.

  I waited on the front walk for her to join me. She looked lopsided without her camera on her shoulder.

  “You know that house up in Lead where we’re going to be shooting later this week?” she asked.

  “The Carhart house.” Which I’d have to start calling the Britton house after Zeke and Zelda moved in next month.

  “Yeah, that one.” She moved closer, lowering her voice. “Your buddy Ray took Honey and me over there yesterday afternoon so I could start thinking about camera angles and lighting.”

  Ray was so not my “buddy,” but I let that one fly for the time being. “What did you think of the house?” I braced myself for a Prudence story, wanting to seem surprised if they’d witnessed something paranormal.

  “It’s a beautiful house.”

  “I know, right?” Zelda should put a sign with those words on it over the front door.

  “Anyway, we went inside and I shot some preliminary stuff, bits I could use to study back in my hotel room later.”

  “You’re very thorough.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t like surprises.”

  Rosy was going to love Prudence then. “Me either.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about them.”

  “Why me?”

  “Honey mentioned that when she was in there weeks ago, something happened to her and she blacked out, ending up in the kitchen drooling like a zombie.”

  Honey had been pretty freaky when I’d found her that day, her mouth catching flies, the whites of her eyes showing. “Yeah, it was pretty scary. I was worried she’d had a seizure or something.” I frowned at Rosy. “She didn’t do it again, did she?”