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

by Ann Charles

  “No.”

  Leaving the headlights on, Doc closed his door and leaned against the hood, frowning across at the old barn. I wondered if he’d picked up the scent of something foul, or if he were trying to figure out Cornelius’s reasoning along with me.

  “Then why do you want to have it in the barn?” Did he know about the faceless dead guy somehow? Had Detective Hawke been badgering him for information about me, too?

  “I’ve always wanted to have a séance in an old barn.”

  He had to be kidding me. “What’s the appeal?” I’d rather be warm and cozy tonight in Harvey’s dining room with all of the lights on in the house.

  “It’s spookier than the house.”

  Exactly. I didn’t need spookier. I was going to have enough trouble trying not to pee my pants tonight.

  I heard the rumble of a truck coming up the road. Seconds later, the vehicle bounced toward us along the potholed driveway. Squinting in the headlights, I was pretty sure I knew who was about to join our little party.

  The engine cut. The headlights clicked off. The driver’s door opened and shut.

  “Am I late?” Natalie asked, joining Cornelius and me on the right side of the Picklemobile.

  “Just in time,” I told her. “Cooper and Harvey should be here any minute now.”

  “Do you know her?” Cornelius asked me.

  Doc looked across the hood at me. “Did you tell her?”

  “Yes and no,” I answered both in turn. “Nat, you remember Cornelius Curion.”

  “Of course.” She lightly slugged Cornelius on the arm. “Who could forget that hat?” She rounded the front of the truck, leaning on the hood next to Doc. “So, what’s this clandestine meeting all about?” She pointed at Cornelius. “Did Cooper say it was okay to tell him about the ed-day ody-bay in the afe-say?” She switched to her top secret pig Latin.

  Cornelius frowned at me. “Where was the body?”

  I glared at Natalie. “Way to go, code talker.” I turned to Cornelius. “I didn’t think you understood that language.”

  “I don’t. I told you before, I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “Then how did you know about the dead body in the safe?”

  “There was a safe involved? Like a gun safe or bigger?”

  “You’re saying you didn’t just figure out Natalie’s code words about the dead body we found out here a couple of weeks ago?”

  “No. That is exciting news.”

  Not really. “Then how did you know about the body?”

  “I didn’t. Not that one anyway. I was referring to the dead body in the old cemetery you told me about on the way here.”

  “Cooper is going to put a bullet in your ass for letting that cat out of the bag,” Natalie told me.

  “Me? What are you talking about? It’s your fault.”

  “Speaking of Cooper,” Doc said. “I believe he’s coming up the road now.”

  While we waited for Harvey’s pickup to come up the drive, I asked where Claire and Katie were.

  “They’re on their way back to Arizona towing a moving trailer behind them.”

  Harvey rolled to a stop behind Natalie’s truck, his country music blaring through the closed windows. Cooper was out the passenger door before his uncle shut off the engine. “Who invited Ms. Beals?”

  “I did.”

  “This isn’t a public event, Parker.”

  “She needed to be here.”

  He scoffed.

  “What? She was here when we found the dead guy in the safe.”

  Not to mention that it was high time Natalie found out about this executioner business.

  Cooper stormed up to me. “You told Curion about the damned body?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “Jesus Christ, Parker. Why don’t you just start putting announcements in the paper?”

  Cornelius leaned over to me. “This kind of negative energy is going to fog the channels.”

  “Cooper can’t help it,” I said. “He was snapping at the doctor on the way out of the womb.”

  “Just ignore Coop,” old man Harvey said, sidling up next to me. “He’s got his bloomers in a twist about someone maybe catchin’ wind that we’re here.”

  “Will you get fired?” Natalie asked.

  “More like demoted even further,” he told her.

  “Now, Coop, I’ve told you before, there’s nothin’ wrong with writin’ parkin’ tickets for a livin’.”

  He nailed his uncle with a glare.

  “Whose grandfather are we summoning tonight?” Cornelius asked.

  “Mine.” Harvey buttoned his canvas coat. “Grandpappy was an ornery cuss who had a real likin’ for homemade hooch. He kept a still out back behind the barn. I got some bottles of it left down in my root cellar.”

  I’d tried Harvey’s family hooch recipe before. It stripped some of the varnish from my esophagus going down and finished the job coming immediately back up.

  “We’re going to need some of that hooch.” Cornelius grabbed his cases out of the back of the Picklemobile. “Plus something important to him. Better yet, something personal.”

  Harvey scratched his beard. “Well, if I remember right, besides the homemade hooch, he also liked painted ladies and guns—the bigger the better.”

  “Bigger guns or bigger ladies? Doc asked.

  Cooper chuckled. “Probably both.”

  “Did he have a favorite?” Cornelius asked Harvey.

  “Well, I remember a hip-heavy, strawberry blonde who went by the name … what was it … Ginger?” Harvey told him.

  “We’ll start with the gun.”

  “Grandpappy didn’t go anywhere without his ol’ shotgun.”

  “A talisman, perfect! Bring it to the barn.” Cornelius led the way.

  “What a great idea.” Cooper crossed his arms, taking that wide-legged cop stance of his. “Uncle Willis, why don’t you bring great grandfather’s double-barreled, sawed-off shotgun to the barn?”

  “Uh …” Harvey said, looking at me for help.

  Don’t look at me!

  Cooper’s glare landed on me. “Why is he looking at you, Parker?”

  “I don’t know.” I hid my twitching, telltale nose.

  “You could at least try to sound convincing when you lie.”

  I flipped Cooper off because he wasn’t on duty and couldn’t arrest me for anything.

  “Are we really having a séance?” Natalie asked Doc.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t the first time you guys have done this?”

  “It’s not,” I told her. “I figured it would be easier to show you than tell you.”

  “Show me what? You’re not going to sacrifice me to any demons or anything, right?”

  “Not tonight,” I said.

  “Good, because I’m not wearing the right underwear to lure in any demons. With these granny panties, I’d be lucky to reel in a drunken sailor.”

  “We need to get moving,” Cornelius called from in front of the barn doors. “Otherwise, we might not reach the ghost before midnight.”

  “What happens at midnight?” I asked.

  “We lose the moonlight.”

  “And that’s bad because … ?”

  Cornelius looked at me like I was fresh off the turnip truck. “Why, Violet, I’m surprised you don’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “Moonlight keeps the boogeyman away.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Meanwhile, back at the ranch …

  “This is stupid,” I officially declared from my bale of straw throne in the middle of the old grain bin room. The same place we’d found the faceless body.

  “Don’t be such a spoilsport.” Natalie giggled. “You look like you’re doing a photoshoot for a gun magazine.”

  I snarled at her, even though she was right. Cornelius’ bright idea for luring Harvey’s grandpappy was to put all of the ghost’s favorite vices in the
center of the room: his shotgun, his hooch, and his preferred type of hanky panky partner. Unfortunately for me, Grandpappy had always preferred blondes, so here I sat instead of Natalie, looking like a big dodo, holding one of the bottles of homemade hooch from Harvey’s root cellar and that ding dang sawed-off shotgun.

  “I don’t think this is going to work,” I said to nobody in particular.

  “Don’t be a skeptic, Violet,” Cornelius said from the sidelines where he was setting up one of the many meters he’d brought along. “You’ll throw us off balance.”

  “Should I start om-ing now?” Natalie settled cross-legged on the straw-littered barn floor.

  “Maybe we outta put Violet in a bikini,” Harvey said from where he leaned against the big safe. “Grandpappy always had a hog-killin’ time at the burlesque shows when they’d pass through Deadwood.”

  “I’m not wearing a bikini.”

  “She could just strip down to her bra and underwear,” Natalie offered on my behalf.

  “Keep it up, knucklehead,” I hefted the old sawed-off shotgun, pointing it in her direction, “and I’m gonna hobble your lip with some hot lead.”

  “Ya mean rock salt,” Harvey said.

  Cooper snorted at his uncle. “I still can’t get over how that old shotgun magically appeared tonight. It’s like a goddam miracle. Where did you say you found it again?”

  Harvey mumbled something and then looked away, pretending to study the rafters.

  I looked at Doc, who was standing off to the side watching us in silence. I wondered if he were ready for all of this. Neither Natalie, Cooper, nor Harvey had ever witnessed him at work. Was he feeling pre-performance butterflies like me? Or was he cool with being the center of attention?

  “What do you think, Doc?” I asked. The meager light from Harvey’s lantern would mask any of his usual signs that ghostly visitors had joined us.

  “Think about what?” He stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “Natalie om-ing? The shotgun miraculously appearing? Or you stripping down?” He ended with a wink.

  Harvey wheezed. “Oh, we know all about yer feelins when it comes to her unmentionables.”

  “Everything is ready.” Cornelius brought us back to the business at hand, the séance. He’d switched his stove-pipe hat for his one-horned Viking hat. That must have been in one of the cases that he’d stacked on top of each other to use as a makeshift chair. He looked me over like I was one of his contraptions. “What’s your state of mind, Violet?”

  Chaotic, I thought, as my gaze bounced around the shadowy room.

  Harvey frowned back at me while stroking his beard. “She looks like her banjo ain’t tuned quite right.”

  Natalie peeked through her lashes at me from her corner of the loony bin, her arms resting on her knees. “Her Zen seems kinked.”

  Cooper had his arms crossed as he glared from his uncle to me and back again. “Do you two realize that by hiding that fucking shotgun you’ve contaminated a key piece of evidence? It’s useless now.”

  My focus shifted to Doc. He nodded once, nudging his chin toward the empty corner of the room. I knew what that meant: we had wispy company in the room.

  It was time to get the show rolling.

  “I’m ready,” I told Cornelius.

  Doc came over and sat next to me on the bale of straw. “You ready, Killer?”

  Hell, no! But I nodded my head, anyway.

  “Take a drink from the bottle, Violet,” Cornelius ordered.

  I frowned at him. “This stuff will knock me on my ass.”

  “We need to attract Mr. Harvey’s grandfather,” Cornelius said. “Just one sip of his concoction.”

  But the ghost was already here … unless someone else was in here with us. I shot Doc a questioning look.

  He took the bottle from me and pulled out the cork. Tipping it back, he swallowed with a grimace. “Jesus! That’ll eat a hole clear through your stomach.”

  “She’s got a kick,” Harvey said, pride in his voice.

  Doc held the bottle out to me. “Let’s do this.”

  I took it, gagging down a big mouthful, coughing the fumes back up through my nose.

  “I said a sip, Calamity Jane. Not a slug.” Doc corked the bottle and looked at Cornelius. “Now what?”

  “Sit on the floor next to her boots.”

  Doc slid down onto the floor.

  “But remain in contact.”

  This was beginning to feel like a game of Twister.

  Doc leaned against my leg.

  “Should I do some more om-ing?” Natalie asked.

  “Audience participation should remain at a minimum now.”

  Cooper groaned, clearly having trouble believing this hokum.

  Doc pointed at the detective. “If Violet leaves the room, follow her, but don’t stop her.”

  Skeptic or not, Cooper nodded once.

  “I advise strongly against waking her, as well,” Cornelius said. “Retrieving a channeler or medium from another plane of existence can be very dangerous … for everyone.”

  “Where d’ya think she’s gonna amble off to?” Harvey asked.

  Doc stared up at me. “Somewhere I can’t follow.”

  “I’m not going to leave,” I told him.

  “I’m just taking precautions.” He turned to Natalie. “If she leaves, you need to pull me out immediately.”

  “But didn’t Cornelius just say that’s dangerous?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “But how do I even do that?”

  “Pinching or biting works best, I’ve found,” I told her.

  She laughed.

  I didn’t.

  “This is the real deal, isn’t it?” she said, sobering. When I nodded, her forehead wrinkled. “You have some explaining to do when this is over.”

  “What about me?” Harvey asked. “What’s my job?”

  “Your role is to speak to your grandfather,” Cornelius answered. “When I start, you’ll call to him, asking questions that will draw him out of the shadows.”

  I glanced at the corner Doc had pointed to earlier. I had a feeling the old ghost was waiting for his cue.

  “What sorta questions?”

  “Those to which only he will know the answer. Once he’s here, you can ask other questions.”

  “Like who committed the murder and why,” Cooper added.

  Harvey harrumphed, muttering something about getting stuck with the lousy cook wagon duties.

  Silence settled into the room. Something rattled up in the rafters. A piece of metal clanged somewhere outside of the barn. I could hear my heart beating, smell the straw and dust and dry-rotted wood all around me, feel the cool air trickling over my face.

  Doc leaned his head back against my thigh, closing his eyes. “Stay close, Killer.” He spoke so quietly that I wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it or I made it up.

  Cornelius began to chant his magical come hither song. He was using more guttural tones this time, reminding me of a pow-wow song I’d heard during a television special about the Lakota Sioux tribe.

  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, too. I tried to clear my mind, as Cornelius had taught me, by thinking about the flame of a candle.

  The flame flickered, shrinking and then growing several times, mesmerizing me.

  A breeze made it ripple, the tip swaying back and forth before straightening out again.

  It rounded, forming a perfect teardrop of fire.

  Then something blew it out.

  My heart thudded in the blackness, picking up speed.

  In the darkness, I heard a crunching sound, like someone eating a handful of corn nuts.

  I took a step toward the noise, but a hand caught mine.

  “Whoa there, Killer,” said a voice that wasn’t Doc’s. The tone was a little higher, slightly twangy, but the use of Doc’s new nickname for me kept me from pulling free. “Don’t go sniffin’ in the direction of that deviltry. I got somethin’ to show ya.”


  The hand tugged me along, pulling me into a silvery world lit by moonlight. We stood in what I thought was Harvey’s driveway, but his house looked different, smaller, missing the section where the master bedroom should be. I eyeballed the barn. It too was different. The neglected building was now obviously well-kept, shining brightly in the lunar lit world, freshly whitewashed.

  “This ol’ place used to make me as proud as a peacock with two tails.” The old man standing next to me let go of my hand. He tugged a dark glass bottle from his coat pocket and yanked the cork out with his teeth. “But then,” he spoke around the cork, “my addle-headed son—worthless as owl shit he was—ran it into the ground. That boy never could get it into his thick skull that liquor was fer pleasure, not breakfast.”

  Great Caesar’s ghost! Or rather Grandpappy’s ghost. Doc and Cornelius had done it. They’d managed to lure in Harvey’s grandfather. It sort of boggled my mind when I tried to wrestle with the time-space conundrum. I could use a few moments to wrap my brain around it all, but I had a feeling there was no time to sit and gather wool.

  Grandpappy pocketed the cork and tipped back the bottle. “Woo! That’ll put some hair on yer chest.” He held the bottle out to me. “Have a snort, purty lady.”

  I reared back. “I’m hairy enough, thanks.”

  He wiggled his bushy brows at me, reminding me of his grandson. “Don’t be flirtin’ with me now. It’s been a long time since I smelled someone as sweet as honeysuckle. Hell, my horns are so big, I can’t hardly get my hat on anymore.”

  While I pondered if that meant what I thought it did, he took another drink.

  Harvey looked a little like his grandfather, from the shape of his eyes to his open barn door ears and the slope of his forehead. Grandpappy’s beard was more scraggly, though. He was also taller and whip-cord thin, sort of a mixed version between his grandson and Cooper.

  Shrugging, he corked the bottle. “Have it yer way, but yer gonna wish ya had some of this here bottled courage after ya hear the cross-grained shenanigans those whangdoodles have been up to.”

  Whangdoodles. That was the name Harvey often used for the kooky folks who lived back in Slagton, a nearly ghost town located not far from this very ranch. Years back a mining accident had made the ground water undrinkable. It had thinned out the population except for a few stubborn oddballs who’d dug in their claws, refusing to abide by the EPA’s warnings and head for safer ground.