by Ann Charles
Claire frowned after the ornery goat. The last time he’d spread some joy with one of his announcements, she’d needed a six-pack of Dos Equis and a box of MoonPies to find her happy place. This called for an emergency fix. She leaned into the cab and popped open the glove box. Scrounging through the nest of ink pens and fast-food napkins, she grunted in satisfaction when her fingers touched the pack of menthols she’d stashed.
Her flip-flops slapped the asphalt as she followed him, the back of his green shirt patchy with sweat by the time she caught up. “All right, Gramps. Let me have it.”
His forehead wrinkled in a disapproving scowl at the lit cigarette dangling from her lips. “I thought you’d quit.”
“I did.” But that was before her love life had taken a Tasmanian-Devil-inspired spiral. “This is just a figment of your imagination, so stop stalling and spill.”
“Remember I told you somebody broke into Ruby’s place through the office window last month?”
“What?” She stopped in the middle of the road, momentarily forgetting about the thunder, the wind, and the sore spot between her toes where her plastic thongs rubbed.
Ruby’s office was practically a museum, full of expensive antiques collected not-so-legally by her first husband, Joe, who’d overdosed on potato chips, Marlboro cigarettes, and stress years ago and had been taking a dirt nap ever since. To Claire’s knowledge, only three people had any inkling of the treasures hidden in Ruby’s basement, and two of them were about to be drenched with Mother Nature’s dirty bathwater.
“I remember you mailed me a new key, no explanation included.” She couldn’t believe he was just now telling her this.
Gramps glanced over his shoulder. “You’d better move your ass before a bolt of lightning zaps it.”
She jogged up next to him. The wind whistled around them. “What got stolen?” She would’ve grabbed the first edition copy of Moby Dick. No, Treasure Island.
“Nothing.”
That made no sense. “Anything get destroyed?”
“Nope.”
“Then why did they break in?”
“We’ve been wondering that ever since it happened.”
She took a drag from her cigarette, savoring the slight cough-drop taste before blowing smoke into the wind. “What makes you so certain it was a break in?”
“Crowbar dents in the window sill and a busted lock.”
“Did you call Deputy Sheriff Droopy?”
“Yep. Ruby insisted since Jess lives there too.”
On the threshold of her sixteenth birthday, Ruby’s daughter, Jess, was at that know-it-all, boy-crazy age that caused her mother to swing between loving her unconditionally and wanting to duct-tape her mouth shut and send her to a convent.
“But since nothing’s missing,” Gramps continued, “the deputy’s hands are tied.”
“His hands aren’t tied. They’re super-glued to a cheeseburger.”
“Don’t start again, Claire.”
She had trouble biting her tongue when it came to the sheriff’s pathetic choice for a second in command. “You think the burglar was after the money?” A few months ago, Claire had found a wad of cash in Ruby’s office, stuffed in an antique desk—a goodbye gift from Joe.
“Ruby doesn’t, but I do. Jess doesn’t keep secrets well.”
The National Enquirer kept secrets better than Jess. Ruby needed to deposit the cash somewhere safe, but her hatred of banks and bank vice-presidents, especially Yuccaville’s one and only, rivaled Willy Nelson’s sentiment about the IRS.
Lightning flashed to their left. A resounding crack of sky-splitting thunder followed much too quickly. Claire winced and flipped-flopped faster. The smell of rain and wet earth hung heavy in the air.
“So, what’s Plan A? Track down the burglar? There has to be some clue left.” Something someone experienced at sleuthing, like Claire herself, could find.
Gramps groaned. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Did Droopy check for fingerprints?”
“I knew you’d go off half-cocked—”
“All you need is one hair for a DNA test.”
“—and end up getting into trouble, as usual.”
“I’ve been suspicious for months about that guy with the mullet and Care Bear tattoo who works thirds at Biddy’s Gas and Carryout.”
“But Ruby wanted you to know—”
“You should have told me before the trail cooled.”
“—since you and Mac are going to be running the R.V. park while we’re on our honeymoon. When is Mac getting here, anyway?”
Thunder boomed again, a closer teeth-rattling forewarning. Claire leaned into the wind, protecting her cigarette with her body as she took another drag. Now was not the time to mention that her relationship with Mac, Ruby’s nephew, was on the rocks—well, more like on the pebbles, but there were some definite rocks ahead. Maybe even boulders.
“Friday night.” Mac had been working four-tens at his engineering firm, Tuesday through Friday, for the last month.
“We’ve set you two up in my Winnebago.”
“What’s wrong with the spare bedroom?”
“It’s occupied.” Gramps’s face looked pinched, like he was sucking on an unripe grapefruit.
“Ruby has family coming for the wedding?”
“No.”
Was it Claire’s imagination or was Gramps walking even faster. “Then who’s staying in the spare room?” Gramps and Ruby had been sharing a bed since day one, so unless they decided to spend a little time apart before the big day, the spare should be available.
“That’s the thing I needed to tell you about.”
“I thought the break-in was the bad news.”
Gramps shook his head. “Katie is coming for a few weeks.”
Claire chuckled. “Come on, Gramps. Kate isn’t that bad.”
As far as younger sisters went, Kate was the typical spoiled favorite who never seemed to do anything wrong and whose ability to lie made used car salesmen drool.
Lightning cracked and sizzled.
“I agree. Katie is an angel.”
He would say that. Kate was taller, thinner, smarter, and never mouthed off to Gramps.
“But she’s not coming alone.” Gramps was practically running now. “She’s bringing your mother.”
“What?!” Claire skidded to a stop on the asphalt. The cigarette slipped from her fingers.
Thunder crashed and the sky fell.
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My Main Website: http://www.anncharles.com
My Deadwood Website: http://www.anncharles.com/deadwood
BIO:
Ann Charles is an award-winning author who writes romantic mysteries that are splashed with humor and whatever else she feels like throwing into the mix. When she is not dabbling in fiction, arm-wrestling with her children, attempting to seduce her husband, or arguing with her sassy cat, she is daydreaming of lounging poolside at a fancy resort with a blended margarita in one hand and a great book in the other.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Each time I sit down to write my “thanks” to all involved in creating one of my books, I’m amazed at how many people there are to include. For me, writing has never been a solo endeavor. With each book, I add more readers and editors and helpers, who all play a role in making my stories sparkle. Let’s see if I can fit all who helped me with DANCE OF THE WINNEBAGOS in the next couple of pages.
I always like to start with my husband, not because he keeps me and the kids fed and groomed, but because he helps me brainstorm, makes sure my male characters sound like real men, and picks me up and dusts me off every time I fall or get knocked down—which i
s often, since I’m a bit klutzy and should be banned from using sharp and/or pointy utensils.
Thanks to Corvallis Press for publishing this book, which deserved its time in the sun.
Thank you to my agent, Mary Louise Schwartz of the Belfrey Literary Agency. This book brought us together way back when. Now it’s finally time to celebrate it with the world.
Thanks to Mimi, aka the Grammar Chick, for your excellent editing help and for making me laugh every time we talk. Nobody can throw a peach like you, woman!
Thanks to my brother, Charles Kunkle, for hitting me in the head with a piece of gravel when we were kids. You knocked something loose, and I think all of the rattling around going on in my head makes my stories even funnier. Your awesome drawings of monsters will always inspire more stories.
Thank you to Mona Weiss for your incredible cover designs and for your patience as I waffle on this color and that.
As usual, a big thanks to Margo Taylor for all of your help in talking up my books, and to Dave Taylor for driving Margo here, there, and everywhere when needed. I also want to thank Judy and Frank Routt for your willingness to canvas Northwest Ohio and crow about my book to one and all there.
As always, I need to take a moment to thank all of those who have helped me over the years with critiques and read-throughs.
Thank you to the following for reading this book time and again and giving me the feedback I needed to make it shine: Wendy Delaney, Beth Harris, Jacquie Rogers, Sherry Walker, Marcia Britton, Mary Ida Kunkle, Amber Scott, Paul Franklin (for edits and research help), Joby Gildersleeve, Wendy Gildersleeve, Jody Sherin, Renelle Wilson, Marguerite Phipps, Denise Garlington, Stephanie Kunkle, Thea Taylor, Sharon Benton (the amazingly talented artist/hangman player), Susan Schreyer, Margo Taylor, Brad Taylor, Gigi Murfitt, Cheryl Foutz, Carol Cabrian, Sue Stone-Douglas, Cammie Hall, and Devon Chadderton.
Thanks to Kathy Thomas for all of those lunchtime walks when we brainstormed what happened next to Claire.
Thanks to all of my wonderful co-workers, from Washington to Colorado to Florida, who talk me up to family, friends, and anyone willing to listen. I couldn’t ask for a more marvelous support group who cheer with me when things go well and laugh with me whenever I put my foot in my mouth. You guys are the best!
Thanks to the magnificent reviewers who offered their time to read and comment about this book; and to the amazing authors who gave me incredible quotes.
Thanks to the Deranged crew: Jacquie Rogers, Wendy Delaney, and Sherry Walker for over a decade of putting up with me.
Thanks to the columnists and crew at 1st Turning Point for years of teaching and sharing.
Thanks to Gerri Russell and Joleen James for bemoaning and cheering with me every week when we talk goals.
Thanks to the lovely and funny Amber Scott for making me laugh loudly and often, and for sharing war stories and advice every step of the way! Buy yourself another song from me.
Thanks to my friends and fans for your constant support and tireless help in telling the world about my quirky books. You all make me feel like the luckiest girl around!
Thanks to Lee Lofland for your help with bone details.
Thanks to Vickie Haskell for the tons of shipping help and sharing dirty jokes while doing it.
Thanks to Arlene Psomas for all of the bouquets of flowers and words of encouragement along the way.
Thanks to Dale Kunkle for teaching me how to play Euchre and chewing me out in your loving way when I threw the wrong card.
Thanks to my siblings and step-siblings, and all of your wonderful and supportive spouses, for being there for me year after year as I struggled to reach this point in my career. You never gave up either.
And finally, as always, thanks to Clint Taylor, for being a worse driver than I was back when we were just learning. Only you could have run over that gas can in an otherwise empty pasture. So many great memories.
Five Fun Southwestern Facts about Ann Charles
1. I lived in a small town just south of Flagstaff, Arizona for one year, working for Northern Arizona University while attending college there (majoring in Spanish). I loved every minute of living in Arizona and plan to someday return in my own R.V. for several months of the year. I have a LOT more exploring to do.
2. One of the things on my bucket list is to float around Lake Powell for a week in one of those sweet houseboats—just like how my Fischer Price people used to float around on their cool little houseboat in my dad’s pool when I was still wearing floaters and a pair of nose plugs.
3. When I was a kid, my mom took my siblings and me to a mission on the Navajo Reservation for a summer. Playing tag in the high desert, eating fresh Navajo fry bread, exploring a horse graveyard, trying to climb a greased pole, and screaming and flailing as fire ants bit my legs after I stumbled into their mound are some of my most treasured memories.
4. One warm summer day, I was invited by a friend of mine from Northern Arizona University to join her and her family on the Hopi Reservation for one of their ceremonies. With the Little Colorado River in the background, I ate hominy and fresh fruit, laughed with her friends and family, and watched in awe as the dancers moved with grace and skill. I will never forget that day—the music, the scenery, the people—and will always appreciate the kindness shown to me, a stranger to most everyone there.
5. I climbed to the top of the San Francisco Peaks (I believe it was Humphreys Peak at 12,633 feet) once with my half-wolf, half-malamute dog. At the top, as we panted while staring down at the world way below, we both agreed that climbing to 12,000 feet was for the birds, and we never hiked that high again.
Also by Ann Charles:
Nearly Departed in Deadwood (Deadwood Mystery Series: Book 1)
Optical Delusions in Deadwood (Deadwood Mystery Series: Book 2)
Nail It! The Secret to Building an Effective Fiction Writer’s Platform (non-fiction)
Growing Your Audience (non-fiction)
Coming from Ann Charles in 2012:
Dead Case in Deadwood (Deadwood Mystery Series: Book 3)
Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series: Book 2)
What Authors and Reviewers are saying about the 1st book in Ann Charles’ Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series:
DANCE OF THE WINNEBAGOS
“Ann Charles delivers laugh-out-loud dialogue, unforgettable characters, and pulse-pounding suspense.”
~Vicki Lewis Thompson, New York Times Bestselling Author
“Don't pick up one of Ann Charles' mystery romances if you have other pressing engagements. Ms. Charles writes with an engaging style that is demonstrably impossible to set down. The latest example of this attack on your busy schedule is Dance of the Winnebagos. Spunky heroine Claire Morgan digs up a tangled mess of treasure, murder and just maybe the love of her life while supposedly on a mercy mission to babysit her randy old grandpa. Quirky characters, plenty of menace and skullduggery in abandoned old mines and loads of good, clean sex hustles this story briskly on its way. Four stars and a passel of happy hoots for Dance of the Winnebagos.”
~John Klawitter, author of the prizewinning Hollywood Havoc action thriller novels
“Ann Charles crafts another hilarious romp of a mystery with quirky characters and laugh-out-loud dialogue.”
~Amber Scott, author of Soul Search and Fierce Dawn
“Hang on to your hats, Deadwood fans, because you’re gonna love the Jackrabbit Junction series, too! If you love mystery with a little romance and a lot of humor, you’re in for a wild ride with Dance of the Winnebagos.”
~Jacquie Rogers, author of Much Ado About Marshals
“… two thumbs up and a standing ovation for laughs, sighs, thrills, and an excellently crafted mystery.”
~Maxwell Cynn, Thrillers Rock Twitter Reviews and author of The Collective
“The quips come fast and furious and the plot twists with more alacrity than a jackrabbit on the run from a coyote in this fast-paced humorous mystery/thrill
er/romance. Ann Charles proves once again she has the ability to drive us to turn the page in order to find out what's in store for her cast of lovable, and sometimes crotchety, cast of characters.”
~Susan Schreyer, author of Death By A Dark Horse
“Charles knows how to tell a story. Her humor and ability to create fantastic characters keeps me begging for more! If anyone could give old man Harvey a run for his money, it'd be Harley Ford.”
~Natasha Jennex, A Great Book Is the Cheapest Vacation Book Reviews
“An amazing cast of characters! Even the people walking by in the background have pizzazz! Ann Charles consistently provides a colorful kaleidoscope of characters and situations. I simply love her books. I found myself cursing my appointment book. All I wanted to do was stay home and read! We need a new genre for Ann Charles’s books. Nothing out there does them justice.”
~Jenna Scribbles, Book Reviewer and Author of Healing Touch and Off Leash
“Dance of the Winnebago has humor, mystery and romance ... throw in a bitter ex-beauty queen and a colorful elderly population and you have a great story. This is a smart, funny, and suspenseful read.”
~Lindsey Anderson of Reads, Reviews of a Tortured Select-Soccer Hostage
“… a fast paced murder mystery with ribald humor, a dozen subplots and romances, and a murder thrown in.”
~Jo Ann Hakola, The Book Faerie, Journey of a Bookseller
“The novel has spunk and pep! Ann Charles tells a darn good romantic tale as well!”
~Susie Kline, Motherhoot Reviews
What Authors and Reviewers are saying about the 1st book in Ann Charles’ Deadwood Series:
NEARLY DEPARTED IN DEADWOOD
“Full of thrills and chills, a fun rollercoaster ride of a book!”