Rattling the Heat in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 8)

by Ann Charles

  Natalie breezed into the room, literally, ruffling the December page of the calendar hanging on the wall. “Is that the creepy clock you were telling me about on the sideboard?”

  “One and the same,” I said, raising one eyebrow at her pigtails, bib overalls, and hiking boots. “Look who’s here, Aunt Zoe. It’s Daisy Mae. How’s Li’l Abner doing these days?”

  “He’s as simpleminded as always. Reminds me of you.” Natalie stole the piece of toast I’d buttered and sat at the table. “What in the heck did you mean by that last text you sent?”

  “What did I write?” I buttered the other piece of toast, replaying our texts in my head.

  She pulled her phone out of her front bib pocket. “I asked you what Coop said about the clock and you replied: He sewed me a new asshat.”

  “What?” I dropped the knife in the sink. “I did not type that.”

  “Yes, you did.” She held her phone out for me. I moved closer, taking a bite of my toast as I leaned down to read the text. “That’s weird. I swear I wrote: He chewed me a new asshole.”

  She turned the phone back toward her, staring down at the screen. “Hmmm. Let me look at your phone.”

  “It’s up by my bed.” I grabbed my coffee from the counter. “That’s what happens when I text while in a pre-caffeinated state with only one eye open.”

  Aunt Zoe stood up from her chair, carrying her empty plate over to the sink. “How do you like living in town, Natalie?”

  “Besides the ghosts banging around in the halls at the Galena House, it’s a nice change.”

  “What ghosts?”

  “Freesia says it’s her great-great uncle, Big Jake Tender, swearing he’d never hurt anyone. But between you and me, I think there’s someone else thumping around, especially the thing up in the attic.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked, waiting for her to crack a smile.

  She didn’t. “Yep. I also hear the stairs creak, especially after midnight, but nobody is there when I check.”

  Another round of goosebumps rippled down my arms. “That’s spooky.”

  She shrugged. “So far nothing has happened in my apartment, and Freesia claims the previous tenant never complained about ghosts, so I just turn up the ocean sounds on the fancy alarm clock you got me last Christmas and go back to sleep.”

  It would take more than ocean waves to make me forget about the sound of something moving around in the night. Then again, Natalie hadn’t faced off with some of the monsters I had over the last few months.

  “Have you told anyone else about the noises?” Aunt Zoe asked.

  “Like who?”

  “Cooper,” I offered.

  “Why would I tell him? Ever since that mess at the Hessler house at Thanksgiving, he gets his tighty-whities bunched up when anyone talks about ghosts. Plus, the last I checked, he can’t arrest ghosts for disturbing the peace.”

  “I know, but maybe it would soften him up to the idea of letting us back in Ms. Wolff’s apartment.”

  “First of all,” Natalie said, a grin spreading across her lips. “Who wants Cooper soft?”

  Aunt Zoe laughed from the sink where she was rinsing off her plate. “I’m sure most of the female population in Deadwood and Lead prefer him extra rigid.”

  I faked sticking my finger down my throat. “Can we not talk about Cooper in the carnal sense while I’m eating breakfast?” I’d sooner focus on sweet things, like honey. Or Doc. Or licking honey off of Doc.

  “Second,” Natalie continued, “why do you want to go back in that apartment again? You tried the phone and it doesn’t work. What’s next? Another séance?”

  “I want to take stock of the remaining clocks.”

  “I’m sure the cops have done that already.”

  I crossed my arms. “Are you new here? Have you not heard about my reputation with the Deadwood police? Do you think I can just walk in the front doors and ask Rudolph the Red-Nosed Rookie behind the desk for a copy of their notes on the clocks in that apartment?”

  “I don’t think the cop that usually holds down the front desk is a rookie,” Natalie said.

  “I know that, noodle-head, but rookie goes better with Rudolph than anything else I could think of when I’m only three sips into my coffee.”

  “Don’t call me noodle-head, you lily-livered pickle-puss.”

  “When you go back in that apartment,” Aunt Zoe said, draping the towel over the faucet, “make sure you wear the charm necklace I gave you just in case anyone non-human shows up for the party.”

  Aunt Zoe made charm totems that acted as warning devices, triggering a reaction in others who weren’t like the rest of us. I’d been wearing one of her charm necklaces once while standing in front of the Galena House when Mr. Black walked past me on his way out. All it took was a single look in my direction for his eyes to morph into snake-like slits, showing his true self to me. That was the day Layne’s picture had gone missing from Ms. Wolff’s apartment. I’d always suspected Mr. Black was behind taking that picture from her dresser, which was what had me tossing and turning about him possibly being the one Layne had noticed at recess.

  Aunt Zoe dropped a kiss on my temple as she walked past. “I’ll go get the kids moving.”

  “Thanks.” I turned back to Natalie. “I’d ask you to go in and take stock of what clocks are still there, but I sort of need to see them for myself to make them stick in my memory.”

  “I thought you were more of an auditory learner.”

  “When it comes to textbooks, sure.” And family history books. “But these clocks each have unique designs. Something tells me that I need to make a few notes about each. That the details may come in handy later.”

  “Let me see if the cop visits slow down over the next day or two,” she said. “I’ll figure out a way to get you inside, but it may need to be in the middle of the night.”

  “I don’t love that idea, but I’m desperate at this point.”

  “I know you are. I saw your new billboard. You stink to high heaven of desperation.” She laughed when I grabbed the damp dishtowel and whipped it at her.

  Addy came stumbling into the kitchen. Layne followed, and then the chatter turned to what holiday specials were on television later tonight. Before I headed out the door to the Piggly Wiggly to collect the items on Cornelius’s list, Natalie had agreed to bring pizza for supper and stay for the old cartoon version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, which Aunt Zoe said was scheduled for this evening according to the commercials.

  I hoped that having Natalie around would make our own Mr. Grinch, aka Deadwood’s crabbiest detective, smile for once. Maybe Cooper’s heart would even grow three sizes too big.

  I laughed. And reindeer might really fly, too.

  After kisses good-bye from my kids and a raspberry from my best friend, I drove up the hill toward Lead. The grocery store parking lot had only a scattering of cars and pickups. I was in and out before my SUV had time to get cold. Unfortunately, a familiar pickup with a WISH YOU WERE BEER bumper sticker idled next to my Honda.

  Jeff Wymonds, the oversexed monkey who liked to wear a red thong during kitchen-counter sex rolled down his driver’s-side window as I approached. “Morning, Violet Parker.”

  I sighed. One would think that after months of being Jeff’s real estate agent, as well as the mom of his daughter’s best friend, he’d drop the Parker bit and stick with plain old Violet. However, Jeff was a bit thick-headed on some ideas.

  “Hey, Jeff. How are you doing?” Please don’t talk about your sex life.

  “Great, especially after last night.”

  I groaned while stuffing the bag of groceries into my back seat. Maybe I could derail him from the nitty-gritty icky on his nearly naked romps with his girlfriend with a reminder of his soon-to-be ex-wife. “Oh, yeah? Is your divorce finally finished?”

  Jeff’s wife had left him last summer, taking their baby son with her while leaving poor depressed Kelly behind for her father to nurse back to happine
ss. While I could understand his wife’s motivation for leaving what sounded like a miserable marriage for both of them, leaving Kelly while the girl was in the thick of emotional turmoil over losing her friend the year before seemed a bit odd to the mother in me. I’d rush Hell with a bucket to save my kids from suffering like Kelly had.

  “Nah, we’re still fighting over custody rights,” he said. “What has me whistling with the birds this morning is what happened last night.”

  I shut the back door. “Listen, Jeff. I’m not really in the mood to hear about your latest sexual encounter with your girlfriend.”

  “That’s good, because last night had nothing to do with my girlfriend.”

  I pulled my keys from my purse. “What then?” Was it something to do with Kelly?

  “I had a little reunion last night at the Purple Door Saloon.”

  Don’t take the bait, a voice in my head warned.

  “With whom?” I asked

  You’re an idiot, the voice in my head answered.

  “A friend of yours.” Jeff was a lot nicer than my inner demon.

  Natalie? No, she would have mentioned hooking up with Jeff.

  When I stared at him with raised eyebrows, waiting, he grinned. “You’ll never guess who.”

  “You’re right, and I need to get to work, so how about we save this mystery for another day.” I opened my door, hoping to end our interaction there and then.

  “Tiffany Sugarbell,” he said.

  I stopped with one leg raised, lowering my boot back to terra firma. “You know Tiffany?”

  “Sure, who doesn’t? I thought about trying to get into her underwear plenty of times, but I was married, so I kept Vlad the Impaler in my pants.”

  Vlad the Impaler? Oh dear. A giggle escaped my lips before I could catch it. Jeff had named his penis after the brutal 15th-century Prince of Wallachia whose name was said to be the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula? I wasn’t going to touch that one without rubber gloves and a ten-foot pole.

  “Well, good for you on remaining faithful to your wife.”

  “But now that I’m almost free of that two-timing bitch, there’s no reason to keep Vlad from—”

  “Is this story going somewhere, Jeff?” I interrupted, pulling my gloves from my coat pockets. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s cold and I’m sure Tiffany wouldn’t appreciate you telling locker room stories with one of her competitors.”

  “You’re wrong about that, Violet Parker. Tiffany told me to make sure you knew about what we were up to last night.” He leaned out his window and said in a stage whisper, “And we weren’t just playing footsie under the table, if you know what I mean.”

  I frowned at his wiggling eyebrows for several reasons, only one of them having to do with Tiffany. “Don’t wiggle your eyebrows like that, Jeff. It makes you look like you’re about to pull out a chainsaw and start chasing me around the parking lot.”

  He touched his eyebrows. “Sorry.”

  “I thought you were with that girl with the …” Don’t say nipple rings, the voice in my head spoke up again. “With the round,” I made a circling motion in front of me while I tried to come up with another descriptor that had nothing to do with that damned image of Jeff’s bare-breasted girlfriend on the counter shouting out cheers for him as he drove in for a touchdown. “The round … uh, face.”

  Whew, that was close.

  Stupid nipple rings.

  “Oh, we’re still together,” Jeff said.

  “But you insinuated something happened with Tiffany.”

  “It did.”

  “But your girlfriend …”

  “We’re not married, Violet Parker.” His gaze traveled down over my red pea coat. “Neither are you, for that matter.”

  “I never claimed to be.” Especially in front of Doc. “Quit messing around, Jeff. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

  His eyes met mine, serious for once. “Tiffany offered to sell my house for a lower commission percentage if I’d leave you for her.”

  My mouth fell open. “You’re kidding?” She wasn’t pulling any punches.

  He shook his head. “And she gave one hell of a sales pitch last night, if you know what I mean.” He demonstrated with a crude gesture that made me recoil.

  The idea that Tiffany was so determined to one-up me on the career front that she’d mess around with Jeff Wymonds knocked the breath out of me. This was a new level for her. Not that Jeff was ugly or anything like that. He cleaned up well and had a quarterback’s build with broad shoulders and narrow hips, but when he opened his mouth, caveman gibberish about keeping “the little woman” barefoot and pregnant usually came out.

  “I’m sure she did,” I said, trying to remain professional in spite of the urge to make a voodoo doll of Tiffany and poke the shit out of it with a thousand porcupine quills. “And what was your decision, Jeff? Do you want to switch Realtors?”

  “My decision was to talk to you.”

  “Talk to me about what?” Lowering my commission percentage to match hers? I wasn’t sure how Jerry would feel about that.

  “How far you’re willing to go to keep me. Tiffany seems to think she’s better than you at selling houses.” His focus centered on my mouth. “And taking care of her clients with a hands-on approach. So, what do you say, Violet Parker?”

  “What do I say about what?” I was going to make him spell this out.

  * * *

  It turned out I didn’t like the way Jeff spelled one bit.

  Nor did I like the new game Tiffany was playing with one of my clients.

  Sleeping with clients was not my thing, which I’d firmly reminded Jeff. Nor was playing Tiffany’s new game and fooling around under the table in a bar, which I’d also had to pound into his thick skull before leaving the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Whether or not he took Tiffany up on her offer was his choice.

  Doc was a client once, the voice in my head reminded me.

  “And you can shut the hell up, too, while we’re at it,” I told the face staring back at me in the rearview mirror when I stopped at the light on the way out of the Piggly Wiggly. I’d had enough of that stupid voice.

  While I waited for the light, I pulled up Doc’s name and typed him a text: Where r u?

  The light turned green. I rolled through, heading toward Lead’s main drag.

  My phone chirped while I waited behind several cars at the stop sign for Main Street at the bottom of the hill. Traffic coming out of Lead was thick this morning, probably due to my timing coinciding with the high school’s start time.

  Doc had written back: At a cemetery.

  At seven-ish in the morning? What did he plan for an encore? The morgue? Why? I texted. Digging up a new girlfriend?

  Prefer my current living girlfriend. Nude is even better.

  Nude? I pondered him in the buff for a few seconds as the cars in front of me moved forward and then stopped again. Maybe Doc and I could sneak out into Aunt Zoe’s workshop at night and enjoy a little time alone on the couch she sometimes slept on out there.

  My phone chirped again.

  Looking for a grave, Doc wrote.

  Good, I’m going to need to bury someone soon.

  As in Doc’s damned ex-girlfriend.

  Intriguing as always, Boots. Where are you?

  Leaving Piggly Wiggly.

  You’re close. Come here.

  Where?

  The car in front of me rolled right through the Stop sign, cutting off a pickup turning up South Main Street. A blare of the horn followed. I waited for the pickup driver to finish shaking his fist at the other car and then make his turn.

  West Lead Cemetery, Doc typed. Across from the high school.

  Hitting my right blinker, I turned up South Main Street, following the pickup. Minutes later, I inched through the slushy layer of snow in the cemetery’s gravel drive. The Picklemobile was parked up ahead on the right.

  The sound of my door closing echoed through the trees.

/>   “Over here,” Doc called from several rows of headstones up the hill.

  Pulling my collar tight to keep out the chill, I stepped with care through the slushy mud. Luckily, I’d worn a calf-length wool skirt today over cashmere leggings, so unless I fell on my ass, the caramel-colored fabric wouldn’t get dirty. My black knee-high boots, on the other hand, were going to need a wipe down when I was done here.

  Doc waited for me near a small fenced-in set of grave markers under the tall trees, his dark hair and leather coat standing out in sharp contrast against the smattering of shaded snow behind him. He picked up a long stick when I drew near.

  “You going to stab me with that?” I asked, pausing at the base of a small slope to figure out how to climb it without landing facedown in the snow.

  “I should. You said you’d call me later last night and whisper sweet nothings in my ear.” He took a few steps toward me, holding out his hand to help me up the slope. “And then you didn’t.”

  “You were rubbing your eyes when you left.”

  “That was frustration, not because I was tired. Was it too much to ask for a note with that damned clock?”

  I went up on my toes and kissed his cold cheek, keeping hold of his hand. He smelled fresh, like he’d been rolling around in a meadow. I’d rather he’d rolled around in my bed and smelled like my sheets. “I also had a little girl in my room.”

  “Addy is a hard sleeper. What’s your next excuse?”

  “I had a bottle of tequila in there, too.”

  He frowned. “That’s it. We need to come up with a new solution for Cooper and you. We can’t have you drinking away your troubles all alone.”

  “I have an idea. You and I sneak out to Aunt Zoe’s workshop and play out some of your nude fantasies on her couch.”

  “The ones involving you or …”

  I narrowed my eyes, fake punching him in the shoulder. “Me and only me. Unless you’d rather be nude while I watch.”

  One of his dark eyebrows inched up. “Is that your word of the day? Nude?”

  “What do you mean? You’re the one who brought it up.”

  “You wrote it in your text.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through my texts, and then held his phone out for me to read. Sure enough, there was my text, but it said, Digging up a nude girlfriend?