A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) (7 page)

It was bad enough to lose my buttons left and right and to find eggs laid in my shoes. The water pick fiasco was the final straw, especially after my shitty day. I didn’t care if scrubbing a chicken caused feather breakage. How many times had I used my water pick since Addy had started cleaning off poop with it? When I asked that very question, she didn’t have an answer for me—or maybe she wisely knew better than to admit the truth. Needless to say, Addy was grounded yet again and had to split the cost of a new water pick with me.

I grimaced across the table at Aunt Zoe. “Do you think it’s safe to use bleach to rinse my teeth tonight?”

Doc laughed outright.

Aunt Zoe’s face softened, her grin making an appearance in spite of my losing track of the family archives.

I mock glared at Doc. “Laugh it up, funny guy, but consider this—how many times have you kissed me since Addy started using my water pick on that damned chicken?”

He wrinkled his upper lip, but his shoulders kept shaking with hilarity.

The doorbell rang.

I stood, pretending to threaten him with my finger. “Consider yourself saved by the bell.”

Aunt Zoe was laughing along with Doc as I left the room, heading for the front door.

I was still shaking my head about the damned chicken when I pulled open the door. The sight of our evening visitor knocked me back a step. Before either of us could speak, I slammed the door shut and deadbolted it for good measure.

On the rush back to the kitchen, I grabbed Doc’s leather coat from the peg on the wall and plucked his keys from the glass bowl on the side table.

I tossed his coat at him. “Here.” There was no time for an explanation.

He caught it without dropping the plate he was drying. “What’s going on?”

“Aunt Zoe,” I pointed my thumb behind me, “there’s a demon spawn from Hell at the front door.”

I grabbed the dry plate from Doc’s hand and the damp dishtowel, setting both down on the counter. “You’re coming with me, lover boy.” I dragged him behind me out the back door.

“Violet, what are you doing?” He dropped anchor, stopping me short at the bottom of the steps.

Snow fell around us, coming down fast in big flakes. Shivering in the freezing air, I pointed at his coat. “You should put that on.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, but you have to leave.” His face was all shadows and ridges in the pale light coming from Aunt Zoe’s kitchen windows. I took his coat from him and held it out, sleeves ready and waiting.

“Why do I have to leave right now?” He took his coat back from me and slid one arm into a sleeve. “Who’s at the door?”

I hugged my arms tight, shivering as snow coated my hair. My sweater was more for decoration than actual body heat retention. “Someone I don’t want to see you.”

He shrugged his coat over his shoulders, his gaze darting up to the house. “Rex?”

“No.”

“Because if it is, I assure you I can control my temper in front of your children.”

Doc had roughed up Rex the last time they’d run into each other, trying to teach the bastard to keep his hands off of me. An act I still appreciated deep in the warm, fiery cockles of my heart where I’d like to go to heat my hands for a bit.

“I wish it were only Rex.” My teeth started to chatter. “Tonight’s visitor is worse than Rex Conner.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Who’s worse than the kids’ absent father suddenly showing up on your doorstep?”

“Their evil aunt.” I grabbed him by the coat sleeve and led him over to the gate, tiptoeing through it to peek around the front. “The coast is clear,” I whispered. Aunt Zoe must have allowed my sister, Susan, to cross the threshold.

“Violet, why don’t you want me to meet your sister?”

“She’s the Bitch from Hell.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“She’s a man stealer.”

Doc grabbed me by the shoulders, staring down at me. “I know all about Susan and Rex. You can trust me. I’m not going to end up in bed with your sister.”

With the snow falling softly around us, we were one spawn of Satan away from a Hallmark movie moment.

“I do trust you, Doc.” I grabbed his lapels and pulled him down for a kiss to underscore my words. My cold nose bumped his as another round of shivers rocked me.

He warmed my cheeks with his palms. “Then let’s go back inside and get this over with.” He kissed me back with the same motive.

I was tempted, partly because my ass was about to freeze solid and fall off onto the driveway. However, memories of past back-stabbings came to mind. I shook my head. “You don’t understand the demented psychopath that is now walking around inside of that house. But I do.”

I led him to the Picklemobile.

He took the keys from my cold fingers. His sigh steamed the air between us. “I can’t believe you’re kicking me out in the cold snow.”

“At this point I have two choices. I can either send you on your way with a kiss and promise to make up for this another day and know in my heart that you are safe from Susan’s sharp claws, or …” I thought I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. I checked the front porch quickly, making sure Susan wasn’t hiding there in the shadows or peering out through the front curtains, before focusing back on Doc.

“Or what?” he prompted, brushing a snowflake from my cheek. We were back to that Hallmark moment.

Sort of.

“Or I can go back inside the house and poison her to death.” I tried to smile, but my cheeks were too cold to obey. “I bet that would give Detective Hawke some good ammunition for his Violet-the-Witch theory.”

“Okay, Killer, I’ll go home.” Doc enveloped me in a warm hug. “But you do realize that your children are still inside there with her, don’t you?”

“Shit, you’re right.” I gave him one last kiss. “I’m going to go find Aunt Zoe’s stock of hemlock and snakeroot.”

He chuckled.

I didn’t.

“Night, Doc. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow and fill you in on the deadly details.”

* * *

Sunday, November 11th

According to what I had learned in my college psychology class, psychopaths could appear normal, even charming, while underneath they lacked the ability to empathize or have remorse, often showing a total lack of conscience.

My sister, Susan, aka the Bitch from Hell, was a walking, breathing, scheming example of a psychopath.

My mother disagreed, of course, claiming I was being too hard on my baby sister. That Susan’s eagerness to either destroy or covet what was mine was simply my sister being “a squeency bit jealous.” I was of the opinion that my mom had dabbled in a
squeency
bit too much acid in her younger years and ever since had seen life through blurry, rose-colored glasses.

Susan had been stalking me since toddlerhood. She’d cut the head off my teddy bear, fed my Barbie through a meat grinder, burned holes in my favorite sweaters, and screwed my children’s sperm donor in my own bed. Now call me kooky, but in my world that made Susan crazier than a sack full of rabid wolverines.

According to Aunt Zoe when I’d joined her back in the kitchen last night, Susan’s visit had a legitimate purpose—to drop off some new snow boots that my mother had bought for the kids as an early birthday present. Unfortunately, the falling snow had made Aunt Zoe feel the need to allow Susan to spend the night on the couch.

Tension had crackled plenty between us straight out of the gate, starting with her snide remarks about the make-believe boyfriend she’d caught wind of from my kids. I didn’t try to convince her otherwise.

As I finished the dish drying job Doc had started, Susan went on to make several acidic stabs about my winter weight and messy hair. I thought about breaking Aunt Zoe’s dishes over her long, straight-haired brunette head and sitting on her stick insect body until she promised to move to the furthest space station, but I heeded Aunt Zoe’s recommendation not to claw Susan’s eyes out while the kids were in the house.

Instead, I lit her on fire and danced with joy around her burning body. Or maybe I just fantasized about that and instead escaped to the living room to enjoy watching the Duke take on a greedy land baron.

As soon as the movie wrapped up, I decided to have a slumber party with my kids. I dragged covers and pillows into my bedroom and told ghost stories until Addy and Layne fell asleep. Before drifting off to nightmare-ville, I locked my bedroom door and pushed my dresser in front of it for good measure. It was that or worry about waking in the darkness to find Satan’s spawn standing over me with a carving knife.

By the time I’d gotten out of the shower this morning, Satan’s bride was gone. Aunt Zoe told me that Susan had been unusually quiet during her breakfast of half a grapefruit and coffee, not bragging about her latest job or man-eating reputation even once.
Unfocused
was one of the words Aunt Zoe had used when telling me about Susan’s strange behavior as I chowed down on a cheese omelet. I ate an extra piece of bacon in honor of whatever had her pouting and hoped the source of her trouble stayed sunk in like an Alabama tick.

I called Doc before leaving, but he didn’t answer. Nor was the Picklemobile in the parking lot when I arrived at work.

When I’d finally had a moment on my own last night after the kids had fallen asleep, we’d shot a few texts back and forth—him to make sure my sister hadn’t planted her pitchfork in my heart, me to apologize again for rushing him out the door. He hadn’t mentioned anything about an appointment this morning, but then again I wasn’t his secretary.

I parked between Mona’s SUV and Ben’s Subaru and hustled through the slushy aftermath of last night’s not-quite two inches. The weatherman had been off on snowfall totals, but I was happy to forgive him since his error was in my favor.

I caught whiffs of Mona’s jasmine perfume as I hung up my coat. The sound of her clacking fingernails on her keyboard echoed down the hall.

I walked straight to the coffee pot, saying my good-mornings to Mona and Ben as I poured brain juice into my cup. The nightmares had been in the bedroom along with my kids last night. Lucky for the three of us, I hadn’t woken up mid-scream as I had two nights prior.

“You look nice today, Violet,” Ben told me. Unlike Jerry, when Ben gave a compliment, it was just that—a plain old compliment. No advice on hair styles, suggestions on color coordination, or talk about including buttons on my ensemble.

I smiled across at him as I sat down behind my desk. “Thanks, Ben. I like that color of blue on you. It looks nice with your eyes.” Usually, Ben’s eyes were two different colors, but today he had his blue contact in place. It was hard to believe he shared DNA with a horse’s ass. His brown hair appeared to have been trimmed lately and neatly combed with a hint of gel.

“Are you ready for another week of filming in haunted houses?” Ben and I would be taking turns standing in front of the camera when the crew from Paranormal Realty came back to town.

He glanced toward Jerry’s empty office. “Not really,” he grinned and added, “but I’m looking forward to seeing Honey again.”

I did a double take. “Only Honey?” Unlike her name sounded, Honey wasn’t blonde and super sweet. She reminded me more of Cher back when Sonny was singing at her side, only with less rainbow and sequin-covered clothing.

Ben smirked, reminding me a little of his uncle. “I guess Dickie, too. And that buff camerawoman, what was her name?”

“Rosy.” As in The Riveter. At least that’s how I remembered her and her beefy arms from lugging that camera all over the place.

“Isn’t Honey involved with Dickie?” Mona asked, tucking a loose wave of her red hair behind her ear. Her chignon this morning looked stylish, along with her yellow mohair sweater and green silk scarf.

With a shrug, Ben said, “She didn’t act like it the night we went out for drinks.”

“Interesting.” I wondered if Dickie knew about Honey and Ben’s drink date. “He acted like she belonged to him on set.” Or maybe I’d misread the way he bossed her around.

“Not everything is always as it seems, Vi.” Mona said as she clacked away.

Something in Mona’s tone gave me pause. “Are you referring to yourself and someone with really big shoes?”

The clacking stopped.

Several weeks ago I’d walked into Jerry’s office and caught him in the midst of bending Mona backwards while the two of them were temporarily attached at the lips. The heat between them prior to that day had often made my curls smolder. The sparks since their steamy kiss nearly singed my eyelashes off whenever I got too close to the flames dancing around the two of them.

These days, however, both seemed to be cooling off in a pool of denial, avoiding touching each other to the point of it being almost comical.

Mona’s eyes narrowed above her rhinestone-rimmed reading glasses. “I’m referring only to Honey, little Miss Busybody.”

I chuckled.

The three of us delved into our work then, happy as shoe-making elves until Ray Underhill joined us.

Ray was looking extra Oompa-Loompa-like this morning with his fake tan a seemingly brighter shade of orange than usual. His brown hair matched his personality—slick and greasy.

“Morning, Ben,” he said to his nephew as he stepped into the front office. “Looking tight in that sweater, Red,” he gave Mona and her curve-hugging sweater a thumbs up. As for me, I received a wrinkled upper lip and an eyeful of sneer.

Ray and I shared plenty of sparks, too. Only ours were followed up with rude gestures and crude insults.

His lack of love was fine and dandy with me this morning. I had two clients who’d be arriving shortly to check out Cooper’s place and a few other potentials. I’d rather not be foaming at the mouth when they walked through the door.

“Where’s Jerry?” Ray asked, plopping down in his chair. He kicked back and rested his fancy Tony Lama cowboy boots on his desk. With the boss away, Ray was off the leash.

“How should I know?” Mona snapped, surprising the three of us into silence for a couple of clock ticks.

“Whoa, there Red. You better dial it back a couple of notches before the big boss man arrives.” He snickered, digging between his teeth with his pinkie nail. “You’re starting to sound like Jane used to when husband number three had her panties twisted up tight about banging that younger woman in her bed.”