An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 (50 page)

Holy funkendunkel!
That was close. Was that the juggernaut’s twin? Or had the killer just not recognized me? No, that had to be the twin, didn’t it?

“He’s Ms. Wolff’s nephew,” Freesia said from the porch.

No, that was the bogeyman in the flesh. I considered clarifying who he really was, but decided that ignorance may be best for her safety.

Shaking off the tension that had kept me locked solid for the last minute, I joined her on the porch. I scanned the tree line, afraid he might come sprinting back with that sinister ax in hand at any moment. “What did he want?”

“To collect some of his aunt’s possessions.”

I wondered if Cooper had contacted any relatives. I doubted it because I was pretty certain Ms. Wolff didn’t have any. At least none still alive.

What did he really want? Something with the clocks? Something from her bedroom? Something Doc and I had overlooked?

I palmed my phone, pulling up Cooper’s number.

Then I remembered the detective’s parting words the other night:
Parker, don’t call me.

Maybe I should wait, talk to Doc first, let him call Cooper.

“He seems nice, but he scared the crap out me when I first saw him.” Freesia said.

“Because of his looks?” That oversize, gangly armed Donald Duck thing he had going repulsed me every time. There was no getting used to that ghoulish mug.

“No, although that is a face only a mother could love.”

Or a twin brother.

“I came downstairs,” Freesia explained, “and he was leaning against the wall next to Ms. Wolff’s door, all big and creepy looking.”

She should see him come at her with an ax sometime. No wait, I didn’t want her to witness that. “Just standing there?”

“Yeah, hanging out.”

“That’s weird.”

“I explained to him about the police tape and Detective Cooper’s rules. The guy was polite enough, but I think something was bothering him because he kept looking at the door.” She touched her chest, all sympathy and caring for a monster who could have cut out her heart. “I can’t imagine finding out my aunt was killed. He must be devastated.”

Right, the poor, murdering bastard. Where was he hiding that ax? Was it stashed in the apartment somewhere? Was that why he’d come back?

“Did he mention what made him come by today? If the cops had contacted him?” As far as I knew, Cooper was still trying to keep this all hush-hush.

“No. He told me he was in town and wanted to pick up her things. That was it.”

“You need to tell Cooper about this.” If Freesia called, then I’d be even more removed from the gust of heat when his temper flared.

“About Ms. Wolff’s nephew visiting?”

No, about the ax-swinging assassin standing outside of Ms. Wolff’s apartment telling lies about his relationship to her. “Yes, you should let him know about it all, including a physical description of the nephew. He inferred the other day that he wanted to keep close tabs on the coming and goings here.”

I didn’t specify that he meant
my
coming and goings.

“Okay. I’ll call the detective as soon as you and I finish with the paperwork you mentioned on the phone.”

“Good.”

Now to wait for the ax to fall—Cooper’s or the albino’s.

Both made me want to run home and hide under my bed.

* * *

Later that evening I walked Doc and Harvey out to Doc’s car, kissing one goodnight and blowing a raspberry at the other.

“You sure you don’t want me to spend the night?” Doc asked as I huddled inside his arms.

“We’ll be okay.” There was something about Aunt Zoe’s house that made me feel safe and secure in spite of who I’d seen earlier. “He didn’t recognize me at first.”

“Maybe not, but something about that necklace sure snagged his attention.” Doc stepped back. “I’m just a phone call away. I can be here in five minutes.”

I huddled under my sweater in the brisk October evening as he backed out of the drive. The moon was out. Jack Frost was going to be busy sprinkling his diamond dust on thick throughout the early morning hours.

Back inside, I herded Addy and Layne to bed, spending a few minutes with each of them, talking about their plans and hopes for school the next day. After kissing their foreheads and tucking them in, I hesitated outside their bedrooms and listened to the sounds of them settling into their beds.

Their father’s threat replayed in my head. No way in hell was I going to let Rex near them. If that bastard wanted to play dirty, I had no qualms about getting muddy.

I heard the phone ring downstairs. It was after nine. Who was calling? Had Harvey or Doc forgotten something? Was it Natalie catching up on today’s events? Or was Reid trying to break through Aunt Zoe’s wall?

Aunt Zoe waited for me with the phone at the bottom of the steps. “It’s for you.”

She mouthed the word
Cooper
as she handed it to me.

My gut jumped off a ten-story building.

“Hello, Coop.”

“That’s Detective Cooper to you, Parker.”

“Whatever. Why are you calling? Do you need me to solve a new case for you?”

He sighed.

I imagined him squeezing the bridge of his previously broken nose.

“Parker, did I not explicitly tell you Saturday night not to go into Ms. Wolff’s apartment without me?”

“I vaguely remember something about that.”

“Then why did you?”

“I didn’t.” After several silent seconds, I added, “I’d swear to that on your
History of Hand Guns
bible that you keep on your coffee table.”

“It’s
The History of Recreational Firearms
, smartass,” he corrected. “So, you’re saying you didn’t go into Ms. Wolff’s apartment today and take Layne’s picture off the mirror?”

“No, of course not. Why would I …”

My lungs seized up, my vision tunneling.

The albino had been at Ms. Wolff’s place today, standing outside of the door. Now Layne’s picture was missing.

“Oh, God,” I whispered, looking back upstairs where I’d left my kids tucked into their beds.

“Parker?” Cooper’s voice cut through my panic.

“Did Freesia call you about … about … ” My brain was stuttering in terror.

“She did. You think the albino took the picture?”

“Who else would have?”

“Fuck.” I heard the sound of a chair creaking. He must still be at work. “Before you freak out, let me ask around and make sure someone here didn’t mess with it. I’ll send someone over first thing in the morning to search for it. Maybe it just slid out of the mirror and Detective Hawke didn’t look under the bed and dresser for it when he was there earlier.”

“Cooper,” I said, still panting. “Promise you’ll call me as soon as you know.”

“I will. Try not to panic, Violet.”

That was easy for him to say. He hadn’t seen what that damned ax could do firsthand. I had a feeling there’d be little sleeping done tonight and poor Doc would be stuck talking to a hysterical broad yet again.

I hung up and found Aunt Zoe standing behind me. She waved me into the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

Like a zombie, I shuffled after her, my thoughts in Ms. Wolff’s bedroom where my son’s picture no longer was stuck in the mirror.

“Have a seat, Violet.”

I fell into the chair she’d pulled out for me. She placed a steaming cup of something in front of me.

“What’s this?”

“Hot lemon tea.” She knew it was one of my favorites on a cold night. “Drink up.” She lowered into the seat next to me.

I sipped the warm sweetened drink. “That was Cooper.”

“I know.” Oh, yeah, she’d answered the phone.

“Layne’s picture is missing from Ms. Wolff’s bedroom mirror.” I took another drink and then spilled my guts about the albino I’d seen today and what he’d told Freesia. When I finished, I looked up from my hands and frowned at her.

She reached out and squeezed my wrist. “You’re strong, Violet. Stronger than you realize.”

I cocked my head, trying to figure out why she was saying that at this particular moment. “Is that code for me to wear more antiperspirant?”

“No, it’s me saying that you’ve grown your wings now and need to leave the cocoon.”

Huh? I looked down into my drink. “Did you spike this with something?”

“Yes, sugar.” She tapped her index finger on the table. “There is something you need to know—two things actually.”

“Okay.” I waited, uncertainty making those wings she’d mentioned flap inside of me. “What?”

“I figured out what that message says on the inside of Ms. Wolff’s drawer.”

I leaned forward. “Was it in Latin?”

“A derivative of Latin, actually.”

“What did it say?”

“
Only when the clock stops will your time be at an end
.”

I sat on that for a bit, replaying it over and over. “What does that mean?” Was it a general saying she liked to keep on the inside of her drawer or had she meant it for me in particular? If Doc’s theory was correct and Ms. Wolff had been the timekeeper Prudence kept requesting, the saying may have a deeper meaning. But what?

“You tell me.”

I sipped my tea, considering. “Well, Ms. Wolff did have two walls full of these spooky looking clocks.”

“Spooky how?”

“They were black forest clocks, but not your usual happy German boys and girls and animals carved into them. Each is unique with these freaky, garish scenes.”

Aunt Zoe tapped her finger again. “I want to see them.”

“I’ll need to clear it with Cooper.” After she nodded, I asked, “What’s the other thing?”

She stared at me so long I considered asking her the question again. Then she blew out a slow breath. “There’s no easy way to tell you this.”

“What?” My pulse throttled higher thanks to the apprehension lining her face. “You’re killing me here.”

“It’s funny you should use that turn-o-phrase. When your great-grandmother died, I was placed in charge of keeping track of our family tree.”

“I think you told me that before.”

“This business with Ms. Wolff sparked a memory of something I’d seen in one of our family history volumes.”

We had family history volumes? As in plural?

“But since so much of it is handwritten in German, I had to scour through several volumes to find it and then try to decipher what was being said. Some of our ancestors could’ve used some writing practice.”

“Find what?”

She scooted her chair forward so that our knees were almost touching. Then she clasped both of my hands and stared hard into my eyes. “Long, long ago, back in Germany, they called some of the women in our family
Scharfrichter
.”

“
Scharfrichter
? You mean … ” Ms. Wolff’s voice echoed in my head.

She nodded once. “Executioners.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I laughed. It sounded shrill in the quiet kitchen.

She didn’t.

“Are you … what are you saying?” I must have misunderstood her.

“Violet Lynn,” Aunt Zoe said, still holding onto my hands. “You come from a long line of killers.”

The End … for now

* To share your thoughts and ideas on what is to come for Violet and her friends (and enemies) with others who have finished the fifth book in the Deadwood Mystery Series, check out Violet’s Secret Book Club—a hidden page on my website. (Note that you may be able to access this webpage only from a computer or certain kinds of devices.)

To enter the book club, type the password: Elvis

http://www.anncharles.com/?p=1474

Speed Dating with Ann Charles

I asked some of my wonderful friends in my Ann Charles’ Purple Door Saloon group on Facebook to come up with questions for me to answer in one sentence for the end of this book—speed-dating style.

Why did you choose to move to Arizona?

Because of the outdoor activities available throughout the year along with the incredible views help my brain relax and the creativity flow.

When Violet is talking to Natalie down in Jackrabbit Junction, do you think about what's going on with Claire and her crazy family down there?

Definitely, because I would like to be hanging out at The Shaft with them, drinking, playing pool, and hiding from Deborah.

Why a chicken?

Because Elvis the chicken showed up to the casting call and her audition was phenomenal.

Have you ever entertained the thought of having a ghost dog helper in your books? Either a living dog who detects ghosts or one who has passed on and offers help to Violet or Doc? A cat would also do, if you know more about felines?

No, I'm afraid the dog or cat might eat Elvis.

What’s the scariest paranormal event you’ve experienced?

There hasn't been one paranormal-wise because like Violet, I'm a dud when it comes to seeing ghosts.

How do you come up with the locations of the characters’ houses?

I hang out in Deadwood and Lead and story ideas come to mind. (I'm afraid if I tried to analyze why my imagination chooses what it does, it will get uppity and stop coming up with ideas altogether.)

When you are writing a book for one series are the characters from your other series living their lives in your head as well, just waiting their turn to be written down?

They are not waiting—they aren't that patient with me; they are stomping around, demanding my attention.

Will there be more crossover stuff in your series? I like the crossover from Deadwood to Jackrabbit with Natalie. Will you have other characters jump?

All of the characters in my series live in Ann's Universe, so there will be more crossover characters as I continue to share Quint and Claire and Montana’s worlds with you.

In your FB post about Quint and Angélica from the upcoming book, LOOK WHAT THE WIND BLEW IN, you say you wrote the first draft years ago. Do you always do that? Do you have a shoe box full of drafts about your characters?

I don't always do that, but I do have several stories that I wrote before I was published, and some of them are tied to characters in my now-published books.

I have heard an author say that although she respects her readers, she doesn't write for them, she writes the story that she needs to tell. Do you feel the same?