An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 (9 page)

“Violet,” Aunt Zoe traced the rim of her coffee cup with her finger. “I was looking through my old German dictionary last night.”

“Why do you have a German dictionary?” Had she taken German in school? Her grandmother had taught her Latin, but this was the first I’d heard anything about German. Then again, Aunt Zoe had been dropping bombs about her past lately, surprising me with truths and events that I hadn’t a clue existed … until now.

“That’s not important.” She deadpanned me, making me feel like I’d sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. “What did you say Ms. Wolff said on the phone?”

“Which part?”

“After the word
nein
.”

I shrugged. “It sounded something like
shark trickster
.”

“Or did it sound like
Scharfrichter
?”

I repeated what she said slowly, trying to replay Ms. Wolff’s voice at the same time in my head. “Shahf-riks-ter. Shark trickster.” I frowned up at her. “That could have been it. What does it mean?”

“Executioner.”

“What? That makes no sense.” I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking back to more of the conversation. “That would mean that when she said she wanted to talk to me about what I am, and I asked if we’d met before, she’d replied with, ‘No, Executioner.’”

Aunt Zoe nodded. Harvey’s brows merged into one long bushy caterpillar.

“Are you sure that’s not the German word for Realtor?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Could it be some kind of urban slang word for a prostitute?”

Harvey smirked. “Now why would she be callin’ you a prostitute, girl? You think she spends her nights sittin’ next to Jeff Wymonds?”

I wrinkled my nose at Harvey. “I wish you’d never heard him proposition me that day.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t have missed that for a free beer and a poke.”

Aunt Zoe frowned at me. “This worries me, Violet.”

“That an old confused woman called me an executioner?”

“Oh, I don’t think she was confused at all.”

“What do you think? This is my new reputation? First there was Spooky Parker, then Four-Alarm Parker, and now Sharf trickster Parker?”

“
Scharfrichter
,” Aunt Zoe corrected my lousy attempt at German.

“It almost rolls off the tongue,” Harvey said.

“What aren’t you telling me about this woman, Violet?” Aunt Zoe asked.

“I don’t know what I’m not telling you.” That was the truth. Between Layne and Aunt Zoe this morning, they had me questioning my own name. “Why? What do you think I’m not telling you?”

“That you saw something in your dreams. Something very bad.” She leaned forward, her eyes piercing holes into mine. “And you killed it.”

Chapter Five

Cooper’s department-issued sedan was sitting in his drive when I parked the Picklemobile curbside in front of the detective’s place. A square, one-story 1940s era bungalow painted pale blue, the house reminded me of its current owner—made up of all fixed right angles, looking impenetrable. All it needed was a flagpole running up through the center of it and we could have named it Fort Cooper. The last time I was in his basement storage room, I should have looked for a cannon or two.

The big doors on the detached garage were closed and locked tight, Coop’s chromed-out Harley Davidson probably penned in for the day thanks to dark western clouds threatening to lighten their load. My Calamity Jane Realty sign waved in the stiff mid-morning breeze, creaking this way and that like a loose shutter. I double-checked the front porch, half expecting to find the clench-jawed detective standing there with rifle in hand, holding down the fort. But there was no sign of life … nor Cooper.

I chuckled at my own joke.

“What’s so funny?” Harvey asked, pushing open the passenger side door.

I thought about the reason why we were parked in front of Cooper’s house and felt my grin melt. “Nothing.”

“You ready for this?”

I shoved open the truck door. “Sure, what’s the worst that can happen? I’m innocent on this one.”

“Not really,” Harvey said. “We did sorta push our way into that apartment without an invitation.”

Shutting the door, I skirted the front of the truck, buttoning my blazer. The Picklemobile’s engine ticked. “No,
you
opened the door and walked in, I just followed.”

“You stickin’ with that story today?”

I met him on the sidewalk leading up to Cooper’s front door. “Yep. Unless I need to come up with a better one to stay out of jail.” I shot him a wink. “Cooper won’t arrest his own uncle, but I bet he’d love any reason to throw me back in that piss pot of a cell.”

“Don’t be so sure ‘bout that. I’ve seen him drag his own grammy to the hoosegow.”

I led the way up the porch steps, my brown boots keeping my calves warm while cool air froze my knees under my dress. “Yeah, but only after she shot him.”

During one of the last few times I’d visited Cooper at home, he’d been wearing a hole-filled T-shirt that he’d acquired after standing at the wrong end of a shotgun barrel. I paused on the top step, frowning down at Harvey. “You didn’t bring Bessie along, did you?”

“Sure did. I never leave home without her these days. Too much wacky shit is goin’ on in the hills lately. You never know when a shotgun is gonna come in handy.”

“You’re going to get
us
shot one of these days.”

“Said the girl who keeps stirrin’ up trouble and insists on draggin’ her bodyguard with her all over God’s green earth this week.”

“Stop the bullshit train right there, old man. First of all, trouble keeps finding me. Second, you’re the one who wanted to go with me to the Galena House, not the other way around.”

“Aren’t you glad you had me along, though?”

“The jury is still out on that.”

Cooper’s front door swung open at the same time I raised my fist to knock.

“You’re late, Parker.” Detective Cooper filled the doorway, dressed in a creased shirt, blue tie, and dress pants. Not a single shotgun hole to be seen. He actually looked almost handsome in a rigid, carved from granite way—except for the fact that his gray eyes were glaring at me like usual, which ground any kind thoughts right out of my head.

“Really, Cooper? Is that your official greeting?” I pushed past him, shouldering him aside, walking through a cloud of his citrusy cologne. “Just once, would it kill you to be civil?”

“I was civil once, and then you broke my nose.”

“Oh, right. Hold on.” I patted my blazer pockets. “Shucks, I left my teeny tiny violin at home. Guess you’ll have to save your crybaby story for another day.”

“Now who’s not being civil?”

“If you two are gonna circle and snarl at each other for a bit,” Harvey said, “I’m goin’ in search of somethin’ to wet my whistle.” He left me alone with Cooper.

“I hope this is worth the hassle of dragging us here,” I said to the detective.

“Trust me, Parker, I’d rather keep you and your big nose on the other side of the Continental Divide when it comes to this murder. But since you were the last one Ms. Wolff talked to, I’m stuck dealing with you again.”

From the tone in his voice, it appeared my presence rated up there with intestinal tapeworms.

I followed him into his living room. “The feeling is mutual,” I grumbled. A glance at the bar that divided the kitchen from the dining room turned into a doubletake. I went over and scooped up several business cards scattered on the counter. “You’ve had more walk-throughs, I see.”

He nodded. “This place needs to sell soon. I’m tired of having to hide my weapons every day when I leave.”

“Just take ‘em with you like I do,” Harvey said, rejoining us with a glass of water. He grabbed a handful of cookies meant for potential buyers from a bowl on the bar. “Or lock ‘em in your basement storage room with the rest of your whatnot.”

Cooper’s gaze narrowed on me. “I tried that once, but someone got curious.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are we going to spend all morning rehashing old times, or are you going to ask me some questions? I do have a job to get to, you know.” I’d lied to Jerry and told him I was heading to Cooper’s to discuss ideas on more ways to market his house since the detective had insisted I keep my lips sealed about Ms. Wolff.

“I’ll remind you, Parker, that we could have been right across the street from your place of work, but you had to play hard ball and make us all waste time coming here.”

“And I’ll remind you, Detective Cooper, of what I said on the phone—there’s nothing more to tell. You’d have better luck consulting my Magic 8 ball. Would you like me to run home and grab it for you?”

He pointed at his black leather couch. “Sit. Both of you.”

Harvey and I obeyed. I resisted the urge to give the detective a “Woof!” As much as I didn’t like Cooper’s bossiness, I wanted to get this over with. A pap exam by a group of brand new interns was preferable to Cooper’s rubber glove treatment.

The detective dragged one of his dining room chairs across from us, dropped onto it, pulled out a notepad, and started clicking the end of his pen.

“What was the Chief’s reaction to this one?” Harvey asked in between his cookie chewing.

“Volcanic.”

Harvey had informed me recently that Cooper’s inability to solve these bizarre murders that kept happening had his boss snorting fire. The detective might chap my ass, but I didn’t want him to lose his job. There was something comforting knowing that Cooper was out there. Sort of like a gun tucked under the mattress for the towns of Deadwood and Lead … or rather an arsenal of guns, knowing what I did about Cooper’s firearms collection.

Harvey chomped on another cookie, getting more crumbs in his beard. “What are you gonna do?”

Cooper clicked the pen a couple more times. “Well, since I can’t legally deport Parker to another state, I’m going to have to throw everything I can think of at this one and hope something sticks for once.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Now why would you want to deport the one person in town who has managed to solve several of your recent cases?”

Click, click, click. “Not several.”

I held up my fingers, counting off. “Hessler, the Carharts, George Mudder …” I paused, raising my eyebrows. “Should I keep going?”

He adjusted his jaw. “Your method of solving cases causes an even bigger mess with more headaches than if you’d just let me do my goddamned job.”

Harvey snickered. “You two should try workin’ together instead of wastin’ so much time and energy lockin’ horns. Although it won’t be near as entertainin’ for the rest of us.”

Work with Cooper? The man spelled
team
with a bunch of capital I’s.

Click, click. The detective smiled at us. I could have sworn I heard his cheeks splinter. “I agree, Uncle Willis. Working together is the best strategy on this new case. Why do you think you two are sitting here with me this morning?”

Come on!
I snorted. Who did he think he was fooling with this go-team song and dance? Next he’d be doing cartwheels and backflips. “Because last night on the phone you threatened to drag my butt to the station if I refused.”

“I didn’t threaten. I merely suggested in a strong tone.”

“I distinctly remember the word ‘jail’ coming from your end of the line.”

“My intent was conversational only. If you’ll recall, I mentioned that we’d recently painted the walls of our jail cells. That was it. I can’t help it if you misinterpret my words, Parker, and assume the worst at every turn.”

I threw up my hands. “You’re impossible.” I stole a cookie from Harvey’s hand. “Your nephew’s impossible, Harvey. There’s no working with him. I’d have better luck carving the statue of David from a chunk of marble with a plastic butter knife.” I shoved the whole cookie in my mouth at once. The lemony sweetness reminded me of my Aunt Zoe’s lemonade and happier days than sitting here under Cooper’s glare.

Harvey grinned back at me between the crumbs in his beard. He turned to Cooper, pointing his thumb in my direction. “When she gets feisty like this with her cheeks all hot and bothered, you can really see why Doc keeps chasin’ her tail.”

Cooper’s cool gray gaze scrutinized my face like I was something in a petri dish. He shook his head. “I’m sticking with my theory that Doc is magnetically attracted to chaos in the universe.”

Oh, the irony. If they only knew which one of us kept her lips sealed while the other dabbled in all things
ghosts
. Putting together jigsaw puzzles had often been the highlight of my evenings before Doc had shown up on my doorstep.

I made a point of looking at my wrist where no watch existed and then up at the detective. “Let’s skip the Tupperware party social hour and move on to the interrogation. Why exactly are we here?”

Click, click. “I want you two to go over everything again.” He pointed the pen at me, “Starting with you. Go.”

After a snarl and a growl, I went.

Then Harvey went.

Then I went some more, repeating everything I’d already told him.

When we finished, he ordered me to start again. When I grabbed that damned clicking pen from his hand and threw it across the room, he threatened to take me to the station so I could tell my story to his boss. I relented after some face scrunching.

After I finished, he collected his pen from the floor, then pulled several photos out of his shirt pocket and splayed them on the coffee table in front of us.

“Take a look at those and tell me what you see.”

I glanced down. “Photos.”

“Humor me here, Parker. I’m
allowing
you to look this time. There’s no need to go sneaking into my locked basement room to see what’s on my case board, most of it is right here.”

This sharing was new for Cooper. And disturbing. Was I on one of those hidden camera videos like the old
Candid Camera
show? “Are you ill, Detective?”

“Probably.” He tapped his finger on the top photo.

I picked it up, grimacing at the folded mess of skin, legs, and arms.