Read Online Optical Delusions in Deadwood by Ann Charles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann Charles
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leave?”
He shrugged and crunched on the pickle.
“That house has bad juju,” Harvey mumbled through his cheese.
“Jeez, Harvey.” I rolled my eyes. “Next you’re going to tell me it’s haunted.”
“Damned tootin’,” Harvey said.
“Not exactly,” Cooper corrected. “Although there are rumors.”
Rumors, shmoomers. This town overflowed with all varieties of tall tales. “What, then?” I wiped my mouth, ready to be done talking about the Carharts. “Possessed?”
“It’s got bad luck.” Harvey shook his head. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble again. Doc’s gonna be pissed.”
“Leave him out of it, Harvey.” I turned to his nephew. “Cooper, please explain to your crazy uncle that one incident in the house doesn’t mean the place should be razed and bulldozed.”
“That’s not the only incident,” Cooper said.
I blinked. “It’s not? What are you saying?”
“That house has a history.”
“A history of what?”
“Murder.”
Chapter Five
The rest of lunch was filled with Realtor talk about Detective 007’s selling and buying needs, interspersed with Harvey’s growls and grumbles about my always going off half-cocked. I did my best to listen to one and ignore the other over the ebb and flow of leather-clad biker patrons.
When lunch ended, I had an appointment to keep, so I removed Harvey’s rat-terrier teeth from my ass and made Cooper promise to call me and set up a time to pay his house a visit. As I scooted on up the road to Lead, I could see Harvey in my rearview mirror, sending me on my way with a pointed-finger warning.
The Carhart’s house perched in all its lovely splendor on the edge of the man-made canyon. Two lanky boys on ladders scraped paint off the front of it. They stopped working to watch me approach the porch, their up-to-no-good grins wide. Had they heard the rumor about me? I couldn’t be that notorious, could I?
“Hey, aren’t you Spooky Parker, the ghost Realtor?” the ganglier of the two asked from the top of his ladder.
The other snickered and stared.
I guess they’d heard. I shoved them both off their ladders ... in my diabolical dreams. In reality, I ignored them and knocked on the front door. Millie answered before I finished with my fourth rap. Her frizzy hair framed her owl eyes; her black cardigan, matching her wool skirt.
Seriously, did this woman have any warm blood flowing through her veins? It hovered near ninety degrees today with blue skies and sunshine all around town. The top of my head had been baked twice already.
“Hi, Millie. I’m here to—”
“Hurry, before the flies get in.” She grabbed my arm and yanked me over the threshold into the ten-degrees cooler house.
I was unaware that we had such a big fly problem in the Hills. She slammed the door behind me, throwing all three deadbolts. Wanda waited just inside the kitchen archway, her red gingham replaced with cornflower blue today. She shrank into the shadows when I smiled at her. All seemed par for the course here in Murderville, USA.
“Do you have the listing agreement?” Millie asked, ushering me into the sitting room. The thick velvet curtains were drawn, turning afternoon into early evening.
“It’s in my bag.” I took a seat on the soft leather sofa.
The house still smelled of vanilla, making me crave Aunt Zoe’s homemade vanilla wafers. Spirited Mexican music trickled down the stairwell. One or both women seemed to have some kind of a hankering for a fiesta.
As I pulled the listing agreement and a pen from my tote, I glanced over
He shrugged and crunched on the pickle.
“That house has bad juju,” Harvey mumbled through his cheese.
“Jeez, Harvey.” I rolled my eyes. “Next you’re going to tell me it’s haunted.”
“Damned tootin’,” Harvey said.
“Not exactly,” Cooper corrected. “Although there are rumors.”
Rumors, shmoomers. This town overflowed with all varieties of tall tales. “What, then?” I wiped my mouth, ready to be done talking about the Carharts. “Possessed?”
“It’s got bad luck.” Harvey shook his head. “You’re gonna get yourself into trouble again. Doc’s gonna be pissed.”
“Leave him out of it, Harvey.” I turned to his nephew. “Cooper, please explain to your crazy uncle that one incident in the house doesn’t mean the place should be razed and bulldozed.”
“That’s not the only incident,” Cooper said.
I blinked. “It’s not? What are you saying?”
“That house has a history.”
“A history of what?”
“Murder.”
Chapter Five
The rest of lunch was filled with Realtor talk about Detective 007’s selling and buying needs, interspersed with Harvey’s growls and grumbles about my always going off half-cocked. I did my best to listen to one and ignore the other over the ebb and flow of leather-clad biker patrons.
When lunch ended, I had an appointment to keep, so I removed Harvey’s rat-terrier teeth from my ass and made Cooper promise to call me and set up a time to pay his house a visit. As I scooted on up the road to Lead, I could see Harvey in my rearview mirror, sending me on my way with a pointed-finger warning.
The Carhart’s house perched in all its lovely splendor on the edge of the man-made canyon. Two lanky boys on ladders scraped paint off the front of it. They stopped working to watch me approach the porch, their up-to-no-good grins wide. Had they heard the rumor about me? I couldn’t be that notorious, could I?
“Hey, aren’t you Spooky Parker, the ghost Realtor?” the ganglier of the two asked from the top of his ladder.
The other snickered and stared.
I guess they’d heard. I shoved them both off their ladders ... in my diabolical dreams. In reality, I ignored them and knocked on the front door. Millie answered before I finished with my fourth rap. Her frizzy hair framed her owl eyes; her black cardigan, matching her wool skirt.
Seriously, did this woman have any warm blood flowing through her veins? It hovered near ninety degrees today with blue skies and sunshine all around town. The top of my head had been baked twice already.
“Hi, Millie. I’m here to—”
“Hurry, before the flies get in.” She grabbed my arm and yanked me over the threshold into the ten-degrees cooler house.
I was unaware that we had such a big fly problem in the Hills. She slammed the door behind me, throwing all three deadbolts. Wanda waited just inside the kitchen archway, her red gingham replaced with cornflower blue today. She shrank into the shadows when I smiled at her. All seemed par for the course here in Murderville, USA.
“Do you have the listing agreement?” Millie asked, ushering me into the sitting room. The thick velvet curtains were drawn, turning afternoon into early evening.
“It’s in my bag.” I took a seat on the soft leather sofa.
The house still smelled of vanilla, making me crave Aunt Zoe’s homemade vanilla wafers. Spirited Mexican music trickled down the stairwell. One or both women seemed to have some kind of a hankering for a fiesta.
As I pulled the listing agreement and a pen from my tote, I glanced over
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