Better Off Dead in Deadwood by Ann Charles Read Free Book Online

shrugged. “Just curious. She seemed pretty upset that night at the funeral parlor.”
    My neck warmed. Of course she had. She’d caught me kissing the man she’d been daydreaming about in happily-ever-after land.
    “She was still acting odd when I stopped in to ask her about the whole ordeal the day after the incident.”
    Odd? That must mean emotional in Cooper-speak. “I’m sure sharing a walk-in freezer with a decapitated body wasn’t something she could sleep off in one night.”
    He nodded, but I could see something unsettling in his eyes.
    My stomach tightened. “What? Why are you asking me about Natalie?”
    “There was something else she said that I can’t make sense of.”
    “What?”
    “She warned me to be careful if I went back to Mudder Brothers because of the albinos—as in more than one.”
    Had Natalie seen the other albino there that night? If so, where had he gone when the shit hit the fan? Had she seen him lurking around since?
    Cooper leaned closer, his gaze piercing.
    My spine broke out in a sweat. I couldn’t tell if it was from the warmer air outside Cooper’s office or standing too close to a man who wanted to handcuff me and force me to wear an orange jumpsuit.
    “Ms. Parker, is there something about that night at Mudder Brothers that you’re not telling me?”
    Hell, yes. There were several cards I was holding close to the vest on that one. Most of them were way too weird to talk about aloud, especially in front of a detective who only saw in black and white, no color.
    Hiding behind a smile that I could feel quivering on my cheeks, I shook my head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Detective.”
    I forced my feet to walk not run all the way out the front doors.
    * * *
    My Aunt Zoe’s house had been sitting down the hill from Mount Moriah Cemetery for over a century. She’d spruced up the no-fuss Victorian decades ago, way before she’d invited me and my kids to share it with her for as long as needed while I tried my hand at this realty gig.
    Her reputation for generosity in our family was exceeded only by her perfectly sweetened homemade lemonade, which was exactly what had my mouth watering when I parked Harvey’s Picklemobile in the drive.
    The old girl hiccupped when I cut the engine. Then she belched a cloud of black smoke from her tailpipe and wrapped up her gastrointestinal blues with a backfire finale in the still evening air. A dog up the street howled an encore—probably Mr. Stinkleskine’s interfering mutt.
    “Honey, I’m home,” I said under my breath and shoved open the pickup door.
    The scent of wood smoke tainted the evening air. The warmth of summer in the Black Hills was ebbing away. Fall’s crisp breath required thick sweaters or lined jackets, especially after the sun dipped behind the hills and cast the gulches and valleys into darkness.
    I found Aunt Zoe in the kitchen. Instead of her usual attire of faded jeans and a soft cotton blouse, she wore a silver silk tunic, black slacks with a fancy twirl at the bottom, and patent leather mules. Her long salt-and-pepper braid was twisted up into a snazzy knot on her head with elaborately designed chopsticks securing it. Her own custom glass bead earrings and matching necklace added a final pizazz to her ensemble.
    Within the walls of her comfortable, pale yellow kitchen with Betty Boop accents, including the cookie jar she always kept filled for my kids, she stood out like Kathryn Hepburn in Dogpatch, Kentucky.
    “Wow! You look gorgeous,” I said, leaning my hip against the counter. “Do you have a hot date tonight?”
    “I do, as a matter of fact. I’ll probably be home around midnight.”
    “Are you going out with a certain captain of the Deadwood Fire Department?”
    “Absolutely not. One heartbreak a lifetime courtesy of Reid Martin is plenty for me, thank you very much.”
    That was the first time she’d mentioned anything about being heartbroken over the fire captain.
    Reid might put out fires for a