Optical Delusions in Deadwood by Ann Charles Read Free Book Online Page B

smile sliding south as I absorbed the irony that now Natalie did want to sleep with my sort-of boyfriend. Unlike my sister, Natalie wouldn’t do it just to lash out at me. At least I hoped not. Then again, I was now the evil “sister” who’d had sex with the man Natalie wanted. Criminy! My life was morphing into a daytime soap opera. If I played my cards right, I just might win an Emmy.

          The front-corner door opened, and the short beefy guy with a white buzz cut I had seen helping Ray load the crate into the SUV entered the room.

          “There’s George,” Natalie confirmed.

          Dapper in a charcoal gray suit with a pale pink tie, George rubbed the arm of an older woman who hunched over the casket, as if to comfort her. Then he moved a tripod holding a wreath of white gerbera daisies and red roses a couple of feet to the right and went back through the doorway. He returned carrying another basket bursting with blue delphiniums and lavender asters.

          “Come on,” Natalie pushed to her feet, grabbing her crutches. “Let’s go pay our respects.”

          “What? Wait!” I scrambled after her. When I caught up, I whispered in her ear, “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

          “Violet.” Her crutches creaked as we approached the casket. “With your hair loose, you’re not exactly a wallflower.”

          I tried to squish down my curls. “My clip broke.”

          “Next time bring a black veil.”

          George Mudder stood to the right as Natalie and I viewed Mr. Haskell, who looked pretty good for a dead man. I wondered if George did the makeup, or if he hired someone else to spruce up the corpse.

          “By the way,” Natalie said as she picked lint off the main attraction’s suit jacket, “you have a date Saturday night.”

          I yanked Natalie’s hand out of the casket. “No, I don’t.”

          “Yes, you do. You owe me, remember?”

          Crap. She meant the blind date with some comic-book geek I’d agreed to go on in exchange for her help on the Hessler Haunt weeks ago. I’d hoped she’d forgotten about that when the house burned down. I’d certainly tried to forget.

          “Fine. When and where?”

          “Seven o’clock at The Buffalo Corral.”

          The Buffalo Corral meant jeans, boots, old-time twangy music, and lots of red meat. My kind of place. I could suffer through a couple of hours of blind-date hell with a big old T-bone to keep me company.

          “Natalie,” George Mudder had crept up when I wasn’t watching. “I haven’t seen you since Mrs. Winkle’s wake.”

          Natalie didn’t miss a beat, her smile all warm and chummy. “George, you’ve done a lovely job today.”

          “Thanks.” He ushered us toward the foot of the casket, near the open door he’d entered moments before. When we’d joined him, he asked, “How’s your Aunt Beatrix? As charming as ever?”

          Something in George’s tone made me think this was more than just pleasantries. Natalie mirrored many of her Aunt Beatrix’s striking features; unfortunately, they also shared bad luck when it came to philandering bedfellows. Was George part of Beatrix’s past or just a wannabe?

          I glanced behind him through the open doorway and nearly fell over, not hearing Natalie’s answer. In the semi-shadows, not just one but two big crates exactly like the one I’d watched George and Ray load were stacked against the far wall. I leaned toward the doorway. What else was stored in that room?

          “Right, Violet?” Natalie’s voice snapped me back.

          “Uhhhh,” I stammered, looking to her for help.

          Natalie’s brow wrinkled for just a second. Then she said, “I’m sorry, George. How rude of me. You probably haven’t met my friend Violet. She’s new to town. She’s a Realtor over at Calamity