Free Optical Delusions in Deadwood by Ann Charles

at the sideboard, looking for the picture of the happy couple, and did a double-take. The picture frame remained, but half of the picture was missing—the Carhart oaf half. The raven-haired beauty still sat in the frame.

          I turned away, peeking at Millie and Wanda under my lashes to see if they’d observed me gawking, but both seemed distracted. Millie watched the door, chewing on her nails; Wanda stared at something over in the corner, just as she had the last time I’d visited.

          Smoothing out the listing agreement, I decided to hurry up and procure Wanda’s signature and get the hell out of Dodge. There was something about those two women that made me feel like I was walking around in a tilted room with the furniture stuck to the ceiling.

          “Okay, Wanda,” I addressed the silent partner, since her name was on the deed. “Read through this while I’m here and let me know if you have any questions. I’ve included the increased percentage rate we agreed to during my last visit.” I held out the listing agreement for Wanda, but Millie snatched it from my hand.

          “I’ll read it.” Millie scanned the document. Wanda spared her daughter a glance, then focused back on the corner, her lips tight.

          There was no easy way to do it, but I had to ask, “Millie, is your mother able to sign the listing agreement?”

          Millie didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

          “Is she of sound body and ...” I shifted, smoothed an invisible wrinkle on my pink paisley skirt, “mind?”

          “Uh-huh.”

          Well, that had less impact than I’d figured. “So you don’t have a power of attorney?”

          Her owl glasses remained glued to the listing agreement. “She wouldn’t sign one.”

          Hmm. Wanda wasn’t quite as “gone” as she appeared. Interesting. Could have fooled me.

          “This seems right to me.” Millie placed the listing agreement on Wanda’s lap. “Sign it, Mother.”

          The front doorknob rattled, then the deadbolts clicked, one by one.

          “Lila,” Millie whispered and jumped to her feet as the door swung wide.

          Catcalls and whistles followed a dark-haired beauty in through the front door—the same beauty whose picture sat solo on the sideboard.

          Smiling like the happiest girl in the whole USA, Junior Carhart’s fiancée shut the door and leaned against it. Her smile clouded over and her eyes narrowed when she noticed me. “Who are you?”

          I stood and faced the woman who’d wanted the Carhart funerals taped. My hackles rose right off. She was too damned gorgeous, without a single flaw. Call me a jealous bitch, but I wanted to rub poison ivy on her porcelain skin and bury wads of gum in those thick, wavy black locks. Those Liz Taylor eyes made my lip want to curl. “I’m the Carharts’ Realtor.”

          Something brushed my arm. I looked over to find Wanda standing next to me, shoulder to shoulder, facing off against the fiancée.

          “Oh, right.” The beauty’s smile returned, brighter now. Extra bright. I didn’t trust it. She pushed away from the door, strolling toward me. “You’re the one who specializes in selling haunted houses.” Her belittling tone set me even more on edge.

          “No.” I almost lost the battle to retract my claws in a sudden surge of hostility. “I specialize in selling houses. Period.”

          She was too tall, towering a good six inches over me. Like a long-legged spider in a very mini light blue cheerleader-type skirt. Her red camisole hugged her small, super pert breasts. I wanted to hang Christmas tree ornaments from them.

          “Millie,” she said without breaking eye contact with me, “go get our little Realtor friend a drink, would you?”

          Millie scurried off, as ordered.

          “I’m Lila Beaumont, by the