Free An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 by Ann Charles Page A

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