Free Nearly Departed in Deadwood by Ann Charles Page A

Natalie shut her door and leaned on the bed of the pickup. “It’s like being asked to remodel a haunted house.” 

          “This is a haunted house?” Addy asked.

          “Awesome.” Layne whispered. “Let’s go check it out.” He took off up the drive. Addy raced after him.

          “Layne! Addy! Get back here!”

          They both disappeared around the back of the house.

          I growled in my throat and slammed the pickup door.

          “You okay?” Natalie asked while pulling her thick brown hair back in a ponytail. “Your eye keeps twitching.”

          I swiped at the sweat rolling down the side of my face. “I’m fine. Just hot and tired.” Not to mention frustrated with Addy about the two stray kittens I found hidden in her closet after work. I stared at Wolfgang’s house and noticed a shutter missing from a second floor window. “Please tell me this place doesn’t have a reputation for being haunted.”

          “Well, not officially. It’s not listed on the Ghosts of Deadwood tour or anything like that.”

          A big, bloated, unspoken “but” hung there between us. I fell back against the side of the pickup. “Wonderful. Not only is the place a wreck, it comes with a ‘haunted’ label, too.”

          “Nonsense. That’s just child’s play.” Natalie rounded the pickup, grabbed my forearm, and led me up the drive. “It was only a rumor that spread because of Mrs. Hessler’s long nose, pointy chin, and black hair. None of us really believed she was a witch. At least not in the daylight.”

          A witch and a haunted house. Even better.

          In the backyard, Layne and Addy were playing tag in the shin-high scraggly grass.

          Natalie shaded her eyes from the late afternoon sun and stared up at the house. She blew out a long, slow whistle.

          That didn’t sound good. “Nat, you can fix up this place in two-and-a-half weeks, right?”

          She spared me a shielded glance, but said nothing and swished through the grass toward the breakfast nook in which I’d eaten yesterday.

          I watched her brush over the peeling paint around the window casing, then pull her leather gloves from her back pocket, slip them on, squat, and start picking at the mortar in the exposed-stone foundation. The frown lines I could see on her normally smooth forehead made my chest tight, as if a boa constrictor was giving me a cozy hug.

          I turned my back to her and focused on the two hellions fighting over something Addy currently held in her cupped palms up out of Layne’s reach.

          “Hey, you two. That’s enough!” God, I hated it when I sounded like my mother.

          I strode toward them, my hand held out. “Give it to me.”

          Addy opened her cupped hands, and something warm and smooth fell into my palm.

          When my brain finally made sense of what I was looking at, I flinched. “Ewww!”

          “Be careful, Mom.” Addy leaned over the bald, limp, baby bird. “It’s still squeaking.”

          Layne moved in close to peek at it, too. “I found it over by the garage. What should we do with it?”

          I carried the baby bird toward the garage. “Show me where you found it. The nest might be nearby.”

          Layne zipped in front of me, leading the way. Addy crashed through the weeds behind me.

          “Mom?” Her voice was hesitant.

          So was mine. “Yeah?”

          “Can I spend the night at Kelly’s tomorrow?”

          I grimaced, keeping my back to her so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes. “You’ve only known her a couple of days, Addy. Isn’t it a little soon?”

          She sighed with the drama of a nine-year-old going on fifteen. “I knew you’d never let me.”

          Not if she kept up that tone. I took a deep breath before replying. “I’m not