Free The Great Jackalope Stampede by Ann Charles, C. S. Kunkle

back about a platoon of Nazi zombies trying to break into the house to get to it. She’d woken in a pool of sweat, vowing never again to chase red velvet cake with peach schnapps.

    The bottom shelf where last month she’d found the mummified hand inside a woven bag now held rolled up Copper Snake stock certificates bound by a thick rubber band.
    Ruby and Gramps had decided to store them in the safe rather than in a safe deposit box in Yuccaville’s only bank. Ever since the vice president of Cactus Creek Bank in Yuccaville had tried to steal Ruby’s R.V. park out from under her, she’d had a bit of a chip on her shoulder when it came to financial institutions.
    Unfortunately for Claire, Gramps, and Ruby, Jess knew all about the safe’s contents. However, she still didn’t know the new combination, which was something the three of them made doubly sure not to leak. It wasn’t that Jess was likely to steal anything—more that she couldn’t keep her lips sealed most of the time.
    Claire closed the safe door and dropped into the leather chair behind Joe’s antique, Queen Anne style desk, placing the watch on the coffee stained desk calendar.
    Her mother had drooled over the desk when she’d first seen it. After years of religiously watching Antiques Roadshow , Deborah was a know-it-all about eighteenth and nineteenth century furniture. She had run her fingers over the finely carved legs and edges and gone on and on about the curves and lines like it was a souped-up hot rod.
    Claire had an equal appreciation for Joe’s desk ever since the first time she’d had sex with Mac—smack dab on top of it.
    Just thinking about Mac made her smile. She’d missed sharing sheets with him the last week. On the way to the General Store this morning, she’d passed Chester’s old Winnebago Brave and had paused to peek in the windows. Mac lay on Chester’s couch with both legs hanging half off the end of it. The sound of Manny’s whistling in his Airstream next door spurred her to hurry on her way.
    Laying the pocket watch on the desk, she skimmed her gloved fingers over the tiny flowers and ovals that rimmed the gold case. Just as she did every time she held the watch, she paused to admire the workmanship of the artist who had painted the enamel cover. Pale green trees dotted the landscape while small, sixteenth century buildings rose in the distance. Finally, her two college classes on Art History were paying off. She mentally thumbed her nose at her mother, who never stopped making snide remarks about how much schooling Claire had with so little to show for it.
    Claire shook off the tension that came each time she thought of her mother’s voice and returned to the watch. A carriage was the focal point. The two dark horses hitched to it had tiny, glittering eyes—something Claire had confirmed with a magnifying glass during a previous inspection. The crowds of people filling the foreground gave the appearance of a fair or some festival in progress.
    Initially, she’d thought the watch might be a nineteenth century piece. But with what she’d learned recently from an article Kate had found at the library, Claire now suspected it was quite a bit older.
    She’d considered showing it to her mother, the expert, but the last thing she wanted was her mom catching wind of one of Joe’s felony-inspired mysteries. Not only would it give Deborah more ammunition as to why Ruby was a bad choice as a wife for Gramps, but also it would mean Deborah would have her nose shoved even further into Claire’s life and business. Claire would sooner have her colon inspected in front of an auditorium full of pre-med students.
    Someone knocked on the basement door. The locked knob turned partially back and forth several times.
    “Who is it?” Claire asked, wondering if someone had seen her sneak down here this morning. Ruby had been rattling around in the kitchen when she had tiptoed down the stairs.
    “It’s Kate. Open up.”
    “I’m