Free Better Off Dead in Deadwood by Ann Charles Page A

grabbed the grocery bag from me, his face crinkling in disgust when he saw the plastic roll in the bottom of it. “You can’t serve pre-made cookies at an open house, girl.”
    “Why not? I’m going for smell not taste. It’s an illusion.”
    “Those cookies scream cheap and lazy. Impressing buyers starts with showin’ up in your finest duds, not letting them see your shabby old bloomers.”
    “You’re ragging on me about cookies, but you have no problem with him wearing that?” I pointed at Cooper’s shirt.
    “He’s skedaddlin’ soon, so his skivvies don’t matter none.”
    I looked back at Cooper, who’d closed the door and now leaned against it with his arms crossed, his frown back in its usual place.
    “Where are you going?” I asked.
    “Work.”
    “They fix that air conditioning?”
    “No.”
    “It’s good you’re leaving. Buyers are more at ease if the owner isn’t underfoot.”
    “You will be, too.”
    “Of course. It’s easier to withhold evidence when you’re not around.” I made light of the truth, then turned to Harvey. “You ready to make some cookies?”
    “Not them there little pieces of cardboard that taste like cow patties. I’m making some from scratch.”
    “Before you two start playing Betty Crocker,” Cooper said, “I have a couple of rules.”
    Harvey and I both stopped, listening.
    “Nobody goes in the garage—my bike’s in there.”
    Cooper owned a shiny Harley that he liked to wash while wearing his bullet-hole shirts.
    “They can look in the windows, but that’s it.”
    “Okay,” I said, “but before someone makes an offer, they’re probably going to want to see it.”
    “A serious buyer can make an appointment for another visit. The second rule is absolutely nobody goes in the storage room in the basement.”
    “What’s in the basement storage room?” Harvey asked.
    “It’s where I’m keeping all of my personal stuff while the house is being shown.”
    Cooper had personal stuff? What could there be besides guns? Gun racks? Gun cleaning supplies? Ammo? Cannons?
    “No problem,” I said. “But you should probably lock the door.”
    “I did.” He held up a key.
    “I’ll hold onto that while you’re gone,” Harvey said.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “I’ll keep it safe,” Harvey said.
    “You give in too easily to her.” Cooper jutted his chin in my direction.
    Why didn’t Cooper want me in the basement storage room?
    “What if we catch the place on fire while we’re making cookies?” Harvey asked.
    “Don’t.”
    “I make no guarantees when preparing my masterpieces.”
    Cooper seemed to chew on that, his jaw flexing, then he held out the key to his uncle. “Okay, but you’re in charge of making sure nobody goes in there, including both of you.”
    What was in the basement storage room?
    “Do you understand what I just told you, Violet?” Cooper asked, as if he’d just read me my Miranda rights.
    “Got it,” I said.
    “I mean not a single soul.”
    “Tarnation, boy! You wanna grab a Bible and have us swear on it?”
    “Maybe.”
    “I want to sell your house, Cooper, not take all of your stuff.” Shaking my head, I walked past Harvey to the kitchen. “Come on, Harvey. It’s time to make this place smell homey.”
    Cozying up the inside of Count Dracula’s castle might have been easier.
    A couple of minutes later, I heard the front door close.
    After the sound of his engine disappeared, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Has Cooper always been so intense?”
    He nodded. “He once arrested his grandma on his daddy’s side.”
    “What?”
    “Yep. She was three sheets to the wind and shootin’ at the neighbor’s pigs, claiming they were demons in disguise. Coop tried to stop her and ended up gettin’ that there shirt he was wearing peppered with hot lead.”
    “Holy crap.”
    “Puttin’ his granny in the hoosegow never did settle well with the rest of the family.”
    I grinned. I couldn’t help it. Poor Cooper. Well,