Free A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) by Ann Charles

and pulling my pigtails. That was the year Natalie had taught me how to land a punch. It was also the year I’d learned how easy it was to break a bully’s nose.
    Natalie picked up on the third ring. “Beal’s Mule Barn.”
    I chuckled and played along. “I need to talk to the head ass.”
    “Are you looking to do some ass kissing or ass kicking?”
    A horn honked long and loud, drowning out my answer. I looked toward the end of the drive and groaned at the sight of a white Deadwood Police SUV idling there. “Speaking of asses.”
    The passenger side window rolled down and Detective Stone Hawke waved me over.
    “Shit.” I blew out a cloud of steam in the chilly air. First Ray, then Rex, and now Detective Hawke. “Today must be bring-an-asshole-to-work day.”
    “What’s going on, Vi?” Natalie’s voice came through the line.
    “Hold on a minute,” I said, taking her with me to heed Detective Hawke’s beckoning. “I want you to hear this in case I need a witness at the trial.”
    “What trial?”
    “The one I’ll be attending after I finish assaulting and battering our favorite detective.”
    “What’s Coop doing now?”
    “Not Cooper. The other bigger pain in the butt.”
    I’d reached the SUV. “I’m busy, Detective.” I pointed my thumb back over my shoulder. “My clients are inside. What do you need?” Besides a haircut and a frontal lobotomy?
    “Detective Cooper is looking for you,” he shouted through the open window.
    I wasn’t sure I believed him. If Cooper wanted to talk to me, he would have called my cell phone and barked me up a tree. “Why is Detective Cooper looking for me?”
    “You’re a suspect in a murder case,” he hollered even louder.
    Jeez-o-peets! Why didn’t he bring a megaphone along so he could yell that loud enough for the tourists down on Main Street to hear?
    “Shhhh!” I glanced back toward the pink house, making sure the bozo hadn’t just lost me my potential buyers.
    “You need to stick around town,” Hawke told me what I already knew from my previous adventures as a Usual Suspect on Cooper’s case board.
    I rested my forearms on the window sill, staring in at his pork chop sideburns and wary eyes. Detective Hawke often reminded me of that old show, The Rockford Files . He’d have fit right into the cast with his bulky shoulders, seventies era hairstyle, and outdated corduroy suit jackets.
    “Why?” I purposely played dumb, calling his bluff.
    “I need to know your whereabouts the night of Wanda Carhart’s murder.”
    Ah ha! That’s what this little visit was all about. Detective Hawke hadn’t listened to Cooper about playing the waiting game before coming at me with his suspicions. I’d expect a detective who’d been around a long time to know better. Then again, I knew the truth about Hawke’s climb up the career ladder, which included backstabbing Cooper, aka his ex-partner, more than once when they had worked down in Rapid City.
    If Hawke was going to come around to mess with me, I was going to give him something to remember me by. “You have a stain on your tie.”
    He lifted his wide, red and blue striped tie. “Where?”
    “Not you,” I smiled down at the empty passenger seat. “I’m talking to your police buddy here.”
    Detective Hawke’s gaze narrowed. “What buddy?”
    I pointed at the head rest. “The one right here.”
    Last month, I’d told Detective Hawke I was a medium, going so far as to carry on conversations with empty walls and doors in order to screw with his mind. In our little pissing match I’d called him on his “witch” accusation and raised him a “medium” claim, laying down a straight ghost flush to take the upper hand.
    “Be quiet for a second,” I silenced Hawke when he started to speak. I cocked my head to the side, pretending to listen to the fake ghost. “Does Detective Hawke know about that?” I asked the thin air.
    Hawke’s bushy black unibrow wrinkled at me. “Knock it off, Ms.