Nearly Departed in Deadwood Read Online Free PDF Page B

Post-It. “Maybe even a third.”

          “Good. It will make today’s lunch more tolerable.”

          “What’s going on at lunch?” I asked, sweat forming in all of my usual nervous spots.

          “Ray insisted on taking me out.”

          Mona closed her laptop with a click. “He’s not still trying to get you into bed, is he?”

          Jane was in the midst of wrapping up her third nasty divorce. Being the vulture that he was, Ray kept circling, waiting for her to stumble and fall into his arms.

          Jane’s laugh seemed hollow. “No. He wants to introduce me to his nephew.” She perked up at the sound of her phone ringing. “Oh, that’s my lawyer.”

          I watched her stride back into her office, my lungs in lockdown as panic ran amok. Ray’s plan to replace me with his nephew was no longer just a mouthful of hot air.

          “Vi, honey,” Mona’s voice sounded like she was talking to me through a double-paned window. “You’re turning blue.”

          I gulped. “I’m so screwed.”

          “Not necessarily. It’s just lunch.”

          I stared at the phone number on the Post-It. This Doctor Nyce better not be another freak interested in “twiddling with my radio dials.” I picked up the receiver and punched in the numbers, counting the rings. After the sixth, I hung up.

          Pushing to my feet, I grabbed my purse. “I’m going to head out a little early and take some pictures of area houses I can use for price comparisons.”

          “That’s my girl.”

          “If this Doctor Nyce calls back, will you give him my cell number?”

          “Sure thing.”

          “Thanks.” I took a deep breath and smiled at Mona. “I’ll be back after lunch. If Ray’s here, I’m going to stuff my signed contract down his goddamned throat.”

     
       

          Chapter Four

          I gaped at the Hessler house.

          Like many of the other houses in the historic Presidential neighborhood in Deadwood, the place was a nineteenth-century Victorian with a multi-gabled roof and two-plus stories. However, unlike the surrounding houses, it suffered from loneliness—evident by the peeling paint, missing roof shingles, and rusting front gate. It was going to take some serious nursing to remove the Norman Bates curb appeal.

          My right eye began to twitch.

          The front gate’s hinges screamed at me as I opened it. Scraggly patches of shin-high grass drooped over the walkway, snagging at my nylons. The paint-starved floor boards groaned underfoot when I climbed the steps onto the veranda-style porch.

          No doorbell to be found, I pulled open the wooden, gingerbread-style screen door and yelped when the whole thing broke off its rusty hinges. If I were a believer in omens, this one would be up there with croaking crows and howling hounds. Now all I needed was a black cat.

          I laid the screen against the wall, wiped my hands on my soft suede skirt, and knocked on the front door.

          Thunder boomed, low and distant. I peeked around the porch’s roof. Cumulus clouds billowed in the western sky. The hills were thirsty, but in a land littered with dry tinder, lightning kindled nightmares.

          Footfalls thumped toward me from inside the house. I turned to the door as it swung wide.

          “Miss Parker, welcome to my humble abode.” Wolfgang’s smile could have charmed the stockings off a preacher’s wife. Lucky for me, my pantyhose were control-top.

          I tried to crack a grin in return, but my cheeks would have none of it. Denial was a defense mechanism on which I couldn’t waste time. I had to accept fact—there was no way in hell I could flip this house in three weeks. “Hi,” I said around the sob swelling in my throat.

          “Are you okay?” Wolfgang asked.

          His question snapped me