Optical Delusions in Deadwood (Deadwood Mystery Series #2) by Charles Ann

Author:Charles, Ann [Charles, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Corvallis Press
Published: 2011-05-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Tuesday, August 7th

A mourning dove cooed outside my open window. If I’d had Harvey’s shotgun, I would have blown the noisy ball of feathers to smithereens.

Beams of sunlight stabbed between the curtains and poked me awake, seeming a lot brighter than they should have for seven in the morning. I blinked at the clock and let out a yip when I read the numbers on it.

I was babysitting the office while Ray and Mona visited actual paying clients, so being late was not an acceptable option.

I crashed into the bathroom, trying to take the doorframe with me. My shoulder throbbing, I stepped under cool jets of water and shivered, with no time to wait for the water heater to kick in.

That’s what I got for drinking tequila shots. Just thinking about last night at the Purple Door Saloon made my tongue recoil. I never did get around to telling Natalie about Doc. I just couldn’t do it, not with her waxing on about him and his qualities as a potential husband and me fresh from having sex with him, his musky scent still on my skin.

Instead, I drank and listened. And listened. And drank. And listened some more, nodding at the appropriate times. But my head was still in Doc’s back room, full of guilt-ridden thoughts about his naked body. As best friends go, I was one of the shittiest around.

It took Natalie two hours to finish lamenting. The tequila kept me nice and numb through the thick of it.

Pounding on the bathroom door jarred me back to the present.

“Mom!” Layne yelled. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

I pulled my head out from under the shower nozzle. “Go downstairs!”

“I can’t! Aunt Zoe is making Addy wash her chicken in the sink.”

Wash her ... What? Why? I probably didn’t want to know.

“Hold on a second,” I yelled, rinsed the last of the shampoo from my hair, and shut off the water. Not using conditioner meant my curls would riot, but Layne’s bladder trumped.

A towel wrapped around me, a minty squirt of toothpaste in my mouth, I raced past Layne and zipped into my bedroom to dress with superhero speed. Fifteen minutes later, I stumbled out the front door as I slipped into my beaded mule sandals, my keys in hand.

The sight of the empty driveway stopped me cold.

What the hell? Where was my Bronco?

Oh, right. Tequila. Natalie had driven me home. My Bronco was still parked at work, since I’d walked the four blocks to the bar from Doc’s last night.

Lucky for me, old man Harvey’s pickup sat across the street in Ms. Geary’s drive.

The mouth-watering smell of bacon greeted me when Harvey opened the door. The cantankerous old man standing in the doorway in his red satin boxers didn’t take kindly to my interrupting his breakfast, especially since I insisted he put on his pants before driving me down to work.

“You could have just let me borrow your keys.” I told Harvey a few minutes later as he backed out of Ms.

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