Read Nearly Departed in Deadwood for Free Online

out of my poor-me party. The last thing I needed was to bawl all over a potential client.

          “Yes, but I broke your screen door.”

          He shrugged off my admission. “I’m just glad the whole house hasn’t fallen down yet.”

          Oddly enough, his words weren’t exactly the wind beneath my wings—more like a baseball bat to my knees.

          He stepped back so I could slip by him. Which I did, in spite of an urge to run back to my Bronco, race to the Candy Corral, and bury my head in a vat of dark chocolate.

          Musty with stale varnish and dust bunnies, the vestibule’s warmth made it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was just grim reality tightening its choke hold, I couldn’t be sure.

          Wolfgang closed the door behind me, throwing us into shadow. “Let’s start with lunch. Then I’ll drag you through the rest of the house.”

          I’d be kicking and screaming the whole way if the inside was as bad as the outside.

          He slid open a set of rolling doors to my left, and shafts of light beckoned. I followed after him, my heels echoing on the mosaic tiles.

          We crossed a formal sitting room with a hardwood floor. Sheets covered everything, filling the room with ghosts of all shapes and sizes. The walls might have been green or tan—the drawn blinds made it tough to tell. A rolled-up rug lay along one wall, in front of a boarded-up fireplace. The hippo sitting on my chest shifted at the sight of an ornate marble mantel.

          Through another set of rolling doors was a dining room, the table and chairs also under wraps. A chandelier trimmed with spider webs hung cockeyed. To my right, a narrow door blended in with the wainscoting. The air smelled fresher in here. The light was brighter, too, thanks to a pair of French doors to my left. The end of the tunnel drew near.

          “Here we are.” Wolfgang opened the French doors.

          I stepped into a screened-in breakfast nook. Shafts of sunlight splayed across the floral-covered bench seat lining the southern wall. A small round table held a bowl overflowing with salad, shrimp, orange slices, and croûtons. Lemon wedges filled a saucer next to it, and two empty salad plates accompanied by silverware sat across from each other.

          “Make yourself comfortable.” Wolfgang pulled out a white wicker chair for me. “I’ll be right back with something to drink.” He disappeared through the French doors and I heard the creak of another door opening.

          I dropped my purse on the bench seat, then grimaced at the dust that poofed up. The chair looked rickety, but was sturdy as I lowered into it.

          Outside the screened windows, a battered cedar fence imprisoned the backyard. Waves of dry grass bristled in the slight breeze. A gnarled oak filled the southeastern corner, the remains of a swing dangling from one of its limbs. The rusty skeleton of a trellis leaned at a 45-degree angle over a stone bench. Next to the detached garage, a blood-red water pump and handle protruded up through the weeds.

          Sighing, I shoved a loose curl behind my ear. It was a regular Eden back there, the broken concrete birdbath a fitting centerpiece.

          The ceiling creaked overhead, as if someone was walking around upstairs. I looked up, expecting paint chips to sprinkle onto my face, happy to be disappointed for once.

          “Choose your poison.” Wolfgang’s voice tore through me with a jolt. My chair grunted from my sudden shift. How had he gotten back downstairs so lickety-split?

          “Lemonade or beer?” He held a glass and a bottle out toward me.

          “Beer, please.” Lemonade wasn’t going to cut it today.

          He placed a sweaty bottle of Black Hills Nugget in front of me. After dishing up some salad for both of us, he joined me at the table. “Well, what do you think?”

          “Ummm, it’s