Read Nearly Departed in Deadwood for Free Online Page A

...” I tried to choose my adjectives carefully.

          “A mess?” His grin reached the corners of his eyes. “A rattrap? A sty?”

          “Yes, but I mean that in a good way.”

          He laughed, the tone warm, friendly. My shoulders sagged in relief, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I dug into my salad in spite of the shrimp and practically purred over the tangy vinaigrette dressing.

          Small talk about Deadwood filled the time as forks flew and croûtons crunched. I swallowed the last of my beer, ready to press on and see what other surprises the house held.

          The kitchen revealed two secrets upon entry. The first, the delicious lunch had been take-out. The second, Wolfgang’s mother had loved clowns. From the clown-popping-out-of-a-barrel cookie jar to the clowns-pouring-out-of-cars wallpaper, the room crawled with painted faces with cavernous, sinister smiles. Had I walked into the room on a stormy night with a lit candle in hand, I would have peed my pants.

          The clown theme continued throughout the downstairs as Wolfgang tore off dustcovers and exposed decorative plates and paintings, stacks of clown-covered magazines, and pieces of clown-themed ceramics. Good thing furniture didn’t come in clown.

          The second floor consisted of four rooms—three similar-sized bedrooms and a bath. Luckily, the clowns didn’t follow us up. Two of the bedrooms had flowery themes, one pink roses, the other purple violets. While the wallpaper had faded and the furniture veneer had dulled, the rooms were almost pretty.

          In the rose room, after a quick peek in the empty closet, I noticed a framed black-and-white photo of a young blonde girl in frilly clothes sitting next to the bed. I picked it up, reminded of the missing girls’ posters for a gut-twinging moment. I looked up to find Wolfgang’s gaze on me, his eyebrows arched. Silence stretched like taffy. I held up the frame. “Is this your sister?”

          “Actually, that’s me. My mother had a penchant for lace.”

          “Oh.” My neck warmed. I removed my foot from my mouth and tried to skip over my blunder. “Sorry. I just assumed you had a sister.”

          “I do.”

          “Does she live close by?”

          “No. She died shortly after that picture was taken.”

          I placed the picture back on the stand. “I’m sorry,” I apologized again, wondering at his choice of verb tense.

          “Mother never quite got over Wilda’s death. She’d always had a fondness for girls.”

          Unsure whether I should sympathize with a touch or frown or words, I stood there staring at the lines wrinkling his brow.

          He brushed his hands together. “Shall we move on?”  

          I led the way out. The third bedroom had hunter green paint on the walls, with horses and groomsmen on a strip of wallpaper trim. This room must be Wolfgang’s, but the dust layer on the embroidered duvet looked like it hadn’t seen the south side of a derrière in years.

          “You’re not staying here, Mr. Hessler?”

          “Oh, no,” he said with a grimace. “I have a room at the Buffalo Ranch.”

          The Buffalo Ranch was a not-so-cheap resort outside of Deadwood’s city limits. I’d only been in the lobby once, and I hadn’t dared to touch anything.

          Like the rest of the house, the bathroom needed some remodeling to catch it up to the twentieth century, let alone present day. At least the porcelain shined and the plumbing worked—with a groan from the old pipes. A rust-stained sink advertised a leaky faucet.

          “Is there a basement?”

          “Yes, but it’s overflowing with mother’s boxes and trunks.”

          And clowns, I’d bet. “Is the garage usable?”

          He nodded. “Although the door creaks. It’s on its way out.”

          We