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

. I’d slept hard, waking up with a sore hip. If my nightmares had come I didn’t remember them. Maybe the shark had eaten the monsters and demons before they could get to me.
    Aunt Zoe’s couch was made for one. Poor Doc had been pinned between me and the back of it sans the cushions all night. I’d be happy to massage away any stiffness resulting from his sleepover. I chuckled at my own pun and then grimaced. Harvey and his dirty mind were really starting to wear off on me.
    The elevator dinged and the doors opened. I stepped out into the hallway and glanced around. Not much had changed on the decorating front. The hall was lined with foot-worn carpet and wallpaper that hadn’t looked new for a generation, maybe two. I closed my eyes to see if I could sense any ghosts. After a few seconds, I sniffed like Doc often did, smelling the stale scents of years gone by but nothing out of the ordinary.
    I snorted at my own silliness. Who was I kidding? I was still a dud when it came to ghosts. Prudence was a special case. Aunt Zoe had confirmed that this morning when I’d joined her in the kitchen after I’d stood under a steaming hot shower to work out my stiffness.
    “You doing okay?” she’d asked as I poured the coffee Doc had made.
    “Sure, why?”
    “Doc spent the night.”
    I glanced at her while adding milk to my cup. “We didn’t do anything.” She had to have noticed when she came in from her workshop that we were both fully clothed after falling asleep.
    She waved me off. “That’s not the point. Doc usually only spends the night when you need him to be here for some reason. So, why did you need him last night?”
    I shrugged and carried my coffee to the table where she sat stirring hers. “Sometimes the fear of what happened to Prudence and her family grows too big for me to handle on my own in here.” I tapped my temple. “Last night I wanted Doc to hold my hand and make me forget for a while about what might be waiting for me out there.”
    “You’re not Prudence.”
    “Of course not.” I gave her a toothy smile. “I’m a lot nicer than she is.”
    Aunt Zoe grinned at me over her coffee cup. “Smartass. I mean that you can’t keep comparing yourself to her. She’s a special case.”
    “Special how?” Was this about Prudence’s ability to turn people into walking and talking puppets?
    “She’s not like most executioners. She’s the first I’ve ever heard of who has post-mortem abilities.”
    “Maybe that’s one of the abilities that comes with her bloodline.”
    “Maybe, but I want you to stop trying to measure up to her because you can’t.”
    “Because I’m too new at this executioner gig?”
    “Because you’re not the same as her.”
    “We’re both killers.”
    “That doesn’t make you identical twins. Trust me on this. It’s important to your success. Your skillset is different. The only thing you two share is your occupation.”
    “And its hazards.”
    “Unfortunately that too.”
    The kids had joined us then, bickering as usual.
    Before I’d left to take them to school, Aunt Zoe had kissed my forehead and reiterated, “Trust me, you’re just as strong, only different.”
    And so I did trust her, and would continue to. I had to, because Aunt Zoe was guiding me through the ins and outs of what I was and what I needed to do.
    For now, however, what I needed to do was get the date set for filming in The Old Prospector Hotel this week so that I kept my boss happy. Why couldn’t this executioner gig come with good pay and health insurance?
    Cornelius’s suite was at the other end of the hall. I made it to his room without running into anyone else—alive or dead. My cell phone buzzed in the pocket of my corduroy skirt as I lifted my hand to knock.
    Doc?
    I pulled it out.
    Tiffany Sugarbell’s name showed on the screen. My first reaction was to delete it and then throw my phone out the nearest window.
    Instead, I tapped on the screen, reading her text: I have a