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Golly gee, being a parent was about as rewarding as getting kicked in the knee by a mule.
“Where’s Aunt Zoe?” I asked, deciding to put off the verbal battle with Addy a bit longer. I needed to corral the fear still head-butting my ribcage before I could speak without screaming.
Layne pointed toward Zoe’s workshop. “She’s working. What’s for supper?”
“I don’t know. Natalie said she’d bring dinner tonight.”
“Are we going back to that house?” Addy asked, her face the envy of poker players everywhere.
“Yes.”
“Can we check to see if the baby bird’s momma rescued it?”
“Sure.”
“Will Wolfgang be there?” Addy still showed no hint of emotion.
“Maybe.” A girl could hope.
“Will you take me over to Kelly’s afterward?”
Hell no!Especially not after catching Jeff Wymonds dumping little girl clothing in that Dumpster. He and the Candyman were running neck-and-neck as my prime kidnapper suspects.
I cringed mentally, imagining the fireworks sure to shoot from Addy’s mouth when I denied her yet another want. “I don’t know. I need to talk to Aunt Zoe.”
Ducking my head, I darted into Zoe’s workshop and shut the door behind me. Shafts of sunlight poured in through the west-facing window, spreading over a table covered with pipes, jacks, blocks, and other glass-blowing tools and equipment. The faint smell of something chemical hid beneath a cinnamon scent, courtesy of the air freshener Zoe kept plugged in.
Across the room, Aunt Zoe sat on a barstool, pencil in hand as she leaned over her table. “Hey, darlin’.” Her smile reminded me of days-gone-by, when I used to help her blow and shape new glass pieces during my long summer visits. “How was work?”
“Promising,” I lied. I came around behind her and peeked over her shoulder at the design she was sketching on her notepad. “Another new design?”
“Yep. I dreamed it up last night.”
“They don’t look like glass pieces.”
“They’re not. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at some kinetic art. These are wind activated.”
“They’d be perfect for prairie dwellers.”
“Bingo.”
I moved over to the stockpile ofBlack Hills Trailblazernewspapers Aunt Zoe kept in an old cask barrel and started digging through them, the dry paper flimsy to the touch. “We have a problem.”
The sound of Zoe’s pencil scratching across the paper stopped. “I take it Addy told you about the twenty-two messages I cleared from the answering machine at noon.”
I rolled my eyes. Sheesh! I’d have thought that after four days the replies to that damned singles’ ad would slow. Turns out being single in Deadwood made me as popular as free pancakes at IHOP.
“Actually, no. I was talking about a new problem.”
“Uh, oh.”
“Layne says a strange man has been frequenting Addy’s For-Sale table.” Okay, so maybe “frequenting” was stretching the truth, but I didn’t want Aunt Zoe to wave me off and tell me I was jumping at shadows—even if I was. “Yesterday, he gave Addy a bag of taffy.”
“Please tell me she didn’t eat it.”
“I found the wrappers in her pocket.” I skipped past the May, April, and March issues of the paper, hauled them from the pile, and dropped them on the floor. The February, January, and previous December ones followed.
“What was she thinking?”
