At one time, the notion of Cooper living at Doc’s place indefinitely would have made me stuff Addy’s swear jar full of quarters within a day or two. But now that Doc was spending night after night with me, and my kids had warmed up to the idea of him eating breakfast and supper with us regularly, I wasn’t in any hurry to move Cooper along on his merry way. If Doc’s place was full of tenants, there’d be no rush for Doc to return to his bed instead of mine.
“If you hear of something coming up for sale,” I told her, “let me know.” I returned my focus to my computer screen and my worries about Dominick’s dastardly plans while Mona began clacking away on her keys.
“What are you going to wear for the big party coming up?” she asked me a few minutes later.
I turned her way. “What big party?”
Her fingers stilled. “Jerry hasn’t told you?” At my continued blank stare, she let out a little unhappy-sounding sigh.
My stomach dropped like a broken elevator. “Don’t tell me he has another ‘big marketing three-pointer’ in the works.”
Jerry Russo was an ex–pro basketball player who liked to score on the marketing court now that he’d traded in his sneakers for a real estate license. His competitive edge hadn’t dulled one iota since leaving pro ball, and the “full-court plays” he liked to run these days often involved Ben and me in grand schemes that made me want to hang up my real estate cape and relocate under the nearest rock. From billboard ads making me look like a 1950s pin-up girl and Ben akin to a gigolo for hire, to a paranormal television reality show that starred us acting as tour guides in local haunted houses and buildings, there was no limit to how far Jerry would go to make Calamity Jane Realty the top-ranked real estate agency in western South Dakota.
“Well …” Mona hesitated, frowning out through the plate-glass windows that faced Sherman Street.
“Out with it, Mona.”
“He’s rented Charles’ Club for the premiere of the Paranormal Realty show.”
Charles’ Club was Deadwood’s version of an old gentlemen’s club, minus the male-only restriction. It was located on Main Street above Chuckwagon Charlie’s. Tucked away behind frosted-glass doors, it sported all sorts of plush furnishings, including a gorgeous mahogany bar along one wall, fancy glass chandeliers, and three expensive red-felt pool tables in the back. The food was drool-inspiring and worth all of the bundles of cash they charged to eat it.
“So, he’s throwing a party for us?” I might be able to handle a small get-together on premiere night with just us employees and our family members if it meant free food and drinks at Charles’ Club.
“And he’s invited several influential business owners from Deadwood and Lead, along with a few from Rapid City.”
My left cheek twitched several times at that news. I covered it with my hand. “To what end?”
“You know Jerry. He’s always thinking bigger.”
Standing at well over six-and-a-half-feet in height, Jerry didn’t need to be thinking any “bigger,” dammit. His head was already in the clouds most days when it came to these madcap promotional experiments.
Mona took off her jeweled reading glasses. “Vi, I can see by your face that you’re not loving this party idea, and I understand your hesitation, but I see Jerry’s side, too.”
I sat back, crossing my arms. “Enlighten me to how Jerry linking me with haunted houses in this town where I’m already known as ‘Spooky’ Parker is a good thing.”
“He thinks this will make you and Ben look invested in the local communities and land you some new clients—or at least send some profitable referrals your way.”
I weighed her words for a few seconds, trying to look at this potential catastrophe from an outsider’s perspective. “Has Jerry seen some sort of sneak peek of the show?”
“Not that he’s mentioned.”
“Then why is he so sure this isn’t going to send Ben’s and my careers swirling down the crapper?”
“He told me that one of the producers contacted him a few days ago and informed him she is sure it’s going to be their most popular show to date. Deadwood is hot right now when it comes to ghost hunting, and the show’s top brass has put a significant amount of promotional dollars into it already.”
I cursed six ways from Sunday, making Mona wince, and then rattled off a hail of F-bombs as a grand finale.
When I paused to take a breath, Mona cut in with, “You should be happy about this, Vi.”
“Happy about looking like a lipstick-covered poodle in a pink disaster of a dress on national television?”
Jerry had picked and paid for my clothing for almost every day of filming. Pink apparently screamed “girl power” to him, because it was his color of choice when dressing me. Maybe I should buy him a Barbie doll of his own so he’d leave my wardrobe alone.
“It’s not national. The show only broadcasts throughout most of South Dakota and eastern Wyoming. Besides, that pink dress looked great on you.”
I groaned loud and long before keeling facedown onto my desk. I’d known that the show would eventually air, but now that the not-so-magical moment was almost here, I wanted to lock myself in my aunt’s basement along with my daughter’s chicken, Elvis. We could share her coop and live happily ever after on chicken feed and eggs.
“Well, at least only the few folks in this small part of the country who actually tune into the show will witness my on-screen faux pas.”
“Right,” Mona said, but there was something in her tone that made me look up at her.
“What?”
“What what?” she shot back, trying to act innocent.
“What aren’t you telling me, Mona?”
She grimaced. “The producer mentioned that they are hoping this series of shows will garner Paranormal Realty some national attention.”
“Series of
