Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons Read online

  To hell with it. I stuck my hand in the air, waved and yelled, “Bye Carrie. Take care.”

  I parked at the curb, went in the house and thanked my lucky stars Royal had not returned and seen that not only did I not activate the alarm, I forgot to lock the front door.

  Racing upstairs to my bedroom before Jack and Mel could waylay me and Mac give me meaningful looks, I shut the door and sat at my desk. Jack’s and Mel’s folders were in the bottom drawer.

  Fifteen minutes later, I had not deduced anything new from the information I had read a hundred times before.

  Should I talk to them, suggest Coleman did not kill them? From what I knew of them, they would get in a flap as they imagined their killer dying at any given moment, causing them to blink out of existence. Maybe I could dig out something new from them first.

  Jack and Mel were still cross-legged on the floor in front of the television. They watched me as I walked through the kitchen.

  “Ahem,” from Jack.

  “You want the TV on. Give me a minute.”

  “It’s not as if anything else is about to rivet our attention,” Mel said.

  “Hey, Mel.” I opened the pantry door to get a handful of chocolate chip cookies. “What you said to Carrie made me think - you didn’t feel anything when you died, like Jack did, a kind of pinch, or prick, in your back?”

  They looked over their shoulders at me. “More like the back of my shoulder,” Jack said.

  “But you didn’t feel anything, Mel?”

  “I ached something terrible from sitting there with my arms pulled behind my back. I think they were numb, along with my shoulders, and my back was shrieking agony. Perhaps I didn’t feel it.”

  “Hm. And you two didn’t know each other, you never met?”

  “I saw her on campus the year I graduated, but I don’t think we spoke, did we Mel?”

  “Not that I recall. We didn’t run in the same circles.”

  A whine from Mac told me he wanted out. I opened the backdoor and he shot outside.

  Jack rattled his fingers on the floor. At least, they appeared to tap away, though I didn’t hear a thing. “Why is this more important than Masterpiece Theater?”

  I lifted one eyebrow. “Is that what’s on?”

  “Endeavour. Inspector Morse before he became an inspector.”

  “It’s good,” Mel added.

  I walked over there and turned on the television, and used the remote to find the station. I’d sooner they became immersed in television than start wondering at my renewed interest is their deaths.

  Mac barreled through the pet door. I eyed his stocky body. “We’re going for a walkies, Mac.” We could use the exercise, and maybe a hike would clear my head.

  Mac’s ears perked up like two small tents. He scuttled toward the hall where his leash dangled.

  “Okay, okay.” I grinned at the little monster. “Give me a minute to change.”

  I went upstairs and changed into comfortable old track pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt and thicker socks. Sitting on the bed, I laced up brown hiking boots, then went to the closet and grabbed a down vest. Outside temperatures were still mild, but cooler where I planned to hike.

  Downstairs, Mac looked anxious until I grabbed his leash off the hook. I passed the martingale collar over his head and led him to the front door.

  “See ya later, guys?”

  “You’re going out?” Mel called.

  I looked around the kitchen door frame. “You didn’t hear me tell Mac we’re going for a walk?”

  Neither roommate took their gaze from the television, though Mel shook her head.

  “We won’t be long, maybe an hour and a half.”

  That elicited no response at all, so I opened the front door and ignited the stupid alarm. I called out, “Bye!”

  “Later,” Mel said from behind me. I twirled and found her so near, she was practically attached to my back.

  Jack stood at my right shoulder. “Have fun!”

  My left cheek twitched up in surprise, but with the alarm active I didn’t have a spare minute to ask why they went from indifference to interest in the space of a few seconds.

  I led Mac outside and closed the door behind me. Taking him to the curb, I opened the rear passenger door and lifted him on the seat.

  I took Bunyon Road along the east bench. Once the main road to North Clarion, Bunyon is no longer well maintained, but the grand old homes with their expansive lawns and gardens remain. It is a route I enjoy. The properties climb the mountainsides in the east, and the west opens up to valley. In North Clarion, I wound down Harrison, past a small shopping center, then angled west and soon drove roads which were route numbers and houses lacked mailboxes. People here drive to the North Clarion Post Office for their mail.

  Mac sat with his nose lifted to the cracked-open window, snuffling for all he was worth.

  I headed for the North Fork campground. Campers, trailers and motor homes still half-filled the place, but few tents remained. Nights were too chilly for all but the die-hards who snuggled inside cold-weather sleeping bags. The main road through the campground took me to where a mile-long gravel road switchbacks up Mount Lomond to a small gravel parking area.

  I parked the Jeep, extracted Mac and started up the trail. It’s steep, but fairly easy going for a muscular little creature. Though hiking with Mac is not hiking; it is trot a few steps, stop, sniff, go back a few steps, stop, sniff, go to the other side of the trail, sniff.

  Marked by small rocks painted white, the trail begins as compacted dirt, pebbles and small pieces of flint. After winding between the last few scrub oak, the terrain opens up as an expanse of rock to which lichen clings, and tufts of tough, wiry grass are rooted in pockets of dirt. Eroded rock formations thrust up, some as high as my waist.

  Mac took his time and I didn’t hurry him along. I kept my eyes on the summit and resisted the urge to look back; when I walk Mount Lomond to the peak, I wait till I reach the end of the trail and can see the entire valley and surrounding range, a spectacular vista.

  The trail ends at 7,000 feet on a broad, flat overlook a hundred feet shy of the naked peak. Winded from climbing and an elevation higher than I was accustomed to, I sat on a flat-topped boulder. Panting, Mac settled down on his belly at my feet. The air was perfectly still, the calm before the storm, and sure enough a bank of dark clouds loomed over the range on the valley’s far side. Right over my house by the look of it.

  The entire valley spread out before me: Clarion, North Clarion, South Clarion and three tiny unincorporated communities. The Snake River wound out of Pineview Canyon, through town, and merged with Black River out on the flats. They meandered side by side to the lake. My gaze drifted, following the mountain range around the valley.

  I had dug up tidbits of information on Jack and Mel over the years, more to learn about their lives, about them as people, than to investigate their deaths. I should have looked deeper and tried to discover Coleman’s motive, but it seemed irrelevant. They were dead, Coleman killed them, he died, end of story.

  Mel drove home from a part-time evening job. Jack hiked up in the Clay Basin area. Did they witness something? No, they died four years apart so that couldn’t be the connection. They didn’t know each other. Their friends didn’t know one another. Maybe I should check out their college professors.

  Coleman took Mel near the lake when she pulled over to answer her cell phone. He was following her and grabbed her at an opportune moment. It was late at night, dark, so he took her inside his house straightaway.

  Did their jobs have anything to do with Coleman’s motive? Mel worked at the old Smitty’s market on Fifteenth in Ogden. Jack worked for Big Powder Recreation.

  Mac opened his mouth on a yawn which ended as a whine.

  “Yeah, I know, sitting and looking isn’t your idea of a good time.” I stood and brushed off my pants. “Come on.”

  Descending the trail at a steep incline took as long as going up. Mac tugging on h
is leash didn’t help. We moved aside to let a red-faced man and woman carrying a few pounds too many pass us about halfway down.

  We were fifteen feet from the tree line when two big pit bulls burst from the trees and charged.

  “Crap.” I picked Mac up in my arms.

  My cell rang as I turned on Beeches. My heart beat faster as I saw who called. Maybe Clarion PD had something new on Lynn’s case.

  “Hi, this is Tiff.”

  “Tiff, did you threaten to shoot two dogs?”

  I coughed in unbelief. “Did he file a complaint?” We didn’t exchange names, but tell the cops a six-four, pale-skinned woman with long white hair threatened you and they head in my direction.

  “I talked him out of it, pointed out he violated the leash law,” Office Mann said.

  I winced. “I may have suggested if his dogs attacked Mac, I’d have to defend him, he being so much smaller and everything. Did you see his dogs? I’ve nothing against pit bulls, I think they’re unfairly labeled, but these were monsters.”

  “The State of Utah doesn’t issue concealed-carry permits so you can shoot dogs.”

  “You’d sooner I shoot people? Bet he told you his dogs are pussycats.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Bristling back-hair, exposed teeth and stiff tails are not a show of friendliness, but many dog owners don’t see it that way. Their dogs are good with them, sweetie-pies with their kids and okay with other dogs with which they’re familiar. A strange dog is a whole new kettle of fish. Calling his dogs didn’t occur to the guy, or maybe he knew they would not obey when faced with tasty new prey.

  Problem is, Mac feels threatened when big dogs hare at him. He does not take to having his butt sniffed, either. So, he will likely snap at the dogs. They do not take to being snapped at. Before we know it, we have a situation. I picked Mac up so it didn’t get that far, but I was angry, and when I tried to point out the potential dangers of letting two big dogs off-leash, the guy decided to argue with me.

  “Try a little diplomacy next time,” Mann suggested, and signed off.

  Grinning, I pulled into the driveway. Royal’s truck was parked at the curb. He must be in the house. I got out of the car, opened the passenger door for Mac and caught his leash as he dropped down.

  Royal stood at the window, smiling, hands plunged in pants pockets, copper-gold hair pulled back in a tail. Sunlight flashed on the glass and dazzled me, or was it his shimmering hair?

  I charged in the house with Mac following, pulled off his leash, shut the door with my heel and went in the kitchen. I barely set foot in there and Royal clasped me to him.

  “They’re at it again,” Mel commented from somewhere on my left as Royal’s lips caressed mine.

  “As if I could miss it,” from Jack.

  “Can’t very well avoid it.”

  I didn’t hear anymore, being kind of dizzy. I thought I would pass out from lack of air if Royal kept this up. Not that I complained, if it came down to Royal’s mouth or oxygen, I could hold my breath a good long time.

  His lips released me and I melted against him. “Anyone would think you’ve been away for a decade.”

  He said softly in my ear, “It feels like it.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  His expression soured. “Bon Moragh’s intelligence network is vast, but the Council heard nothing.”

  “You mean spy network?”

  He nodded. “It was a long shot anyway.”

  “Yeah, I figured, but you gotta try.” I moved back and went to the table. I had to get these boots off. Pulling a chair away from the table, I sat and bent over to unlace a boot.

  A crack. I thought I felt air waft past my face.

  A hundred needles pierced my neck and shoulders.

  Royal looked down at his chest. Red blossomed like a blood—red rose below his shoulder, a glaring color on his white shirt.

  His eyes met mine, he staggered, and crumpled to the floor.

  When something outrageous happens in front of your eyes, your brain can’t always immediately process it. The prickles in my neck and along my shoulders were merely an irritation as I stared at Royal, waiting for him to get up.

  The world crashed back in on me. Fear slithered up my spine and my pulse thudded all the way to my fingers. I jackknifed and pushed away from my chair as wood splinters exploded from the table.

  I fell to the floor.

  Someone had shot Royal, then took a potshot at me. They shot through the glass pane in the backdoor.

  Royal lay on his back in the middle of the kitchen. He rolled onto his belly and said softly. “Stay down, Tiff!”

  My chin bounced up and down like a yoyo. I belly-crawled to the cabinet next to the stove and squatted there. The shooter couldn’t see me unless he came in the house.

  Royal used his elbows to propel himself over the floor to me until we were nose to nose.

  My heart pounded like a jackhammer. I grabbed his face between my hands. “Jesus, Royal, you’re hurt!”

  He jerked his head back. “Give me that towel.”

  I reached up and pulled the kitchen towel off the oven’s handle.

  Royal took it from my hand, wadded it up and pressed it to his shoulder. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m going after them.”

  Blood already soaked the towel. “No! Royal Mortensen, don’t you dare!”

  He came up on his knees and I lost sight of him. The backdoor banged open and banged shut.

  “Fuck!” My heart thumped so fast, it hurt. Of all the damn, fool, idiotic… .

  I huddled, knees to my chest, wanting to go after him, scared of another bullet, scared Royal would not return. My back was on fire. I reached behind my head to my nape, my fingers stung and came away bloody. Glass slivers were embedded in my skin.

  I lifted my head. Jack and Mel were nowhere to be seen, and neither was… .

  “Mac!”

  I got on hands and knees and scurried alongside the cabinets. Every movement pierced my skin with fire but I kept going. Surely Royal had the shooter. But that presumed a human marksman. A Gelpha killed Lynn, maybe the same who shot at us. Had he outdistanced Royal?

  What little color my skin carries drained from my face.

  “Mac!”

  I rose up and duckwalked to the hall, around the kitchen doorway and to one side. About to lean on the wall, I remembered not to with all the glass in my back.

  Deep breath. Dash to the living room. No little dog cowering in here. Another deep breath, up the stairs and in my bedroom.

  “Mac.” I went to where he curled up in his red and black plaid dog bed. His chunky body shook. I knelt and pulled him on my knees. “It’s okay, boy. Everything’s okay.”

  Chapter Ten

  “What happened?” Jack said from behind me.

  “Oh my god, Tiff, your neck’s … you’re bleeding,” Mel squealed.

  A crack! I hunched over Mac, but it was not another gunshot. The storm had reached us. Rain dashed on the bedroom window and lightning lit up the sky.

  My imagination went wild. Royal, passed out from blood loss. Royal, weakened by his wound and in pain, grappling with a marksman who could be Gelpha. An icy ball of fear expanded in my belly.

  “Tiff, you’re freaking me out!”

  I lifted my head and looked over at Mel. My voice came out wobbly. “Someone shot through the glass in the backdoor window. They hit Royal.”

  Jack staggered back, both hands slapped to his cheeks. “He’s dead?”

  I shook my head as sirens pierced the noise of thunder shaking the house and rain rattling the window. The cops were coming. What would I tell them? The broken window, Royal’s blood on the kitchen floor.

  “Tiff!” Royal called.

  My heart lurched. I put Mac back in his basket and stumbled to my feet, ran through the door and almost tripped in my haste to get downstairs.

  Royal stood in the hall. He held his hands up to ward me off as I jumped the last two
steps. “Stay there, Tiff. You’ll get bloody.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. The stain on his shirt was no bigger than my fist and already drying, but my stomach still curdled. I wanted to hold him, tight. Then I wanted to slap him. “You stupid man! What were you thinking?”

  “It is not a bad as it looks. The bullet missed anything vital,” he said, sounding too damned nonchalant.

  And no doubt the healing process had already begun. Knowing that didn’t make me feel any better about seeing my man taken down by a shooter.

  “Me too. Aren’t we lucky ducks.” I twisted on my heels to show him my back.

  A rap on the front door, then the bell rang as if an afterthought. Panic made me dizzy - everything was happening too fast.

  “We can’t cover it up this time,” Royal said.

  He meant the time I shot Phaid in my backyard. He removed the body, rolled the lawnmower on top of the bloody grass and cleaned my Ruger as fast as I can load it.

  My mouth went dry; I couldn’t work up saliva to swallow.

  Royal opened the door.

  Officer Ben Cooley stood on the step. Of Japanese/African—American descent, Ben is short, slim and good-looking, raven-black haired and dark—eyed with lashes of which any girl would be proud. A transparent plastic protector covered his hat. “Your neighbor reported two gunshots and thought she heard breaking glass at the rear of your house.”

  His gaze on Royal’s shirt, he abruptly stopped talking and dipped his head to speak into a small walkie-talkie type thing fastened to his shoulder. “Discharge of firearm confirmed. One wounded.”

  Royal held up two fingers.

  “Two wounded,” Cooley went on. “Eighteen twenty-five Beeches. It’s Mortensen and Banks.”

  He looked Royal over again. “You were outside?” With his hyped-up body heat, Royal dried quickly and looked damp-dry in patches.

  “In the kitchen. The shots came through the backdoor window.”

  Cooley was mildly sarcastic. “Then you went outside and gave the shooter a better target?”