Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons Read online

  I jumped up from the chair. “Kennedy’s? You got Kennedy’s bratwurst? If I didn’t adore you already, I would now.”

  He tossed the bag before I could rip it from his hand. I caught it midair and reverently eased the edges apart. There they lay, nestled in their cardboard boats, two big, fat, juicy bratwurst surrounded by sautéed onions in white buns. They were barely warm, not hot and oozing juices, but I didn’t care. I can eat bratwurst cold if it comes from Kennedy’s.

  Royal snatched the bag and went in his living room. “I’ll heat the sausage in the microwave.”

  I followed him as he walked through the apartment to the kitchen.

  “Have you found anything?” he asked as he bent to find a microwaveable container in a bottom cabinet.

  I automatically shook my head, although he could not see me. “I don’t think so. Her appointment book is on there, and she documented her cases on the USB drives. Lynn was so organized; matching them is not a problem. But so far I don’t see anything suspicious, not even in her e-mail.”

  But who knew? An apparently routine investigation could be the beginning of whatever sent Lynn across the country to find me.

  He scraped the bratwurst and onions into the container and put them in the oven. Ten seconds later, the meaty smell made saliva form beneath my tongue.

  With the sausage and onions safely back in their buns and resting on white china plates, Royal took them to his glass-topped dining table. We sat across from each other. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

  “Tiff,” he admonished, and flapped a blue linen napkin between my mouth and the bratwurst.

  I grimaced, snatched the napkin and tucked it in my T-shirt’s neck. Then I took my first bite.

  My teeth popped the skin and flavor burst in my mouth. Meat, juices, onion and bread mingled to produce a heaven-sent experience.

  Royal laughed. “I have seen that expression on people when they first view one of the Seven Wonders of the World.”

  I swallowed. “I can live without the Pyramids of Giza, I can’t live without food.”

  Though a skinny little thing who looked as if she survived on breadcrumbs, Lynn enjoyed her food as much as I. She could eat like it was her last meal… .

  No longer hungry, I dropped the half-demolished sausage on the plate and stared at it. Lynn’s passing still confused my brain; one minute it knew she was gone, the next it thought of her in the here and now.

  Royal rose and came to me. One arm circled my shoulders, the other under my knees, and he swept me up. He took me to one of the couches and eased down. On his knees with his arms cuddling me, I looked at copper eyes glowing with compassion.

  “It’s different.” I snuggled on his chest. His arms tightened. “I feel sorry for dead people who linger, more for those with whom I form a relationship, but they’re already dead when I meet them. Lynn… . I remember what she was, Royal, and all that’s gone away.”

  This felt worse than when Janine Hulme died. The only person apart from Lynn I knew before they died, I saw Janine once alive and twice dead, and those meetings affected me emotionally in ways interactions with a dead stranger did not.

  “I know.” His hand moved rhythmically over my hair. His warm baritone voice and body heat enveloped me.

  For me, losing Lynn to murder was a double whammy. She was still out there, not gone from the world. She lingered, waiting for me to find her killer and bring him to justice. Hoping that one day, finally, she could pass over to where she belonged.

  Chapter Four

  The doorbell rang as I dug pastry from the food processor and dumped it on a cutting board.

  “Tiff!” Dale called as the front door opened.

  I stuck my head around the corner. “In the kitchen.”

  Dale thundered in with Jack on his heels as I attacked the dough again.

  “Good lord, woman, you’ll slice your fingers on the blades. Don’t you have a spatula?” Dale asked.

  “Yeah, someplace.” I took the cutting board to the island, then turned back to the sink and washed my hands under the faucet.

  He put a large dish on the island. “Devilled eggs.”

  “Oh, yummy.”

  Why did I wash my hands when I had to knead the dough? Duh. I made to manipulate the stuff.

  Dale stepped in. “Here, let me. Kneading is my specialty.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jack simpered.

  I made a face. “Eew! Cut it out, you two.”

  Dale grinned. “Where’s Royal?”

  Paper plates were in the top cabinet. Lucky I’m tall. I pulled out a stack and put them on the island with the silverware and condiments. “He went to get marinated chicken kebabs from Dyson’s.”

  “What is this anyway?” Dale asked as he worked on the dough.

  “Biscuits.”

  “Biscuits with a barbecue? No rolls?” from Jack.

  “I like biscuits, and there are plenty of Ranch rolls in the pantry.”

  Excited yips sounded from outside.

  Jack went through the entryway to the sliding French doors. I joined him.

  Mac lay on his back on the grass as Mel brushed his belly. She used a stick to pin a small clump of discarded Mac hair to the ground so it would not blow away in the breeze which ruffled the hybrid poplar.

  Jack opened the door. “Hey, Mac! Where’s my boy?”

  Mac rolled onto his belly, up on his stubby legs, and pounded toward the steps. Jack went out on the deck to meet him. He went down on his knees when Mac reached him and excitement transformed the stubby little dog into a miniature whirlwind.

  Jack laughed, grabbed MacKlutzy and held him still so he could be stroked, rubbed, patted and scratched in all the places Mac loved.

  Mel came up the steps with brush, comb and hair in hand. “Is Dale here?”

  I canted my head back. “In the kitchen, kneading biscuit dough.”

  “Where’s the cookie cutters?” Dale yelled.

  “In the drawer next to the fridge,” I called back over my shoulder.

  Mel wiped the back of her hand over her brow. “Phew, it’s getting hot out here.” Then she grimaced. “Do I have Mac hair stuck to my face? Yuck!”

  We headed back to the kitchen. I tore off a section of paper towel and handed it to Mel, who dumped the dog hair in the bin, damped the towel and wiped her face.

  “Love the new do,” from Jack.

  Shorter hair suited Mel. The tiny, silken red curls framed her face and matched the freckles which dotted the bridge of her nose and cheekbones.

  “Ditto,” she said to Jack with a grin.

  Jack’s new spiked hairdo did nothing for me, but Dale liked it.

  Dale finished cutting out the biscuits and threw the cutter in the sink. He draped his arm over Jack’s shoulder. “Come on, lover. Let’s light up the grill.”

  I looked across the sunken living room, through the big glass windows at the street. “Good idea. Royal should be back with the kebabs any minute now.”

  I took a moment to enjoy the scenery, Clarion and the lake beyond. Higher than my old home on Beeches, nothing obstructed the view.

  Mel sat on a stool as I found two cookie sheets, transferred the biscuits and put them in the oven. Mac went up on his back legs and planted his paws on Mel’s shins.

  “I’m not picking you up.” Mel bent over her knees. Mac’s tail drooped. “But… .” She felt in her shorts’ pocket and pulled out a small rubber ball. “Look what Aunty Mel got you!”

  Mel!” I warned. “Not in here.”

  She slid off the stool. “Don’t worry, we’re going back outside, aren’t we, big boy.”

  Off she went with Mac practically fastened to her heels.

  A minute later, laughter and Mac’s excited yapping came through the open door.

  I chuckled as I took the ribs from the refrigerator and put them on the kitchen counter. I’d cooked them this morning and now they marinated in barbecue sauce. They needed a few minutes on the grill to heat through
and char. Next, out came the macaroni salad, Ranch rolls, angel salad, green salad and butter. Corn on the cob wrapped in foil would go on the grill. The biscuits were almost ready. Dale’s devilled eggs. This would be a great barbecue.

  I went out on the deck. Jack and Mel raced around the yard with Mac in pursuit. He got near enough to pretend to snap at their ankles once in a while.

  Everyone looked happy. Mel and Jack laughed and whooped, the sunlight making their hair and foreheads shine. Dale watched with a fond expression as he stood beside the gigantic gas grill. And Mac … Mac had the time of his life.

  The French doors slid open as I settled on a lounge chair. I looked around as a huge smile pulled my lips apart.

  “Hi, honey. I’m home,” Royal said.

  With a gigantic moan, I sat up and dropped my head in my hands.

  What’s wrong with me? Why did my brain decide to dream the impossible dream when it had so much else to consider, such as my friend’s murder?

  Did Royal want me to move in with him? Not that he had asked me point blank, but the little things he said made me edgy. The night at La Plata was not the first time he said he enjoyed waking beside me in the morning. And suggesting I keep some of my clothes in his closet in case, and maybe a toothbrush and other hygiene products? And the look in his eyes belied his casual tone.

  If the value of a relationship is based not only on what you feel when you are together, but also on the emptiness you feel when you are apart, we had something special. I missed my hot demon like crazy when he left town for more than a day. He stayed overnight at my place on occasion, I slept over at his apartment more often. But taking the next step scared me. He had my love, but relationships do not endure on love alone and I had seen so many fail.

  And anyway, how could we live together permanently? Royal would not come live at my house. He tried to take my interaction with Jack and Mel in stride, he even occasionally participated in a jocular, one-sided way, though I think only to humor me. But when his mouth set a certain way and his eyes went cool, I knew he had reached the limit of his endurance. Hearing me yak to my friends, people he neither heard nor saw, made him feel like an intruder. They were not real to him. He tolerated my interaction with my dead roommates, but put up with it all day and every day? Nope.

  Mac didn’t like Royal’s place. He liked his big backyard. He sulked when I took him to the office or Royal’s apartment.

  If I refused to live in his apartment because of Mac, and he would not live in my house because of Jack and Mel - oh shit, what if he came up with the idea we sell our places and buy a new house?

  He’d never understand why I couldn’t leave Jack and Mel. Sure, I could sell my house and they would get some amusement from watching the new occupants, but they couldn’t communicate, and Jack would never speak to his ex-lover Dale again without me there as a verbal go-between.

  Think of it this way: if you had two children, would you move away and leave them all alone? Because Mel and Jack are like children in that they are totally dependent on me for their small pleasures. I know, I should not be responsible for their happiness, but I am.

  My dream made everything better. Jack and Mel were alive, which meant they could leave my old house and go their own way. My home didn’t tether me anymore. I could be with Royal in our own place.

  But me acting all domestic in the kitchen, and Mac a sweet and sociable creature? That told me I dreamed if nothing else did.

  I brought my knees up and banged my forehead on them. For crying out loud! You’re reading too much into it. It’s just Royal being affectionate and considerate. You’re tying yourself in knots for no reason.

  Sometimes I wished I had a friend to talk to about personal issues.

  Nah. If I had a girlfriend, she’d tell me Royal is kind, sweet, gentle, with a killer sense of humor and totally hot. She’d say I’m lucky, and should hold on to him with everything I have. In other words, she would be no help at all.

  But I didn’t have a girlfriend. My personal life was narrow in the extreme. I had Royal, Jack and Mel.

  I checked the clock on my nightstand. Six o’clock. The sky was pale gray with early morning light, although the sun did not yet peep over the mountain ridges. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so may as well get up and drown my angst in a gallon or two of strong coffee.

  I left my warm bed, shrugged on my robe and padded to the bathroom. Mac watched me from his red and black plaid dog bed. He still sat there when I came back in the bedroom.

  I headed for the door. “Rise and shine, little buddy.”

  I worried about Mac. Not so long ago he jumped up and headed downstairs the instant he thought I was getting up to start a new day. Now he waited to make sure I did before he moved. He’d lost some of his briskness. Maybe he had joint problems, or was getting old in doggie years.

  I didn’t want to think about Mac leaving me.

  Jack and Mel regarded me from their seats at the kitchen table.

  “Oh goodie,” Mel exclaimed. “We get to watch cartoons early.”

  Kids and their cartoons. I plucked the remote from the counter and used it to turn on the television, but muted the sound to barely there. My dead buddies would have erupted at any other time of the day, but they knew I existed in a half alive, barely tolerant state until I inhaled my first cup of coffee. They left their seats and sat on the floor near the television set.

  After feeding Mac and letting him outside, I put a fresh filter in the coffeemaker and spooned in French Roast. A thud on the front door made my hand jerk. Coffee grounds sprayed over the counter.

  I spun and saw the shadowy figure of the newspaper delivery boy as he pedaled away from the house, swinging his arm as he aimed another newspaper at another front door.

  I swept the loose coffee off the counter and in the filter with my hand, then filled the carafe with tap water.

  “Who’s that?” Jack asked.

  “Huh?” I twisted. Jack and Mel stood at the kitchen’s big west windows.

  “A woman outside,” from Mel. “She’s looking in here.”

  Mel and Jack recognized my neighbors, so the woman was likely a jogger or walker from another street. I poured the water in the reservoir and hit the brew button.

  “She’s dead!” Mel exclaimed.

  I braced my hands on the counter. No! Please, no! Not another one. “Are you sure?” I didn’t check; I didn’t want to.

  “Positive,” from Jack.

  “What is she wearing?” Mel added. “It looks like a negligee three sizes too small. And the color! Yuck.”

  Absorbing this information took me a couple of seconds, then my lower jaw dropped too far to enable speech.

  No, it couldn’t be.

  “Now she’s waving at us,” Jack said.

  Every foul word I knew and a few I invented on the spot climbed up my throat. Realizing who stood outside, I joined Jack and Mel at the window.

  She peered at the house from beneath the street lamp, a short woman in her late forties with frizzy auburn hair, square jaw and plump pink lips. I couldn’t see her eyes but knew they were gray-green. She was what I call overly endowed, and the skintight, silky burgundy negligee several sizes too small left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  She saw me. Carrie’s arms went skyward and her hands flapped spastically. Her mouth opened and closed.

  “She’s excited. I wonder why?” Jack looked my way and saw my expression. “Tiff, you look peculiar.”

  “Agh!”

  My yell made him cringe away.

  “What is going on?” from Mel.

  Instead of replying, I went through the kitchen to the hall and stood at the front door, and hesitated. What in hell’s name should I do?

  Carrie, the shade I met in England, could move by attaching herself to a living person’s aura. She tagged along with me and Royal, but I had not believed her claim to have traveled all over the world.

  I believed her now.

  I fumbled at th
e doorknob and managed to open the door a crack. Cool early—morning air seeped inside; the thermostat kicked in and the heater fired up.

  “Oi! You in there! Where did she go? Tiff! I know you’re there, madam. I saw you.”

  I had to talk to her. I pushed the door open wider and went out on the porch.

  “Hellooo!” Carrie yodeled.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She dipped her chin and regarded me from beneath her brows. “That’s a nice welcome I must say. I came for a holiday, of course. You remember when you left the Hart and Garter and I said I wished I could go with you? Silly me. The minute you drove away, I thought, I can go with her. But too late! Anyway, I started thinking about America and what fun a holiday here would be. I couldn’t come and not pop in to say hello, could I.”

  Great. “How in the world did you find me?”

  She flapped one hand. “Easy. I lingered in the office. I had to wait until Greg looked at the reservation list on his computer and since you reserved the room, there you were. Name, address and telephone number “I tagged along with a businessman who went to Salt Lake City by way of Heathrow. I meant to find someone coming in this direction, but some Mormon missionaries at the airport were going to town and they were such lovely lads, so happy to be home, I decided to go along with them. There are lots of them, aren’t there. And their families and friends see them off and welcome them back, it’s so sweet. Banners and flowers, and everyone has camcorders and cameras and mobile phones taking pictures. Anyway, I saw so much in Salt Lake City, I had to drag myself away. I went back to the airport and found some more missionaries going to Ogden. We rode the train to the station in Ogden and then I took another to Clarion.”

  She paused as if to take breath, then continued. “Getting up here took days. You are a bit out of the way, aren’t you, but I did enjoy riding a bicycle again.”

  “You know her,” Mel accused from behind me.

  Yes, unfortunately. “We met in England.”

  “Of course I didn’t do any pedaling,” Carrie continued obliviously. “But I had a grandstand seat behind the little lad.”

  Jack said, “She’s like Lindy Marchant, she can move.”