Along Came a Demon (27 page)

And that’s how we came to be watching an apartment above a small florist in downtown Fresno, and how I came to be talking to nasty little Freddie Conroy.

Freddie was the third dead person I spoke to in a roughly three-square-mile area. He might be the one to prove my theory behind opening my detective agency: although not all our cases would involve a violent death, my ability to talk to the dead could still be valuable. The dead see a lot, they’ve nothing else to do but observe the world going on around them.

But it’s not a good idea to put words in their mouths, or ideas in their heads. There can’t be many people like me, who see and talk to the violently slain, and the odds of a dead person getting to talk to one of the living are poor. They tend to say what they think I want to hear, just to keep me around. I had to ask the three in Fresno a particular question, and the first two obliged by sending me off on a wild-goose chase. But Freddie was mean and irritable and didn’t want me here, so maybe he would tell the truth to get rid of me. Kind of like reverse psychology.

“
Shall we?” I asked Royal.

He led the way across the street to the shop, the hot California sun beating down on our heads. July, and Fresno already baked. Next month, the trees lining the streets of the old part of town would start to look sad, and store owners would have to water their curbside planters daily. The florist shop had wide, deep awnings along the front to protect the floral displays clustered about the door.

The door in the alley could be a side entrance to the shop, but I bet it opened to stairs leading to an apartment. Freddie said he saw the occupants take a bright-pink cat kennel from their car and through the door. The orange cat inside was huge, obviously much too big for the little carrier. He also said in the past three days they’d bought cans of cat food, dry kibble and milk from the market a block over.

More than one fat orange cat in a bright-pink kennel would be one hell of a coincidence, but we would be cautious. Freddie could be lying to me.

Royal gave the door an authoritative knock. We waited.

Demons have supernatural hearing. “Someone’s in there.” Royal grinned at me. “And so is a cat.”

I beamed back. “I hope it’s Pussywillow.”

“
Not to mention we’ll feel like idiots if it’s not.”

We could see up a staircase through the narrow window in the door. Nobody appeared, but a male voice spoke through the intercom: “Yes?”

“
Termite inspection,” Royal said. “We have a report of termite infestation in your block. We need to check your building.”

A brief pause, then the man replied: “Did you speak to our landlord?”

“
I’m on the phone to him now,” Royal lied.

“
Then you can tell him we don’t have termites.”

Royal cocked an eyebrow at me. “You sound positive.”

“
Yes, I do. I’m a carpenter. I’d know if we had termites. Thank you for calling. Bye.”

And the intercom clicked off.

Royal frowned. I heaved a sigh. We leaned against the wall either side of the door. How were we going to get inside the apartment now?

Why didn’t we call the police? First, I doubt catnapping placed high on their case list, so response would be slow. Second, as Royal said, we would feel like idiots if the cat in the apartment wasn’t Pussywillow - which would not be the first freak coincidence I’ve run in to - and look like idiots to the local PD. That is bad for publicity. Third, the reward was for the return of Pussywillow, not for providing information leading to his return. Maybe Gertrude Hackenbacher would use the technicality to weasel out of paying us.

Royal smiled. “I have a plan.”

“
I don’t like this. He could take off and get in traffic.”

“
I won’t let him get away.”

“
Maybe the guy hates dogs. What if he hurts Mac?”

“
I won’t let that happen either, Tiff.”

I squinched up one side of my face. “I don’t like it, Royal.”

“
So you said. Do you have a better idea?”

We were in the deeply recessed entry to the florist shop: me, Royal and Mac. Royal unthinkingly reached to touch Mac’s head. Mac’s lips curled off his teeth. Royal took his hand back. “Nice dog. Nice Mac.” To me, he said, “I’m going to make him like me if it kills me.”

“
Well good luck with that. As far as I know, I’m the only person Mac tolerates. I don’t think he actually
likes
anyone.”

MacKlutzy is the aforementioned Scottish terrier. He’s a bumbling, crotchety little animal, and has a streak of determination unrivaled in the doggy world. The first time I left him alone in the house, when he was a puppy, he chewed a huge chunk off the bottom of the bathroom door, trying to escape. Had I not come home when I did, he would have done it too. Royal thought Mac’s determination could work in our favor.

Now or never! I carried Mac to the side door, set him on the ground and squatted next to him. I pointed at the door. “Mac! Cat!”

Mac thinks cats would be tasty treats if he ever got hold of one, but he didn’t see any cat. He laid his ears back on his skull and glared at me.

“
Honest! There’s a cat in there, Mac!”

He sniffed at the doorstep and his ears perked a little. He must have found the scent.

I kept urging him, trying to get him excited. “Cat, Mac!
Big
cat!”

After a couple of minutes, he was whining at the door.

“
Yes! Cat, Mac! Get the cat!”

Little yips interspersed the whining and snuffling, and he started scratching. Not one of those painted metal types, but good old-fashioned wood, the door didn’t stand a chance. Tiny slivers of paint and wood peeled off under Mac’s attack. The more I encouraged him, the louder and more frantic he got until he made quite a racket. I hoped the guy upstairs wouldn’t turn on his intercom and hear my voice, but there’s a specific sound to an intercom, a dead-air sound, even when no person speaks, and I didn’t hear it.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and a pair of feet in gray slippers appeared on the top step. I backed away across the alley, into the doorway of a corner boutique in the next block.

I didn’t like the next stage. Mac was on his own. Sure, Royal could do the speed-demon thing, whip in and take Mac away, but I don’t like to take chances where my dog is concerned.

Peering around the corner, I watched as the door opened and a man came out. Five-eight maybe, long red hair and a goatee, he wore a pair of blue and white checkered pajamas. Mac tried to get past him, but he blocked the dog with his foot. “What the fucking… ?”

Mac tried again to get past. The guy edged outside, pulling the door ajar behind him. “Get out of here, you little rat!”

Mac took no notice of the guy, he might not have existed. He focused on the cat he believed to be his legitimate prey. He lunged at the door.

The redhead stepped back, bumping the door open a little more. He yelled at my dog. “Get the fuck out of here, you stupid mutt!”

If there’s one thing Mac hates worse than cats, it’s being threatened. He recognized the guy’s tone. Terriers are fearless. They literally do not perceive any distinction in size or bulk. Something stood between him and a cat and that something threatened him. Mac didn’t hesitate, he attacked.

“
Oh my God, I am so sorry!” I exclaimed, trying to sound sincere as I rushed across the alley. “I only took my eyes off him for a second!”

The guy clung to the doorframe with both hands and Mac attached to his ankle, wobbling as he tried to keep his balance, swearing up a storm. He tried to shake Mac off. That must have hurt.

“
Get it off me!”

“
Calm down and hold still. I can’t do anything with you shaking him.”

I squatted next to Mac. “Mac, bad boy. Let him go.”

Mac didn’t know what I talked about. Tell him “drop it!” and he’ll eventually open his mouth, but he didn’t hear it from me. He snarled, a deep throaty snarl muffled by the guy’s thick socks.

“
Get him off me you stupid bitch or you’ll both be sorry!”

I anticipated anger and I’ve been called a lot worse, so my affront was pure pretense. I straightened to my full height and put ice in my voice as well as my eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

He calmed a little and stood still. “No. But if I have to hurt him to get him off, I will,” he said through gritted teeth. “I have a right to defend myself.”

Something went between me and the redhead. If you saw a demon move at full speed, it would be just a blur, and you’d tell yourself you imagined it. The door banged open and the guy staggered. I swayed a little.

I squatted beside Mac again. “You’re right, and I apologize. If you stand still I’ll get him off.”

I talked to Mac, who still took absolutely no notice of me.

Another waft of air. I glanced over my shoulder. Royal stood across the street holding a Day-Glo-pink cat carrier.

“
Mac, drop it!”

MacKlutzy slowly opened his mouth. I scooped him up in my arms.

The guy backed through the doorway. He hoisted his leg by the ankle and peeled back the sock. “I could sue you.”

I picked tiny bits of sock fluff from out of Mac’s teeth. “Oh, sorry, did he ruin your sock?” I didn’t try to sound apologetic. I didn’t care how angry he was. Royal had the cat.

He glared at me. “Keep your fucking dog on a leash, lady!” Then he backed in and slammed the door.

I walked across the street with Mac in my arms. I didn’t hurry. Any second now the redhead would discover his prize missing, but what could he do, report a stolen, stolen cat to the cops? Come after us?
Yeah, bring it on, baby.

I stopped beneath the sputtering neon sign.

“
Thanks, Freddie.”

“
Up yours y … fuck… .”

I looked up and presented my finger before I walked away. To think, I was going to talk to the pharmacy about getting that sign fixed …

Whisperings: Along Came a Demon

Linda Welch

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Linda Welch

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