Dead Demon Walking (6 page)

I twisted back to the desk.
I could help him. I couldn’t bring his killer to justice, I
couldn’t make him go on his way, but in this I
could
help, though I would risk it
blowing up in my face.

I shook my head imperceptibly. “He
won’t believe me.”

Jack spun. “He will. I’ll make sure of
that.”

How? I didn’t ask.

If they did communicate, through me,
would putting Jack and Jericho together achieve anything? Time had
passed. People change. Did Jack know Jericho as well as he thought?
I stared at the monitor. I couldn’t decide what to do; I had to
think it through. “Jack, I can’t tell you yea or nay right now. I
gotta think on it.”

I held up my hand to ward him off.
“Best I can do, Jack. I’ll call Jericho, tell him I’ll be away for
a few weeks but will be in touch when I get back.”

He nodded and turned away.
I
wanted
to say
yes, he seemed so sad.

***

I drove along Radcliffe Road, heading
for the mall and my favorite lingerie store: Décolleté. I don’t
spend much on clothes, but I refuse to skimp on underwear. I wanted
a few new, sexy sets for the vacation. And I’d leave the worn old
T-shirt I slept in at home. I’d get some slinky little number
instead. Maybe a teddy. I never wore a teddy before. I grinned. I
bet Royal would like me in a teddy.

My cell rang. Unknown Caller. I
hesitated, inclined to let it go to voicemail, but it could be
someone wanting to hire us. I answered the phone.
“Hello?”

“
Please help
me!”

The same voice. I knew it. “Look,
Lady,” I began. The line went dead.

“
Goddammit!” I snapped the
phone closed and tossed it on the passenger seat.

Swearing, I spun the steering wheel,
took a sharp left to Childress and headed for Royal’s
apartment.

***

“
Royal!” I burst through
the door into his living room. He wasn’t there. I saw the two
contractors, dim apparitions through the plastic sheet, standing
with hammers poised in midair. Then I heard the steady
thump, thump, thump
on
the ceiling, Royal’s way of letting me know he was upstairs in his
bedroom. I sighed, and went out the door to climb more stairs. The
rhythmic banging
resumed behind
me.

Taking the steps two at a time, I
climbed the staircase to the top floor.

Royal sat at his big roll-top desk. He
spun the chair as I came in the room and his smile took everything
else from my mind. And that he wore only a pair of Levi’s had
something to do with it. He stood to meet me and three steps later
his arms held me close. Behind his back, I stuck my thumbs inside
his waistband as I lay against his warm, smooth chest. We stood
that way for a minute.

“
You are the most
distracting man,” I softly chided.

“
I aim to please,” he
murmured back.

“
Oh, you do.” I lightly
flicked his bare shoulder. “Sometimes I wonder how we get any work
done.”

His eyes rolled up. “Ah. Work, is
it?”

I stepped back. “Yes and
no.”

“
All work and no play make
Jack a dull boy.”

I put my hands behind my back, the
temptation to climb all over him nearly overpowering me. “You
couldn’t be dull if you tried.” I held up one hand as he stepped
into me again with a twinkle in his glowing eyes. “Hold up there,
big boy.”

The limited seating in Royal’s bedroom
- either the desk chair or the bed - can be a problem. I learned
early in our relationship that sitting on the bed was, in his
opinion, an invitation to stretch out on the mattress and
experiment with every position in the Karma Sutra. One of us had to
remember we worked for a living. Unfortunately, that someone had to
be me. It sure would never be Royal.

I went around him and sat at the desk.
“I had another call, on my cell this time. Like before, a woman
asking for help. She sounded a long way off, difficult to hear, and
the call cut off after a few words.”

Royal gracefully sank to the floor to
sit cross-legged with his back against the bed’s footboard. “The
same woman, are you are positive?”

“
It has to be.”

“
She could be a potential
client with a bad phone.”

Possibly. I tend to take the negative
view, look at the worst-case scenario. I fixate on what can go
wrong instead of what can go right. That’s just me. Sometimes there
is an innocent explanation. So why not think so this
time?

Chapter Five

As ridges and folds of far distant
terrain disappeared beneath the clouds, I unsnapped my seatbelt and
shifted first one way then another, trying to get comfortable.
Economy class is not designed for tall people. I don’t think it’s
designed for people of any width and height.

Did I remember everything? Put the
newspaper on hold - check. Put mail delivery on hold - check. Give
Janie the Boston hotel’s phone number in case she had to call me
and I forgot to charge my cell phone battery - check. I’m not
paranoid, honest. I happen to believe in Murphy’s Law, which says
anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Murphy and I have a
close relationship.

I shouldn’t worry about
Mac. He’d be safe in Janie’s care. But his sad doggy look got me
where it hurt. It’s amazing how a dog can express emotion. When
MacKlutzy is mad his ears go back flat on his skull and he slits
his eyes. When he is sad or does not feel good, the ears go down
and out horizontally - a Scottie’s ears can’t droop - and those
eyes get all big and dewy. When I handed him to Janie his look
said,
how can you desert and betray me yet
again?
He doesn’t understand why I leave
him, just that I do.

But he does that every time he stays
with Janie and is always fine when I collect him.

Jack and Mel tried to make me feel
guilty. They hid from me when I wanted to say good-bye. I walked
all over the house, calling them, and not a whisper.

They’ll be fine,
Tiff.
Nothing could happen to them. The
house could go up in flames and they would be okay.

“
What are you fretting
about now?” Royal asked. He gave my hand a warm squeeze. “Jack and
Mel?”

I huffed out a breath. “No. The house
burning down.”

He chuckled deep in his throat and
laid his head back on the cushioned headrest.

I folded one leg beneath me so I sat
at an angle, and watched him doze. I gently brushed away
copper-gold strands caught on his lip. His profile, etched against
the dim cabin, made me forget to breathe. I let my head settle on
his shoulder and inhaled his scent. He smiled and groped for my
hand.

Then an evil flight attendant paused
on her patrol to tell me to sit up and buckle up.

I had more than enough time
during the flight to mull over what I should or should not do about
Jack and Dale Jericho. I would have to invite Dale to my home and
persuade him I could summon the spirits of the dead. I could
not
tell him the truth.
That would be worse than foolhardy, it would be plain
stupid.

But if I didn’t bring Jack and Dale
together, Jack would be impossible to live with. If I did . . . how
would Jericho react? He’d call me crazy.

The plane banked to begin descent and
my stomach went along for the ride; I closed my eyes as it tried to
crawl up my throat.

“
We have a two-hour layover
before our flight to Boston,” Royal said cheerfully.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at
the diagram of a terminal concourse on his cell phone’s tiny
screen. “Where do you want to eat?”

I give him a look as sour as what I
felt in my belly.

***

Royal leased a car at Boston Logan.
Not just any car: a red Mustang convertible. I didn’t know you can
lease those. I fell in love with the machine in two minutes
flat.

Twenty minutes after leaving the
airport, we entered a crescent-shaped terrace, tall white buildings
in an unbroken half circle fronted by a small treeless park girded
by black cast-iron railings. Stone steps flanked by white railings
went up to entrances on the first floor instead of the ground floor
- single-families homes or apartments, perhaps - but several were
hotels two or three times the width of the other buildings. Royal
pulled to the curb and let the engine idle in front of one of
these, a noble, gleaming white stone façade and tall, sparkling
arched windows.

A blue canopy protected the
entrance and a large, shiny brass plaque on the wall spelled
out
The Hermitage
in etched Old English letters. A doorman in a pale-blue
uniform trimmed with gold came down the steps, opened the passenger
door to let me out then zipped to the driver’s side to do the same
for Royal. A bellhop - a young, skinny brown-haired guy with tired
eyes and buck teeth - trotted down the steps to take our bags. We
followed him up the steps.

The Hermitage’s cream walls rose
twenty feet in the square foyer, with recessed powder-blue panels
framed by just a touch of gilt. The color scheme would look tacky
in a downtown Clarion motel, but had the opposite effect here. It
looked real classy. Floor-to-ceiling marble columns outlined the
circumference. Chandeliers dripped from the high ceiling; their
crystals sparkled, sending out prisms of light. Artfully placed
lamps and recessed lights gave the place a diffused golden
glow.

Arranged in intimate little groups
throughout the foyer, chairs and couches upholstered in satiny
gold, peach and powder-blue pinstripes clustered at occasional
tables with pale marble tops. The seats looked so damned
comfortable, I knew I’d fall asleep if I sat in one.

Royal went to the desk to sign in with
a white-haired, distinguished-looking older guy in a dark-gray
pinstriped suit. I waited with the bellhop and our luggage, no
doubt gawping like a country hick.

I stiffened as a familiar
sensation tugged at me.
A very foul word
nearly burst out my mouth, but I managed to swallow it. I turned my
face up to the high ceiling, toward the roiling
presence.

No. Not now. Not
here.
I wanted to stamp my foot in
frustration.
It’s not fair!

Royal rejoined us. We followed the
bellhop into an elevator.

I jogged my head at the guy and
whispered to Royal. “This is overkill.” As if we needed help with
our two small cases.

The presence rubbed my nerves as we
rode up to the next floor.

Out the elevator, along a
high-ceilinged, carpeted hallway, and the guy opened a door and
stood aside for us to enter. I knew a mistake had been made as we
stepped inside. I tried to back out, but Royal caught my arm and
spun me in a circle.

I took in our surroundings.
“You
have
to be
kidding.”

We stood in an octagonal reception
room with paneled walls painted cream. A grouping of Louis XIII
couch, chairs and desk were centered on a round Persian carpet -
they couldn’t be real, could they? Ornately carved double doors
touched with gilt stood open on our right. The bellhop opened a
facing door to show us a half-bathroom the size of my full bathroom
at home.

Royal towed me through the
double doors to a huge lounge with walls washed in palest gold. My
entire ground floor could fit in there. A door from there let into
a big bedroom, and a door from
there
to a bathroom with a shower to
fit five people and a marble tub to easily accommodate
four.

The decor blended comfort
with ostentation. Bemused, I drifted back and forth. I had
to
feel
everything. The heavy floor-to-ceiling, cotton-velvet drapes
were thick, lush chocolate. My fingers drifted over silken
French-polished surfaces which reflected the room like garden
gazing balls.
Three
couches in chocolate, cream and gold paisley, and a pale-gold
chaise lounge edged in chocolate silk braid, not to mention several
deeply upholstered, subtly coordinating armchairs.

Scrollwork, leaves and flowers carved
their way up elegant cabinets, a secretaire desk and long-legged
tables designed for nothing more than to hold striking alabaster,
marble or gilt statuettes and accenting knickknacks. A stunning
ormolu cabinet fascinated me, the black wood and metallic accents
complimenting the room’s color scheme. Atop a heavy bureau, an
angel, feathered wings outspread, twined his body around a
voluptuous woman on a pleated bed, and rippling drapes rose at
their backs to support a clock face, the entire ensemble carved of
dark-green jade.

This wasn’t a hotel
room
; it was a whole
goddamn apartment! No kitchen, but the wet bar with full-sized
fridge, microwave and sink made an adequate substitute. I ran my
fingers around the rim of a stemmed crystal glass, making it hum;
held it up to the light and saw prisms dance.