Demon on a Distant Shore (10 page)

“And you had how much money on you?”

“Two thousand pounds,” she said in a lower voice.

I peaked my brows and flipped my hands out in a
told you so
gesture.

She pouted. “For two thousand pounds? I don’t believe it.”

“People have been murdered for less.”

She presented me with her backside. I looked elsewhere.

I pressed on relentlessly. “Did he give the alarm? Did he wait for the ambulance and police?”

“He was in London on an expired visa. They would have sent him back to Italy.” She whirled to face me “We didn’t even
do
it
,” she huffed. “He wanted to jump right in bed, but oh no, I had to take a shower, get myself all fresh for him.”

Okay. Didn’t need to hear that. “When did it happen?”

“Twenty years ago, before Sally Short came here to take over from Dolly Short, she who ran The Hart and Garter back then. They came from Wales.” Her voice hushed. “Take my advice, stay away from Sally Short. She’s a witch.”

“Witch as in bitch, or witch as in witch?”

She tittered. “Ooh, I like that. The spells and broomstick kind, though I’ve not seen her on a broom. Yet.”

“What makes you think she’s a witch?”

“As I said, dear, I’ve been here twenty years. I see and hear everything. All the Short women are witches.”

Interesting
. I’d think on that later. “Do you know what happened to Alfonso? Someone must have seen him with you. Was he apprehended?”

She spat out a bitter
chuff
. Until I saw dead people, I didn’t realize how much we rely on facial expressions to interpret speech. I hear a shade laugh, or chuckle, or sigh, and it’s not always possible to tell if they do so in pleasure or pain. But I didn’t read amusement in her posture.

“I never heard anything from the guests or on the radio, or read it in the newspapers, so I imagine he went on his way and had a lovely time with my two thousand pounds.”

I softened my voice. “You know what really happened, don’t you.”

“You didn’t know him! Call me a stupid, useless old baggage, but I refuse to believe he meant me harm.”

She could be right. She died violently, but need not have been murdered.

With back hunched, shoulders pressed to her neck, frizzy hair and hands spasmodically clenching and unclenching, she looked like a furious kitten about to pounce. My lips twitched. “You’re not . . . old.”

Her body relaxed and she tittered. She patted her hair again. “I’m Carrie.”

“Hi, Carrie. I’m Tiff.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tiff.” Her shoulders went up again. “I shouldn’t say that. My mum would have a fit. You do
not
say you’re pleased to meet someone, because you don’t know you are, do you?” She put out her hand and moved it up and down as if shaking hands. “
How do you do,
that’s what you say.”

“I’m sure you - ”

“A stickler for etiquette was my mum. Dinner times were worse. Don’t read at the table. Put your knife and fork side by side just so on your plate when you’re done. Don’t ask for more than you can eat, and if you do by golly you’d best finish it. I saw the Queen at a fancy banquet - well I didn’t see her in person, but on the telly - pick up her chicken leg and chew on it, and everyone else trying to tackle theirs with a knife and fork. Using your fingers is the proper way to eat chicken legs. My mum knew. She had a fancy upbringing, did my mum. Went to a school for young ladies.”

She paused as if for breath and I jumped in. “Excuse me. That’s all very interesting, but - ”

“Do you think so? How nice of you to say! I have been known to waffle on given half a chance. My friend Sarah said I could drive any sane person up a wall. I wonder what she’s doing now. She was a lovely girl when I knew her. I could
not
understand her working in an abattoir, all the blood and guts. Tiff - that’s an odd name. Is it short for Tiffany?”

My brows met. “Yes,” I hissed.

She flapped a hand. “Does anyone like their name? I hated Caroline when I was a girl. I wanted to be Sophia.”

A gentle rap on the door startled me. Royal’s voice came faintly. “Tiff?”

“I have to go,” I told Carrie.

“But I have so many questions.”

And you had plenty of time to ask them, if you didn’t ramble on so
. “I know. We can get together later. Okay?”

“All right,” she said morosely. “I’ll be here.”

I thought about Carrie’s memories as Royal and I returned to our room. She remembered going to the movies to see The Godfather and it was made in 1972. I recalled wondering if Jack and Mel retained their memories because they had a social life. Carrie died twenty years ago yet her memory was still good and her ability to move around equated with a social life.

“I’m beginning to wonder if we can go anywhere without you picking up a new
friend,
” Royal said.

I pretended not to hear his exasperated tone as I checked my teeth in the bathroom mirror. “Me too.”

“Are you going to ask about her?”

I came from the bathroom. “She died twenty years ago. They’d wonder how I knew about her.”

“You don’t feel the need to poke around with this one?”

I smoothed the sleeves of his dark-blue cotton shirt down his arms. “Not this time.”

He grasped my elbows and pulled me in close. “That is a blessing.”

We shared a kiss which seemed to last forever. I went liquid. Then I had a nasty thought. I leaned back from him and twisted to look at the room. But Carrie wasn’t there.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” With seduction in mind, I eased away, backed to the bed and dropped my butt to the mattress, which promptly tried to eject me right back off. I clung to the edge and fistfuls of bedspread as the thing tossed me all over the place. “Whoa!”

It subsided to a gentle wobble. I daren’t move. Royal took my hand and hauled me upright.

He tweaked his eyebrows suggestively. “Looked like an interesting ride.”

“Do you know you have very suggestive eyebrows?”

He cocked his head on one side. “I prefer
expressive
.”

I imagined how I looked as the bed from hell did a number on me, and it was not a pretty sight. I felt like an idiot.

The mood had passed and he knew it. “Why don’t we go down and sample the local brew?” he suggested.

Sounded good to me. “Okay, but let’s check out that place across the square. It looks really old.”

Downstairs again, and everyone in the half-full bar eyed us as we walked past.

We didn’t make the exit. Royal had to stop and talk to a group of people in the foyer, and he’s like a lamp attracting moths to the flame. Before I knew it, we were in the barroom and a crowd had gathered. I stood there like a lump while he chatted, smiled and shook hands.

One guy suggested a game of darts, so off we went to the
Games Room
. What fun, sitting alone at a table while grown men threw pointy things at the wall. Naturally, Royal hit all the right places on the dartboard, and the local men, not to be outdone, insisted on another match, and another. I’m sure Royal deliberately threw the last match. It made the other guys happy and resulted in backslapping all around.

I didn’t see Carrie. Strange. I thought she would hover, eager to resume our conversation. Come to think of it, I didn’t sense her either.

We didn’t get across to the Ugly Duck. We spent the entire afternoon in the Hart and Garter while Royal charmed what appeared to be half of Little Barrow’s population.

After a three-hour nap, we ate in the restaurant again. The menu offered the same dishes as lunch plus additions. Chicken Maryland, sole in an herb sauce, rack of lamb, chicken lasagna. Mm. The desserts sounded fancy: White Chocolate Gateaux, pears braised in white wine, Baked Alaska.

Royal started coughing as I tucked into a huge slice of gateaux. I
thought
he was coughing until I heard “
toads!”
in a voice muffled by laughter. I eyed my gateaux and imagined a glob hitting him dead center between the eyes, but it was too good to waste.

We went up to our room after supper. I hung my jacket on the hook behind the door and carefully eased down on the bed. I patted the mattress. “C’mon over here, Watson.”

“Whatever you say, Holmes. Just give me a minute.” He went in the bathroom.

I was already under the covers when he came back. He stood at the end of the bed and deliberately leered at me. “No sexy lingerie tonight, I see.”

I flapped my hand at where the threadbare old T-shirt I usually wear in bed lay on the chair. “It’s hot, and this place doesn’t have air-conditioning.”

I blinked as he blurred, and ran my tongue over my upper lip. He can move too fast for the eye to focus on him, but stripping off his clothes in an instant was a first.

The glint in his eyes had nothing to do with his Gelpha looks. I held up both hands palm out. “Royal, no!”

Too late. He took a flying leap and hit the bed next to where I lay. The way the mattress tossed us around we could well have been in an earthquake’s epicenter. When it subsided, I lay in the circle of his arms. We were face to face, body to body, and an awful lot of Royal snuggled into an awful lot of me.

“Oh my,” I murmured.

. . . .
helpless!

I came awake, sitting bolt upright in bed with the sheet, blanket and bedspread snarled around my waist.

My head hurt as if from pressure inside my skull, for a fleeting moment it felt like something shared it with me. Something spoke to me, but not with words. A feeling, an emotion . . .
helpless!

I almost woke Royal, but what could I tell him? There is something in my head. No, not a voice.
Not
a headache or a bad dream. I did
not
imagine the whole thing. I decided to leave it alone and hope it never happened again.

I knew I would not be able to go back to sleep. I took his laptop to the chair, powered it up and typed in the search words.

Spotted Dick
.

Chapter Seven

We stayed in bed till nine-thirty and had missed breakfast by the time we showered and dressed. Breakfast was served between six and nine in the morning, not a moment longer. If you missed it, you went hungry till lunch or grabbed something from the tiny village shop. I think the inn had a deal with the shop, which coincidentally was open for business seven days a week. Maybe they took a percentage of what hungry guests paid for snacks, because I am positive I didn’t see any signs advertising dining times in The Hart and Garter.

Royal told me it was pretty much the norm, meaning the dining times, not a deal with the shop.

He dressed and went downstairs. Wearing just my old T-shirt, I looked through the window at a gray sky with not a hint of sunshine.

Royal returned with a tray laden with coffeepot, cups, plates, buttery croissants and a tiny bowl of strawberry preserve. “Sally had these left over from breakfast,” he said by way of explanation.