Demon on a Distant Shore (19 page)

I stepped back from the window and pulled the drapes together.
What am I gonna do about you, little buddy
?

Royal looked over my shoulder. “It’s back. No, gone again.”

At least Royal felt the little creature. I was not going crazy.

I took a quick shower, re-braided my hair and went through my clothes while Royal messed with his laptop. I didn’t bring much, just a few mix and match items. I’m not one of those who take along a bunch of clothes in case the need for a certain item could arise, but maybe I should have planned better for this trip.

Royal went in the bathroom to shower, so I dressed and trotted downstairs to the foyer. Sally Short stood behind the desk sorting mail. She looked up with a smile as I approached.

“Does Little Barrow have a Laundromat?”

She put down the mail. “I am afraid not, dear. But give your dirties to me and I will take care of them.”

“You offer a laundry service?”

“Not officially, but we do whatever we are able to accommodate guests. It will not be any trouble.”

I dropped my gaze. “Good of you, but I don’t have much needs cleaning, except . . . well, personal items.”

Her smile broadened. She winked. “No matter. Give your bits and pieces to me and I will have them fresh in a jiffy.” She leaned in. “Do not fret, my love, only female hands will touch your undies.”

I felt like an idiot as I blushed. Two women should be able to mention underwear without one of them going all embarrassed. “Um. Thanks. I’ll do that.”

I got out of there quickly. Back in our room, Royal sat in the pool of sunshine I had vacated, his long copper-gold hair damp-dry over his naked shoulders.

The sun hit me full in the face as we stepped outside. The humidity had disappeared with the clouds. The temperature felt just right, tempting me to bide awhile, maybe relax at one of the tables out back of the inn instead of getting in a hot car.

I stopped with my hand on the car hood. My feeling, or the little Elemental trying to tell me something again? Should I go to the rear of the inn? I met Royal’s eyes across the roof of the car. Strange, to know we felt the same thing and I wasn’t alone in this. I waited, but didn’t feel the compulsion as before, so perhaps my enjoyment of the climate, my desire to relax in the sun, was my own.

“Mind if I tag along?” Carrie asked.

“Please don’t,” I groaned.

Her jaw dropped, then her lips snapped together. “Heaven forbid I go where I’m not wanted,” she huffed.

“We’re going to the police station in Pewsey. We have to be alert and very careful. Carrie, I’m sorry, you’re a distraction I can’t afford.”

She put her palms together at chest level as if she prayed. “Please. I promise I won’t say a word.”

I turned my eyes skyward. “You’ll come anyway, won’t you, no matter what I say.”

We got in the car.

We took our time getting to Pewsey, a pleasant drive in empty lanes. The high banks and hedges provided shade from the sun and lowered the heat a notch.

“There’s Marlene Jones coming out of the rental,” Carrie said as we drove past a row of cottages. “What’s she doing there? My goodness, she’s kissing him!” She leaned between the front seats. “That’s . . . what’s his name now . . . Kevin, Colin . . . Cameron, that’s it. He’s the new renter, been here a month. Fancy that! Half her age. She’s a sly one. She’ll be out on her ear if her Roger finds out.”

“How old was your Alfonso?”

“Ow! You hit below the belt.” Carrie settled back. “Yes, he was half my age, and oh my, didn’t he have a way about him. We met in Leicester Square. He waited tables in one of the Italian restaurants. He made me feel alive.” Her voice hushed. “He made me feel beautiful. Barry and I . . . well, I read in the kitchen, he sat in the living-room with the telly, strangers sharing the same house. I cooked, I cleaned, I shopped. That was my life.

“Can you believe I was happy enough? Then I met Alfonso and realized what was missing: affection, romance, appreciation. Alfonso gave me all that.” She flipped up her hands. “So I ran away with him. I died. End of story, end of my life.”

If she was trying to make me feel bad, she succeeded. I said nothing - what could I say? Certainly nothing to ease pain or erase memories.

“Looking back, I know I would have gone home eventually. Probably when my money ran out. I wanted Barry worried out of his mind, not knowing where I’d gone, what happened to me. I wanted him remorseful, mourning me, thinking of how he should have treated me better. But knowing Barry, he never saw anything wrong with our marriage.

“But life after death isn’t so bad. I’ve traveled all over the world, seen things I never would have with Barry.”

“And you come back to Little Barrow?”

“It’s my home now.”

I thought of my home, my house, my roommates, and my unfaithful canine companion. I missed them, though they would give me hell when I got back.

“I went home to see him, just the one time. He looked so old, and I’d only been dead a month. I couldn’t go back again, too painful.”

Royal cleared his throat, loudly.
Oh that’s right, you can’t hear her
. I wished he could. Then perhaps the dead would be as real to him as they are to me.

Passing the veterinary clinic, the gas station and Alms Houses, we came to Pewsey and wound down the hill to town. A high brick retaining wall flanked the road on one side, the Church of Saint Martin, its large graveyard and a row of cottages the other. We rounded the bend to the town proper. The road narrowed, hemmed by a miscellany of tiny shops. The police station sat opposite the Post Office just past the statue of Alfred.

The place was surrounded.

From the satellite dishes on top, the two large vans parked up the road belonged to television stations. Vehicles parked bumper-to-bumper from the police station to the top of the hill, most with their wheels on the sidewalk. A young police officer stood before the doors to the station, legs planted wide, hands behind his back, chin high, as if he didn’t see the crowd of spectators and newshounds just beyond a row of tough vinyl barriers.

“How are we gonna get in there?” I asked Royal.

He drove past the station and turned left up a dead-end road which ran past the Post Office. “I’m sure you will think of something.”

My mouth popped open. “Me? Why is it always me?”

“I have to concentrate on what I can hear in there.”

Exasperated, I shook my head.

We had to park at the end of the road and walk back down the slope. We crossed the main street and marched boldly up to the crowd and through them. Royal guided me with a hand in the small of my back, murmuring, “Excuse me. Let us through, please. Excuse me. Thank you.”

We stopped in front of the police officer. Royal smiled in his face. “May we pass, Officer?”

“And you are. . . ?”

“Royal Mortensen and Tiff Banks. We need to talk to someone.”

“Would this be police business, Sir?”

Royal beamed. “Yes, indeed.”

Much to my surprise, it worked, because the young guy nodded and stood aside. We entered the station.

Now what?
I sent Royal an evil look as I tried to come up with a reason for being there. He innocently returned my gaze.

We went to the desk where a young, weedy-looking officer with buzzed ginger hair stood. So skinny he could hide behind a telephone pole if turned sideways, his head looked too big on his neck. His Adams apple protruded, his pale-blue eyes bulged, as did his round, squashed nose. “Special Constable Pickins, at your service,” he declared nasally.

Royal took a step back and eyed me inquiringly.
You heel,
I thought at him.

“I lost my wallet,” I blurted. “Must have put it down and forgot it. We went back to every store we were in, but no luck. I wondered if someone handed it in.”

Royal butted in before Pickins could answer. “Do you have a men’s room?” He wanted to get farther inside the station.

Pickins kept a polite smile on his face. “Not for public use, Sir. The public toilets are next door on the left. I’m surprised you didn’t see them.”

“We came from the other direction. We are new to Pewsey and did not know you have public conveniences.”

Pickins didn’t budge. “You do now. If you want to pop along there, I can help the young lady.”

“I can wait,” Royal said. He wandered back to the east wall and looked at some posters.

So I was on my own.
Thanks very much.
But I didn’t dare glare at him. I looked sideways at Carrie. She put pinched thumb and forefinger together and zipped them over her lips.

“If you’d describe the item, I can look in our
Lost and Found Box
.” The constable emphasized the name like he spoke of something impressive.

They had a
lost and found box
, like in secondary school? I made a square shape with the fingers of both hands. “It’s around so big and - ”

“You mean your purse,” Pickins said, with an
oh-you-Americans
smile.

I frowned. “No, I mean my wallet. Little leather thing; you keep money in it. I don’t carry a purse.”

“In England, we call it a purse, for notes and coins. What you call a purse, ladies here call a handbag.”

His condescending tone irked me. “I don’t care what your ladies call their stuff, what I carry is a
wallet.
No coins, just notes.” I had an inspiration. “Like a guy uses.”

“Problem, Constable Pickins?” said a familiar voice, and Darnel Fowler came through the doorway at the rear of the room.

Constable
Darnel Fowler.

“Johnny didn’t mention Fowler’s a cop.”

“You didn’t know?” from Carrie.

I glared at her - fine informant she made.

“A police officer mows down a teen, leaves the scene and does not report it,” Royal mused.

“He panicked and drove away. Nobody saw what happened so he kept quiet,” I suggested.

His chin jutted aggressively as he gritted his teeth. “We are going to nail the bastard.”

Royal was well and truly riled. Good cops despise crooked cops.

I brought my shoulders up. “How? We can hardly go to the police.”

“I will think of something.
We
will
think of something.”

I silently nodded at the windscreen.

Royal signaled to merge at a roundabout. “Definitely a bomb.”

“What?”

“What?” from Carrie.

“The Land Rover was rigged.” He glanced at me and away, eyes still cloudy. “They think the explosives were rigged to blow when it made a ninety-degree turn.”

We were almost to Little Barrow. I stared at the hedgerows whipping past, but in my mind’s eye saw the dark lane and the Land Rover’s lights blazing from where it parked past the church. It came at us on a more or less straight path.

“It did deliberately try to run us down, didn’t it?”

“I do not doubt it.”