Demon on a Distant Shore (22 page)

The pink blanched from her cheeks. She took a quick step back, her free hand going to her neck. She swallowed. “I suggest you ask Royal.”

The basket’s handle cut in my arm; I took hold of it with my other hand and she flinched back as if she thought I meant to swing at her.

The shop bell dinged. I glanced over my shoulder to see a young couple and two small kids enter.

“I have to be going now,” Lorraine announced loudly, probably for the benefit of the lady at the till to remind her Lorraine was here at the mercy of an unhinged American. She scuttled behind the display racks and to the checkout.

I imagined going after her, grabbing her by the arm, spinning her to face me, asking what the hell she meant. But the shopkeeper might not welcome me mauling a customer.

Seething, I walked the aisle, indiscriminately tossing stuff in my basket. It took all I had to summon a cheerful smile for the shopkeeper as I paid, but I wanted to sock her when she teased me about my confusion over British coin.

I walked back to The Hart and Garter,
not
in a good mood.

Royal opened one eye, closed it and smiled sleepily. I crept to the armchair. Probably a good thing he dozed, giving me time to cool down. Should I tell him what Lorraine said? Should I ask what she meant when she said
that much is true
? Did I want to know?

Royal said the same thing: they
met
five years ago. Had they seen each other since then? Why would he keep it to himself? Did he leave a whole lot out when he spoke of Lorraine?

Yep, I sure did cool down some. I went from boiling to seething in two minutes flat.

Royal grunted, rolled on his back and opened his eyes. “What are you eating?”

I licked cream off the corner of my mouth. “Not sure. Think it’s a cream donut.”

“For breakfast?”

I nodded at the bedside alarm. “Brunch.”

He sat up. “Is it good?”

“Yummy. You want something? I got chocolate cakes, cream cakes, something called Jaffa Cakes. And potato chips. And some other stuff.”

He made a face. “Do you have anything
not
coated in sugar?”

I widened my eyes. “Potato chips don’t have sugar. Anyway, you love sugar.”

“In my coffee.”

He slid from the bed and crossed the room.

“I saw your lady friend in the shop,” I said as I went cross-eyed trying to concentrate on his broad back and tight buttocks at the same time. I ran my tongue over my lips again and not to lick away cream.

He went in the tiny bathroom. “Lorraine?”

He knew I meant Lorraine when I said lady friend. Huh. I supposed I should be happy he didn’t ask
which
lady friend.

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “You have more than one stashed around here someplace?”

He pushed the door ajar. A minute later the toilet flushed. Water gurgled in the sink. He came from the bathroom wiping his hands on a towel. “You spoke to her?”

I got a little short of breath. You would think, after seeing him naked so often, I’d be more nonchalant with glory before me. I tried to sound casual. “We had a nice chat.”

He smiled and went back in the bathroom to hang the towel. “I’m glad you two hit it off. She’s a sweet person.”

Really?
“If she’s so sweet, what happened with you two?”

“Sweet can be a step from cloying in large doses,” he said as he came in the bedroom. He deliberately leered at me. “I’m taking a shower. Want to join me?”

I grinned at a memory. We tried to take a shower together our first night here in a bathroom the size of a stall in a public toilet. Jammed together as water cascaded over our heads, we ended up doing something other than shower.

Lorraine’s face came into my mind and I lost the smile, and any inclination to join Royal in the shower, unless to hold his head under water till he couldn’t breathe. “Already had mine.” My voice sounded thin. “Does Sally know we’re leaving?”

A faint frown creased his forehead. He knew I was miffed. “Not yet.” He went to the wardrobe and rooted in there.

I dropped the rest of the donut in the paper bag and got up from the chair. “I have to pick up my clothes. Shall I tell her?”

His voice came muffled from the depths of the wardrobe. “Yes, why not.”

“Okay. See you in a sec.”

I put the paper bag on the floor with the rest of them. “Before last night, have you seen Lorraine since you broke up with her?”

A pause, followed by, “No.”

“Maybe spoke to her on the phone?”

“No.”

“Not in the last five years?”

“
No!
We were together
three days
, Tiff! I had no interest in seeing her again, ever. Did she say we had?”

“Nope.” I wished she had. Then I would feel justified in slapping her from one end of the Vale to the other. But no, the clever bitch
insinuated
I didn’t know everything about her and Royal, pulling my chain, hoping I would get worked up. And I did.

“Then why are. . . .” I felt him behind me. “Tiff, are you jealous?”

Yep, the green-eyed-monster and I had a relationship. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

An arm went around the small of my back, another behind my knees swept my feet off the floor. Royal cradled me to his chest. “Do you remember,” he murmured in my hair, “the first time I held you like this?”

“How could I forget?” I said as softly. An underground cavern in Bel-Athaer, a headless body on the ground, the sting of tiny wounds on my breasts and belly, and Royal gently holding me in his arms.

His lips felt so soft on mine, like velvet fingers, searching, probing. And the world, including Lorraine, went away for a time.

Royal’s cell chiming out the theme music to The Addams Family broke up a cozy nesting session. I sighed dramatically. Royal leaned over me to grope on the nightstand. Putting his phone to his ear, he lay back on the pillows and answered the call. “Mortensen.”

He sat up, every inch of his body tense. “When did it happen?”

Uh oh.
I sat up beside him.

“What do you want us to do? Okay. Please give Mrs. Norton our condolences.” He snapped the phone shut, staring me in the eyes, not saying a word.

“
Royal!
”

He drew his eyebrows together, compressed his lips. “That was Fred Sturgis. Scott Norton died last night.”

Jesus Christ!
“What? How?”

“Cancer. Apparently he was riddled with it. Sturgis said it was just a matter of time.”

I squinted, as if it would make things clear in my head. “Patty mentioned poor health, not dying.” But she likely would not speak to me of something so private, so painful.

“What now?” I asked.

“They want us to carry on.”

I leaned back and linked my fingers at my waist. As always when I heard of such a loss, I tried to empathize with the bereaved, but I barely knew Patty and never met Scott.

I pushed the covers aside. “Suppose I’d better go get my clothes.”

Sally, Greg, Darnel Fowler and three local men I’d seen before stood at the desk, silent. In fact, a strange kind of hush filled the room. Suddenly edgy, I went over there. Sally’s eyes were moist. As I watched, a single tear rolled over her lower lashes and tracked down her face. She snuffled and wiped at her cheek with the hem of her apron. Her bosom heaved.

“Oh, dear me,” she sighed as I joined the group.

Greg’s sigh came out heavier. “Aye, Mother, a terrible thing.”

“Who’d have thought.” one of the locals murmured.

Aware of Fowler’s eyes on me, I turned sideways to ease through the men.

An opened newspaper lay flat on the desk. Sally pushed it toward me and put one fingertip on a small column. “Look you here.”

I scanned the column. The bodies of Paul and Sylvia Norton were discovered inside a Pegasus Van Lines rental truck. It went far enough into Loch Claire to submerge the cab, with the rest of the vehicle above the water, easily seen by a young man on his way to work early in the morning. The cabin was fairly airtight; they asphyxiated before it filled with water. An investigation by Edinburgh police was ongoing. They had no living relatives.

A heavy weight dropped in my stomach, but I couldn’t let them see how the news affected me. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.” There, just right, a tad of sympathy for their loss. “Nobody got in touch with you?”

Sally sniffled. “No reason to, dear. We are not relatives. Likewise, no reason for the police in Scotland to contact Little Barrow, since young Paul and Sylvia no longer live here. Right, Darnel?”

“Right, Sally,” Fowler agreed.

I touched the edge of the newspaper, wishing I knew what it didn’t say.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving now,” Fowler said.

Sally kept her eyes down, but her hand tensed on the newspaper. Greg’s face went blank. Fowler watched me with a tiny smile which freaked me out as much as his question. A shiver ran through me.

I coaxed a puzzled expression. “Why would we leave?”

“Yes, what are you thinking, Darnel?” Greg asked. “We do not have so much business that we would see our guests off before their time.”

His unwavering gaze on me, Fowler hitched one beefy shoulder. “I thought you would be in the village but briefly before you continued your tour.”

“Did you need anything in particular, dear?” Sally asked.

I turned to her, relieved I didn’t have to see Fowler’s small, knowing smile. “Um, I wondered about my . . . stuff. Is it done?”

“I will bring it up to you when I have seen to these gentlemen.”

“Thanks, Miss Short.”

I backed from the desk. As I went up the staircase I thought of the Nortons, trapped in the van, each life-giving breath of air taking them closer to death. I hoped the crash in the Loch killed them or knocked them unconscious; they were not awake, desperately trying to break out as they gulped the last small pocket of air.

When I burst in the room, Royal stood at the foot of the bed, looking at something in his hand.

Chapter Twelve

Royal held the piece of paper out to me. I took it hesitantly. So much had happened in a short time, I needed to get it straight in my head before something else hit, and from Royal’s expression the piece of paper heralded something else. I glanced at it and had no need to read more than the first sentence. I sank down on the edge of the bed. Royal sat beside me.

His expression turned grim as I told him what happened to the Nortons.

“And Darnel Fowler was downstairs, gave me funny looks.”

“Funny?”

“Kinda . . . complacent . . . knowing?” I rotated my head, circling one way, then the other, making the vertebrae crunch. “I don’t think anyone else saw, but he made sure I did. He asked if we were leaving now. Greg Short asked him what he meant. Fowler said he thought we were here for only a couple of days. I think he knows why we’re really here.”