Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons (6 page)

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

Another heavy silence, till I broke it.
“Mike, what
can you tell me
about Lynn’s death?”

A
snort, followed by
, “Don’t ask
, it’s out of my jurisdiction.”

“Not a teensy—
weensy clue?” I wheedled.

“
I’m sorry
you were acquainted with the victim
, but y
ou have to let this one go
.”

I could not stifle the rising anger. “Yeah, well remember that next time you come to me for help.” And I cut the call.

I absent-mindedly groped in the
bag
for another
barbecue-flavor
potato chip
as I stared at the menu of Lynn’s files, willing them to pop out something interesting
. Provo PD would get to see Lynn’s financial and phone records, which could tell them a lot.
I had
this laptop, which told me nothing
.

The door clicked open and
a white paper bag swung around the frame. I
inhaled
a familiar aroma.

“Using my incredible powers of deduction, I’d say that bag contains .
. . Royal, y
ou brought bratwurst!”

Royal’s grinning
face joined the white bag. “I thought you would be over y
our nausea and hungry
.
”

I jumped up from the chair. “Kennedy’s? You got Kennedy’s bratwurst? If I didn’t adore you already, I would now.”

He tossed the bag before I could rip it from his hand. I caught it midair and reverently eased the edges apart. There they lay,
nestled
in their
cardboard
boats, two big, fat, juicy bratwurs
t surrounded by sautéed onions
in white buns. They were barely warm, no
t
hot and oozing
juices
, but I didn’t care. I can eat bratwurst cold if it comes from Kennedy’s.

Royal snatched the bag and went
in
his living room. “I’ll heat the sausage in the microwave.”

I followed him as he walked through the apartment to the kitchen.

“Have you found anything?”
he asked as he bent to find a microwaveable container in a bottom cabinet.

I automatically shook my head, although he could not see me. “I don’t think so. Her appointment book is on there, and she documented her cases on the
USB
drives.
Lynn was so organized;
matching them is not a problem
. But
so far
I don’t see anything suspicious, not even in her e
-
mail.”

But who knew? An apparently routine investigation could be the beginning of whatever sent Lynn across the country to
find
me.

He scraped the bratwurst and onions into
the
container and p
ut
them in the oven.
Ten
seconds later, the meaty smell made saliva form beneath my tongue.

With the sausage and onions safely back in their buns
and resting on white china plates
, Royal took them to his glass-topped dining table. We sat across from each other. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Tiff,” he
admonished
, and flapped a blue linen napkin between my mouth and the bratwurst.

I grimaced,
snatched
the napkin and tucked it in my T-shirt’s neck. Then I took my first bite.

My teeth popped
the skin and flavor burst in
my mouth. Meat, juices, onion
and bread mingled to produce
a heaven-sent experience.

Royal laughed. “
I have seen that expression
on people when they first view one of the
Seven Wonders of the World
.”

I swallowed. “I can live without the Pyramids of Giza, I can’t live without food.”

Though a skinny little thing
who looked as if she survived
on breadcrumbs, Lynn
enjoyed
her food as much as I. She
c
ould eat like it was
her last meal
.
. . .

No longer hungry,
I dropped
the half-demolished sausage
on the plate and stared at it.
Lynn’s passing still confused my brain; one minute it knew she was gone, the next it thought of her in the here and now.

Ro
yal rose and came to me. One arm
circled
my shoulders, the other under my knees, and he swept me up. He took me to one of t
he
couches and
eased down
. On his knees with
his arms
cuddling
me, I looked
at
copper eyes
glowing
with compassion.

“It’s differen
t.” I snuggled
on
his chest. H
is arms tightened. “I feel sorry
for
dead people
who linger, more for those with whom I form a relationship, but they’re already dead when I meet them.
Lynn. . . . I remember what she was, Royal, and all that’s gone away.”

This
felt
worse than when Janine Hulme died.
The
only person apart from Lynn I knew
before
they died, I saw Janine
once alive and twice dead, and those meetings affected me emotionally in ways interaction
s with a dead stranger did not.

“I know.” His hand moved rhythmically over my hair. His warm baritone
voice and body heat enveloped me.

For me,
losing
Lynn
to murder
wa
s
a double whammy.
She was still out there,
not gone
from the world
.
She lingered,
waiting for me to find her killer and
bring him to justice
.
Hop
ing that one day, finally, she c
o
uld pass
over to where she belonged.

The doorbell rang as I dug pastry
from
the food processor and dumped it on a cutting board
.

“Tiff!
”
Dale
called as the front door opened.

I stuck my head a
round the corner. “In the kitchen
.”

Dale
thundered
in
with Jack on his heels
as I attacked the dough again.

“Good lord, woman, you’ll slice your fingers on the blades. Don’t you have a spatula?” Dale asked.

“Yeah, someplace.” I took the cutting board to the island, then turned bac
k to the sink and
washed my hands under the faucet.

He
put a large dish on the island. “
D
evilled eggs.”

“Oh, yummy.”

Why did I wash my hands when
I had to knead the dough
?
Duh.
I made to manipulate
the stuff.

Dale stepped in.
“Here, le
t me. Kneading is my specialty.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jack
simpered.

I made a face. “Eew! Cut it out
,
you two.”

Dale grinned. “Where’s Royal
?”

Paper plates were in the top cabinet. Lucky I’m tall. I pulled out a stack and put them on the island with the silverware and condiments. “
He
went to get marinated chicken kebabs from Dyson’s.”

“What is this anyway?
” Dale asked as he worked on the dough.

“Biscuits.”

“Biscuits with a barbecue? No rolls?” from Jack.

“I like biscuits, and there are plenty of Ranch rolls in the pantry.”

Excited
yips
sounded from outside.

Jack went through the entryway to the sliding French doors. I joined him.

Mac lay on his back on the grass as Mel brushed his belly.
She used a
stick
to pin
a small clump of
discarded
Mac hair
to the ground
so it would
no
t blow away in the breeze which ruffled the hybrid poplar.

Jack opened the door. “Hey, Mac! Where’s my boy?”

Mac rolled onto his belly, up on his stubby legs, and pounded toward the steps. Jack went out on the deck to meet him. He
went
down on his knees when Mac reached him and excitement transformed the stubby little dog into a miniature whirlwind.

Jack laughed, grabbed MacKlutzy and held him still so he could be stroked, rubbed, patted and scratched in all the places Mac loved.

Mel came up the steps with brush, comb and hair in hand. “Is Dale here?”

I canted my head back. “In the kitchen, kneading biscuit dough.”

“Where’s the cookie cutters?” Dale yelled.

“
In the drawer next to the fridge,” I called back over my shoulder.

Mel wiped the back of her hand over her brow. “Phew, it’s getting hot out here.” Then she grimace
d
. “Do I have Mac hair stuck to my face? Yuck!”

We headed back to the kitchen.
I tore off a section of paper towel and handed it to
Mel
, who
dumped the
dog
hair in the bin, damped
the
towel and wiped her face.

“Love the new do,” from Jack.

Shorter hair suited Mel. The tiny, silken red curls framed her face and matched the freckles
which dotted
the bridge of her nose and cheekbones.

“Ditto,” she said to Jack with a grin.

Jack’s new spiked hairdo
did nothing for me
, but Dale liked it.

Dale finished cutting out the biscuits and threw the cutter in the sink. He draped his arm over Jack’s shoulder. “Come on, lover. Let’s light up the grill.”

I looked across the sunken living room, through the big glass windows at the street. “Good idea. Royal should be back with the kebabs any minute now.”

I took a moment to enjoy the scenery, Clarion and the lake beyond. Higher than my old home on Beeches, nothing obstructed the view.

Mel sat on a stool as I found two cookie sheets, transferred the biscuits and put them in the oven. Mac went up on his back legs and planted his paws on Mel’s shins.

“I’m not picking you up.” Mel bent over her knees. Mac’s tail drooped. “But. . . .” She felt in her shorts’ pocket and pulled out a small rubber ball. “Look what Aunty Mel got you!”

Mel!” I warned. “Not in here.”

She slid off the stool. “Don’t worry, we’re going back outside, aren’t we, big boy.”

Off she
went
with Mac practically
fastened
to her heels.

A minute later, laughter and Mac’s excited yapping came through the open door.

I chuckled as I
took
the ribs from the refrigerator and put them on the kitchen counter. I’d cooked them this morning and
now
they marinated in barbecue sauce. They needed a few minutes on the grill to heat through and char. Next, out came the macaroni salad, Ranch rolls, angel salad, green salad and butter. Corn on the cob wrapped in foil would go on the grill. The biscuits were
almost
ready.
Dale
’s devilled eggs. This would be a great barbecue.

I went out on the deck. Jack and Mel raced around the yard with Mac in pursuit. He got near enough to pretend to snap at their ankles
once in a while
.

Everyone looked happy. Mel and Jack laughed and whooped, the sunlight making their hair and foreheads shine. Dale watched with a fond expression as he stood beside the gigantic gas grill. And Mac . . . Mac
had
the time of his life.

The French doors slid
open
as I settled on a lounge chair. I
looked around
as a huge smile pulled my lips apart.

“Hi, h
oney. I’m home,” Royal said.

With a gigantic moan, I sat up and
dropped my head
in
my hands.

What’s
wrong with me?
Why did my brain decide to dream the impossible dream when it had so much else to consider, such as my friend’s murder?

Did Royal want me t
o move in with him? Not that he ha
d asked me point blank, but the little things he said made me edgy. The night at La Plata was not the first t
ime he said he enjoyed waking
beside me in the morning. And suggesting I keep some of my clothes in his closet
in case
, and maybe a toothbrush and other hygiene products?
And
the look in his eyes
belied his casual tone
.

If the value of a relationship is based not only on what you feel when you are together
,
but
also
on
the emptiness you feel when you a
re apart, w
e had something special
.
I missed
my hot demon
like crazy
when he left town for more than a day.
He
stayed overnight at
my
place on occasion
,
I
slept over at
his
apartment
more often.
But t
aking the next step scared me.
He
had my love, but relationships do
not endure on love alone and I ha
d seen so many fail.

And
anyway,
how could we
live together permanently
?
Royal
would not
come live at my house.
He
tried to take
my interaction with Jack and Mel
in stride
, he even
occasionally
participated in a jocular, one-sided way, though I think
only
to humor me. But when his mouth set a certain way and his eyes went cool, I knew he had reached the limit of his endurance. Hearing me yak to my friends, people he neither heard nor saw, made him feel like an intruder. They were not real to him. He tolerated my
interaction with my dead roommates, but put up with it all day and every day? Nope.

Mac didn’t like Ro
yal’s place. He liked his
big backyard
. He sulked when I took him to the office or Royal’s apartment.

If I refused to live in his apartment because of Mac, and he
would not
live in my house because of Jack and Mel - oh
shit
, what if he came up with the idea we sell our places and buy a new house?

He’d
never understand why I c
ouldn’t
leave Jack and Mel. Sure,
I could sell my house and they would
get some amusement from
watch
ing
the new occupants, but they couldn’t communicate, and Jack would never speak to his ex-lover Dale again without me
there
as
a verbal go-between.

Think of it this way: if you had two children, would you move away and leave them all alone? Because Mel and Jack are like children in that they are totally dependent on me for their small pleasures. I know, I should not be responsible for their happiness, but I am.

My dream made everything better. Jack and Mel were alive, which meant
they
could leave my old house and go
their
own way.
My
home
didn’t tether me
anymore. I could be with Royal in our own place.

But me acting all domestic in the kitchen, and Mac a sweet and sociable creature?
That told me
I
dream
ed
i
f nothing else
did.

I brought my knees up and banged my forehead on them.
For crying out loud! You’re reading too much into it. It’s just Royal being affectionate and considerate.
You’re tying yourself in knots for no reason
.

Sometimes I wished I had a friend to talk to about personal issues.

Nah. I
f I had a girlfriend,
she’d
tell me Royal i
s kind, sweet, gentl
e, with a killer sense of humor
and totally hot. She’d say I’m lucky, and should hold on to him with everything
I have. In other words, she woul
d be no help at all.

But I didn’t have a girlfriend. My personal life was narrow in the extreme. I had Royal, Jack and Mel.

I checked the clock on my nightstand. S
ix
o’clock. The
sky was pale gray with early morning light
, although
the sun
did not yet peep over the mountain ridges. I
couldn’t
go back to sleep, so may as well get up and drown my angst in a gallon or tw
o of strong coffee.

I left my warm bed, shrugged on my robe and padded to the
bathroom
. Mac
watched me from
his red
and black
plaid dog bed
. He still sat there when I came back in the bedroom.

I headed for the door. “Rise and shine, little buddy.”

I worried about Mac. Not so long ago he jumped up and headed downstairs the instant he thought I was getting up to start a new day. Now he waited to make sure I did before he moved.
He’d lost some of his briskness. Maybe he had joint problems, or was getting old in doggie years.

I didn’t want to think about Mac leaving me.

Jack and Mel regarded me from their seats at the kitchen table.

“Oh goodie,” Mel exclaimed. “We get to watch cartoons early.”

Kids and their cartoons. I plucked the remote from the counter and used it to turn on the television, but muted the sound
to
barely there. My dead buddies would have erupted at any other time of the day, but they knew I
existed in a
half alive
,
b
arely tolerant
state
until I inhaled my first cup of coffee. They left their seats and sat on the floor near the television set.

After feeding Mac and letting him outside,
I put a fresh filter in the coffeemaker and spooned in French Roast. A thud on the front door made my hand jerk. Coffee grounds sprayed over the counter.