Dead Demon Walking (12 page)

We drove down the driveway. How much
snow does Arkansas get in winter? Navigating a driveway this steep
if snow- and ice-packed would be hell.

We pulled up outside the entrance, the
double doors beneath a small porch supported by slim round columns.
I admired the subtly tinted flights of hummingbirds etched into
glass panes either side of the doors. The branches of a tall tree
dipped over the roof of an attached triple garage which ran to the
right. The land behind the house fell to the green turf and
graceful trees I’d seen from the top of the driveway. Some kind of
statuary stood in front of the trees. Beyond that, the lake
stretched for miles, the banks rising to become lost in trees and
impenetrable undergrowth. I saw homes half-hidden in foliage and
the chimneys of others poking out the trees higher up.

We got out the car. I felt stiff, and
groaned a little as I pushed my arms skyward. Royal put one hand on
my right shoulder and kneaded. I leaned into his hand gratefully.
The humidity made the still, heavy air feel like the inside of a
sauna, popping sweat out on my face. I tried a sauna once; didn’t
like it.

Solomon Gunn looked cool in his dark
suit. I silently cursed him as my skin flushed. I wanted
air-conditioning and an enormous diet cola, and to take my shoes
off.

Vanderkamp walked toward the left
corner of the house. “We found the son down here.”

Royal gave my shoulder one last press
before following Vanderkamp. I came behind him with Gunn trailing
me. Vanderkamp went down concrete steps which twisted to the
rear.

We went down, and down, and down. I
knew I misjudged the house when we walked out on the lawn. Built
into the hillside, it was not a modest size. I gazed up at a
three-floor mansion, square until it came to the northeast corner,
which was octagonal, like a tower attached to the house. A wood
deck sat low to the ground and another girdled the first floor,
with railings and steps leading down to the lawn. As the men moved
toward the huddled trees, I walked east and saw that a fine mesh
screened the deck beyond the octagon.

A narrow inlet from the lake ended at
a small boathouse, the roof poking above the bank. Steps beyond the
octagonal tower led down to a round gravel area with a fire pit and
wooden benches. A small motor boat cut through the lake a quarter
mile out, its wake spreading to make water lap against the grassy
bank.

“
Miss Banks!” Vanderkamp
called.

I glanced back over my shoulder. The
agents and Royal stood about twenty feet out from the house, near
the trees. Giant figures loomed behind them; the statues I’d seen
from the road were not statues but tall metal cutouts, an Indian
chief with his horse. They had that oil-on-water effect, iridescent
metallic hues. They must have cost a bundle.

Vanderkamp pointed at the turf as I
joined him. “The son was here.”

I didn’t see anyone. I would notice
right off. The lawn had not been mowed for weeks and dying leaves
drifted over the grass. No blood or crushed blades. Perhaps it
rained recently, but I had a sneaky suspicion the agents were
testing me.

I shook my head. “I don’t get
anything. He didn’t die out here.”

Gunn treated me to his trademark
smirk. I curled my lip at him.

I heard a strident yell from somewhere
off to our left. My breath caught and I think I jumped just a
little.

A woman’s voice broke the silence.
“Alva! Come back you naughty girl!”

I jumped again, so did the agents, and
Royal seemed startled. We turned as one as something rattled
through the trees from the property to the west. The agents headed
over there with their hands inside their jackets. Royal strode to
me and stood close.

A massive black, white and tan Saint
Bernard broke free of the tree-line and lollopped over the grass
right at us, a long pink leash flapping from its pink collar. It
didn’t look like it meant to stop. I saw determination in the dog’s
eyes, and something else. It was not a happy pooch; it was mad as
hell. Royal stepped in front of me.

With a deep snarl, Cujo leaped at
Royal.

With his demon strength, surely he
could swat the animal aside, but couldn’t do that with the agents
looking on. My heart surged as the dog’s front feet hit Royal’s
chest.

I skipped aside as the dog took him
down. Letting Royal flatten me would not help anyone.

He fell like a log, the dog riding him
to the ground. He lay flat on his back with the dog’s back legs
straddling him, its front paws on his chest, holding it away with
by its neck as it snarled and snapped at his face, doggy spittle
flying everywhere.

Vanderkamp and Gunn had their guns
out. “No!” Royal and I yelled at the same time.

Royal smiled into the dog’s eyes and
spoke in calm, soothing tones as the agents closed in.

Can a demon put his will
on an animal?
He’d not tried it with
MacKlutzy, who is a bite first and ask questions later kind of
dog.

I relaxed when the dog’s snarls
lowered in pitch and it made an anxious, inquiring, snuffling noise
instead. Royal crooned to it. “Nice girl. Beautiful girl. You’re a
lovely, sweet girl.”

The dog panted, dribbling drool on
Royal’s shoulder. Its paws scrabbled at his chest for purchase. He
carefully helped it off him, whereupon it flopped on the ground and
rolled on its back, tail sweeping the long grass in a slow wag.
Royal rolled on his side and rubbed his fingers through its belly
fur.

A woman broke through the trees and
jogged over the grass to us, bits of leaf and a twig falling from
her long auburn hair. She skidded to a stop a few feet away and
clasped her hands together at her waist, her expression anguished.
“Are you all right? Is Alva all right? I am so sorry; she’s too
strong for me. I couldn’t hold her, she pulled the leash out my
hand.”

Royal sat up. “We’re fine, thank you.”
He continued to stroke the dog’s belly. “She’s a wonderful girl.
She was just confused.”

The woman pushed the heel of her hand
across her forehead. “She’s unhappy and jumpy after what
happened.”

“
What happened?” I couldn’t
resist squatting beside Royal so I could stroke the lovely animal.
Um, I mean the dog, not Royal, although he’s every bit as lovely an
animal.

“
This is Mrs. Waterson,”
Vanderkamp said as he stepped closer. “The dog belonged to the
Fenshams. She agreed to take it, otherwise it would be in the local
kennel.”

“
I’ve always loved Alva,”
Mrs. Waterson said. “She knows me. It’s just that she’s been acting
. . . funny, since. . . .”

Her gaze came to rest on
Royal’s face, and then slowly traveled down. I understood -
checking out the bod. Been there, done that, and hoped to do so
every opportunity given me. But I unintentionally gave her a stern
look. I should be used to the effect he has on women, they don’t
stand a chance. It’s not their fault he’s a babe magnet. But she
was an attractive brunette with large green eyes, kiss-me lips and
a lovely figure.
Humph
.

“
This is a crime scene,
Mrs. Waterson. Please return to your home,” Gunn said.

“
Yes. I know. I’m sorry.”
She didn’t take her eyes off Royal. “I hope she didn’t hurt you?”
she asked him.

Royal stood and beat at his pants, as
if trying to remove the grass stain decorating one thigh. “No harm
done.”

She passed both hands over her hair,
pushing it behind her ears. “I’ll take Alva back, but I’m next door
if you need anything.”

I might not have existed for all the
notice she took of me.

I bent, grabbed up the end of Alva’s
leash and held it out to her. “Here you go.”

She gave me a thin
smile and took the leash, nodded, about-turned and walked back to
her house, towing an uncooperative Alva. Alva would rather stay
with Royal. I bet Mrs. Cute Brunette was of the same
mind.

“
Shall we go inside?”
Vanderkamp suggested from behind me.

I gazed at the big house. “I go in
alone.”

“
Ah. Not possible. It’s a
crime scene,” he said as he came around to face me.

I jogged my head to one side. “Not any
more, it’s not. Anyway, I’ve been at plenty of crime scenes. I know
the routine. I won’t disturb anything.”

“
Sorry. Not going to
happen.”

“
You don’t understand,
Agent. I go in alone or not at all. That’s how I
operate.”

“
Not this time,” Gunn put
in.

I made a face. “Okay. Fine. Let’s
go.”

They followed me to the house, but
stopped when I veered south and put my foot on the first concrete
step.

“
The door back here is
open,” Vanderkamp said.

“
Go ahead, take your time.
I’ll wait in the car.”

“
Jesus Christ,”
Gunn said in an undertone.

I kept going, fairly skipping up the
steps, an achievement when the air clogs the breath in your
lungs.

“
Please come back, Miss
Banks,” Vanderkamp called.

I turned on the step. “Give me a
reason.”

“
Let’s talk about
it.”

“
I understand your
skepticism.” Man, this humidity could kill me. I sat on the step.
“But you guys came after me, I didn’t volunteer, so I figure
someone in the Bureau believes in what I do even if you don’t. I
have to be alone or it doesn’t work. Simple as that.”

Sheesh, Tiff, you do
realize you just lied to an FBI agent, right?
But they couldn’t know that.

Vanderkamp flicked one hand at me.
“Give us a second?” Both agents went into a huddle.

The agents separated.
Vanderkamp walked to the steps. “Okay, Miss Banks, it’s all yours.”
He didn’t say it out loud, but I heard the
but
. . . .

I stood. “I will not touch a
thing.”

Royal gave me a tiny smile, just a
stretch of the lips, but his eyes were somber. He knew interaction
with shades could be hard on me and this one promised to be a
lulu.

We walked back to the wood steps up to
the deck. Royal pulled me in and his hands pressed my shoulder
blades. I thought his demon warmth combined with the heat and
humidity likely to fry me. “Be careful, Tiff,” he breathed into my
hair.

The house was empty, or he would sense
a presence, yet he still worried. He wanted to be at my side in
case I needed him. I smiled, picked a dead leaf off his lapel,
dotted a kiss below his ear. “If I need you, I know you’ll be there
in a heartbeat.”

His lips lingered on my forehead.
“I’ll be listening.”

“
You do that.” I tapped my
fingers on his shoulder, turned and headed for the
house.

I went up the steps to the upper deck
and cautiously opened the glass door to look inside before
entering. You can never be too careful. I’ve been in houses where a
ranting shade made a beeline for me the second I stepped in. They
couldn’t hurt me, but being charged by an irate shade can make your
heart miss a beat or two. But nothing stirred.

The bitter-almond smell of old blood
and stink of excrement made me want to gag, but knowing the Suits
watched, I held my breath and went in the living room, closing the
door behind me. Inside, I sagged on the doorframe till the smell no
longer seemed as bad.

The place was huge. The ceiling of the
living room and entry went up to the next floor, with a staircase
winding up opposite the front door. The open-plan area had a sparse
elegance and the modern furniture looked uncomfortable. The
floor-to-ceiling windows behind me must provide an incredible view
of the lake when the white cellular blinds were up.

On my left, the wall broke to leave a
square, empty space; beyond that a huge, octagonal parquetry dining
table and twelve high-backed chairs occupied nearly all the space
in the octagonal dining-room. A door from there led to the
screened-in porch. A square opening on the right of the dining-room
gave into a big kitchen with black marble counters, glass-fronted
cabinets and a huge refrigerator. Six gas burners and a deep-frying
unit were embedded in a large workstation in the middle of the
room. Sunlight streamed through tall east windows above the double
sink.

The air-conditioning was off. The
inside of the house felt worse than outside, with the hot, clammy
unmoving air and reek of stale bodily fluids.

I sensed them. Three people. I knew
where they waited, so I didn’t climb to the top floor. As I
suspected, I found another staircase going down, just past the one
going up.

I stood a moment at the top, composing
my mind and senses for what I would find on the ground floor, then
I went down.

Blue, brown and green plaid
wallpaper covered three walls. The ceiling and east wall, with a
large picture window looking over the fire pit, were dark forest
green, the carpet blue. A pool table stood in the middle of the den
and a leather-topped bar and fancy barstools stretched along the
south wall with a dozen framed black-and-white photos behind it. A
fifty-inch TV hung on the north wall; below that a bookshelf held
paperbacks triple-stacked. Two loveseats and an armchair
exactly
matched the
wallpaper.