Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons (19 page)

I dropped my hands and raised my head as a thought struck me.
Hell’s bells.
The killer was Gelpha, and Lynn
saw
through
their demon glamour to what they really are.

But if that was the connection, there still had to be more to it.

I palmed a yawn.
M
ac
came inside and
trundled over the damp floor
,
leaving dirty paw prints.

“You turd,” I told him. “Come on, bedtime.”

After activating the alarm, I went upstairs to the bathroom, carefully removed the gauze and used a hand mirror to see my
neck and upper
back in the bathroom mirror. The tiny nicks were obvious, but no longer bleeding. A rash of scabs would soon form.

The marks reminded me of when the demon Phaed nicked me with his sword in half a dozen places before I managed to shoot him. Royal applied antiseptic and Band-Aids, and then we made love for the first time.

I went to bed wearing my soft, worn T-shirt and a smile.

I didn’t sleep well
lying prone
and
got up early,
ready to head for the hospital at five in the morning. Unfortunately I had to wait until nine-thirty and spent the
hours between guzzling coffee. I was buzzed b
y the time
I walked into Royal’s room
. I could have climbed walls and
leaped
tall buildings.

A
n RN and two aides
, all female, hovered over Royal
as if they woul
d happily give him a bed bath with their tongues. Royal’s face lit up
when he saw me
, theirs did not.

“Thank you, ladies,” Royal said with
his trademark
slay them
smile.

My glare subdued the aides, who dropped their
gaze
from mine, but the RN was made of sterner stuff. She took
her own sweet time entering data
or whatever into her hospital laptop
, and made eye contact with me as she smoothed Royal’s sheets, which didn’t need smoothing.
She
left wearing a
tart
expression when
I leaned down and gave Royal a lingering smooch.

I watched her march out. “Who shot her in the ass?”

He captured my hand. “She i
s caring, efficient, with an extraordinary bedside manner. A caregiver who
has perfected the art
of TLC.”

“I bet - ” I began, bristling, then saw his eyes
twinkling
. “You rat.”

“Yes, but I am your rat.”

“How are you feeling?” I perched on the edge of the mattress.

“I feel good. My rate of recovery impressed the surgeon.”

“
I’m sure.
When are they letting you out?”

“I can go home
tonight
after he has seen me again. I tried to talk him into letting me go
this morning
, and I think he i
s inclined to, but they
must follow certain procedures
even
though
their patient is
well on the way to
recovery.”

“I bet it still hurts.”

“An ache. I will be fine once I get out of here.”

“Have you heard from Mike or the detectives?”

“Nothing. If they have information, they will tell us when we go to the precinct, which I want to do as soon as possible.”

“Get it over with,” I agreed.

I plucked at his thin blanket, then pleated it between my fingers. “So. The shooter either followed you to my place, or was already up
on the mountain waiting for me to join you
so he could take us both out.”
My gaze lifted to his. “It must
have
to do with Lynn’s murder.”

He reached out and stroked loose hair back from my brow. “Not necessarily.”

“Baloney. You know it is as well as I do.”

He patted the bed. “Come here.”

I eased onto the bed so I lay along the edge, my head on his breastbone, thinking how convenient the wound, IV and monitor were on his other side, leaving me a broad expanse of solid chest to snuggle on.

We could have
gone
over
what we knew
again
, but
now
was
no
t the time
. This was a
time to be close, feel each other’s skin, and be thankful we could.

I whipped up the street in my Jeep, parked in the garage, closed the d
oor and slunk into my house. I had
avoided the neighbors so far
but my luck would run out sooner or later
.

“It’s not that time,” I told Mac as I
switched
off the alarm and he watched me from the kitchen doorway, head on one side, ears perked.

His ears flattened.

“I’m trying to be a good mommie, babe.” I went
in
the kitchen. “
You ate two hours ago.
You don’t want to be overweight, do you?”

Of course he did.
He’d
love to be so fat he could barely waddle.

“How’s Mr. Macho?” Jack asked from where he leaned on the stove.

“Bearing up, I imagine,” from Mel. She
crossed
the room from the west windows.

“He’s good. I’ll pick him up
this evening
.”

My stomach
gurgled
, so I decided to mollify it with an early lunch, but could not be bothered to cook. A cheese sandwich would work, with cereal and milk for dessert. I
took
sliced sharp cheddar, mayonnaise and sweet relish from the refrigerator, bread from the pantry, and assembled the sandwich.

Taking the plate to the kitchen table, I sat and lifted the sandwich. Mouth open and ready, I stopped when Mel and Jack shot to
the
seats opposite and gazed steadily. They always gaze steadily, can’t do anything else, but a unique, indescribable quality imbues their deadpan stare when they fixate on food.

“
C
heese?” from Mel.

“Mumph
,” Jack contributed.

I waved the sandwich at them. “Guys, I keep telling you, you only have to ask and I’ll fix you something in a jiffy.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Jack huffed.

“Sounds like Carrie rubbed off on you.” I bit into the sandwich.

Mel’s nose went up in the air. “I’d appreciate not talking about
that
woma
n.”

I shrugged. “Have it your way.”

Sandwich finished, I went to the pantry for cereal and poured
it
in
a bowl I got from the top cabinet. Plenty of milk
and two heaped spoons of sugar made
a delicious dessert.

I rehashed the
mystery of Lynn’s murder
until I
couldn’t think clearly. Realizing I’d gone into a daze, I looked at my bowl and saw soggy cereal.

“Drat.” Scraping the cereal and milk into the trash can, I remembered the scone dough in
the
back of
the fridge. My day brightened. Nothing my sweet tooth likes better than fresh-fried scone and honey-butter.

“See,” I told Mac. “I do have stuff besides eggs.”

I
took the dough from the fridge and
peeled of
f
the
plastic wrap. It had
been in there for a while but
looked okay. I
shaped it into
a
ball
, then flattened it
with my palm.
I didn’t have honey-butter, or honey, or butter, but maple syrup would work.

“What now?” Mel asked,
peering over my shoulder. “Ooh, scone.”

“No wonder you’re getting flabby,” Jack said.

Huh?
I
swung
on him. “I am
not
flabby.”

Mel planted her elbows on the counter and leaned on them. “You have to admit, Tiff, you’ve let yourself
go
since Mr. Muscles came along.”

I
could
be
a little out of shape
, but hated to admit they were right
. The hike up Mount Lomond reminded me of muscles I forgot I had, not to mention the blisters on my heels.

But as I said, I hated to admit they were right. “I hiked Mount Lomond with Mac yesterday. It was great. Couldn’t do it were
I
out of shape.”

“Yeah, as if hiking with the turd is a challenge,” Jack scoffed. He sashayed
past
the kitchen table. “If you want a challenge, you should hike Clay Basin.” He sat in a chair and
propped his chin in his hands. “
That’s why I went there on occasion, for the challenge.”

At
ten thousand
feet, the altitude does make Clay Basin a
trial of endurance
, a
trek
attempted
only
by the fittest.

“It’s beautiful. The tundra is unique
in
Utah,
”
Mel said.

“You went there?” from Jack.
“It’s private land. I only got to hike there because I worked for Big Powder.”

“I snuck in. Feel free to rat me out, Jack.”

“Yeah, give me a mi
nute and I’m off to Big Powder C
orporate, and I’ll stop at the Dean’s office on the way back.”

I flung my hands up. “Wait! Mel, you were in Clay Basin?”

“
Didn’t I say so?
Is your hearing going along with your body?
It was for a good cause. It’s
a fragile eco—
structure
and
we were trying to
simulate
an environment to support
plant genera
specific to
the area.
I
went there for samples, oh,
maybe three times.
”

“We?”

“My student group.”

“When was the last?”

“
The day
before. . . .” Mel stopped speaking, her shoulders tensed. “
You know
.”

“You and your friends?”

“
I
went
alone
that time
.
”

I looked from Jack to Mel. “Did you, either of you, see anything . . .
odd, up there?”

They shook their heads in unison. “Don’t remember anything,” Jack said.

“Me neither,” from Mel. “Why?”

I closed my eyes and massaged my brow. “You were both in Clay Basin prior to Coleman taking you.”
My gaze zipped to Mel. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Er. Didn’t think of it
.
But nothing was there, Tiff.”

Jack tipped his head on one side “Don’t tell me you’re still trying to discover why Coleman killed us.”

“Not actively, but when it hits me in the face. . . . You’re not interested?”

Mel said, “Sure, it’d be interesting, but it
happened
decades
ago.”

“Yeah. Water under the bridge,” Jack said.

Silently planning,
I
went back
to the stove and the scone dough.

I do
no
t believe in cowering in the house when threa
tened. Life i
s too short. Royal’s argument is life could be a lot shorter if I put myself out there. But I refuse to let the actions or possible actions of others control me. Call me foolhardy.
Royal calls me stubborn.

He’d
g
o absolutely crazy if he knew I
hike
d to
Clay Basin alone
,
but I needed to do this and now was the best time.
H
e’d stick to me like Pooh to a honey jar
when he got out of hospital
and
veto any suggestion we
explore
an isolated area.

When Jack and
Mel spoke of the challenge of hiking Clay Basin,
they did not mean the actual basin. No, they meant
getting there
.

My shadow stretch
ed
up a
dry,
rock-filled
streambed
which
gradually
rose
a
hundred feet
and petered out
on
a ridge. Gray and ocher
walls
towered
both sides. This was the only way
to
Clay Basin
and walking
three
miles over rough terrain
had already winded me
. I unsnapped one of the water bottles clipped to my belt-pack and took a sip, then started off
again
, watching every step.
Sprain an ankle, break a bone -
I’d have to drag myself out because
no one
would look for me here.

I rested at the top. I had never climbed this high and worried about high-altitude sickness, and although I didn’t experience nausea or dizziness, my chest felt tight. “Challenge? Huh!” I wheezed. “Piece of cake.”