Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons (8 page)

The reporter
gazed seriously
at
the camera. “Did Miss Summers take evasive measure
s to conceal her location and
destination?
Join us at six for breaking news.”

The scene switched to the network anchor, who introduced the sports commentator. I st
ood there, chewing a thumbnail.

I was right, Lynn was running, running to me.
She drove instead of flew
because it made
tracing her harder
. Maybe
, a few hours af
ter she checked
in at
the Wendover m
otel,
she realized someone
tailed her
and got out of there fast.

“Oh my,” Mel said, “she was your friend in California
.”

“Yep.”

“
We saw it
on the news earlier, an announcement her body was found in Provo but police hadn’t released details yet,” Jack gabbled. “I didn’t make the connection.
Why didn’t you tell us?”

“That’s why Mike called you in?”
Mel
asked.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Carrie said.

My mouth tried, but I couldn’t go through
everything
with them. I made a helpless gesture with my hands,
walked from
the kitchen, through the hall and upstairs to my room.

I wouldn’t go harass Mike again, I’d learn more from information leaked to reporters than from him.
Sitting at the desk, I opened Lynn’s laptop and
waited for it to
boot up
, then
opened her
appointment
book and plugged in one of the USB drives.

I went back six months.
Lynn
worked
four
police investigations
during that time
. The last
, for Portland Police Bureau in Oregon,
was
only days ago on October 8th
. Then there were entries for a dental checkup and cleaning, her annual physical exam, breakfasts, coffees, lunches and dinners. Were the
lunches
etcetera with friends, family, or business appointments?
Every entry
but
the last
had a first and last name,
as well as
time and location.

I closed my eyes, centered myself, and put myself in a calm place before I picked up the phone and dialed. I hated this
stage of an investigation
.

Ninety percent of Lynn’s appointments were with people in her address book, so I had their addresses and phone numbers.
Beginning on September
1st
, I called
the
appointments I could identify, all the time dreading I would reach a family member. I began each call the same way: “Hello, my name is Tiff Banks. I work with Clarion Police Department in Utah and I was Lynn’s friend. I
only
just heard the terrible news.” I couldn’t bring myself to use a false name
, even though Provo
might
eventually call the same people and no d
oubt learn I already spoke
to them
.

I didn’t leave messages for those who did not answer.

Some were voluble, others terse. Some were relieved
to not be plagued by
a reporter; others would happily have gabbled on all day.
No family members, thank the Lord. But speaking to her friends
felt
awful.

No one
suspected anything amiss with Lynn. She gave no indication she was in trouble.

An hour later,
I hooked my arm o
ver the chair-back and chewed my lower lip
.

Lynn
last
consulted on
the Collins/Klein case
. Olivia Collins volunteered as a campaign aide
for
the
Republican
Party
at their headquarters in Eugene, her
husband Terry
worked as
a financial analyst.
Both were in P
ortland while Olivia helped
at a Republican rally.
Coincidentally - ha ha - Polly Klein, a realtor and Terry’s lover
,
also took a trip to
Portland.
Olivia found hubby and Polly making cozy in their motel room bed. She shot Polly in the head. Terry tried to run, and she hit him in the back as he went through the door. She thought she got away with it, until Lynn stepped in.

Lynn’s last entry
on
October
9
th
puzzled me. Whereas
the other entries
had
a full name
and time
, this
only
said “RP
.”

Lynn had broken her pattern
.

I checked her notes again. She
flew to Portland and
stayed
at the Economy Lodge
on the
8
th
. Did she go home the same day? With Snoopy’s help, I hacked into the
Economy Lodge
database.

Hm.
Lynn originally
made a reservation
for the
night of the 8th
but extended for another night
and
checked
out the
morning
of the 10
th
.
She must have seen
this RP in
the
Portland
area
.

T
he doorbell rang and I heard
Carrie say, “Look, it’s Hunkadelicious
!”

I trotted downstairs. Car
rie stood at the kitchen window, her
hands pressed to her breast. “Isn’t he lovely.”

No argument from me. In a black shirt open at the neck, a short-waisted, blue denim jacket, tight blue jeans, brown
leather
cowboy boots
with slightly worn heels
and a brown leather belt with a huge silver buckle shaped like a coiled lariat, Royal looked Western tonight. A thin leather cord tied his hair in a tail. If I had to describ
e him in one word, it would be yummy. Or hunkadelicious.

“If you like that type,” Jack said.

Mel snorted
and told Carrie,
“Let me tell you, he likes that type.”

“What do you . . . oh,
a poofter
, is he?”

“A
what?”
from Jack.

“You know.
Queer, a twink,
a fag
.”

Jack bristled. “No, I don’t
.”

I intervened. “Carrie, if you mean what I think, those terms are considered politically incorrect nowadays.”

“Well, they were in my day
too
, dear.”

She
spoke
to Jack. “
P
ulling your leg
,
pet
;
I knew it’d be D
ouble Dutch to you.
Your lifestyle is none of my business. Makes no difference to me. We’re all the same under the skin.
”

Jack
pointed his nose in the air and stalked
away. Oh dear. And here I thought they were getting along so well.

I unlocked the door and let Royal in.
He
wanted the doors locked at all times - another security measure - and I actually remembered to do it
last night
. I usually forgot.

My buddies
were in the kitchen doorway
. “Oh my gawd, look at the body on him,” Carrie drooled.

I grabbed Royal’s hand. “Come upstairs.”

He twitched his eyebrows. “There is no place I would rather be.”

Carrie snickered.

I towed him up the staircase and
in
my bedroom. He spun me and pulled me to
his chest
as we stepped through the door.

“I didn’t mean that.” But I didn’t struggle. Not while his hands stroked up and down my spine and the scent of amber and sandalwood engulfed me.
“Jack and Mel were annoying me, I wanted to get away from them.”

“I
can
understand
that
.
” He eyed the open laptop.
“
What are you doing up here?”

“Following up on Lynn’s appointments for the past seven weeks.”

His embrace tightened
. “I do no
t
envy you. Any luck?” Then, “Your window is open.”

Good grief.
His obsession with security
went
over the top.
I eased from his arms and went to my desk, kicking aside a shirt and
Levis
on the floor.
“I need air on occasion, Royal
! No, no luck at all.”

I bent over my desk, heels of my hands braced on the edge. “
Lynn
helped
on four police investigations.
I wonder if we should check them out.
”

He looked over my shoulder. “Okay.” He point
ed at the laptop. “What is the R
P?”

“Don’t know.
” I scribbled the addresses of Lynn’s consultancy jobs on a scrap of paper. “She
went to
Portland
for a job
on October
8
th
.
She
stayed for
another day and left on the
10
th
.
”
I jabbed my finger at th
e laptop screen. “She saw this RP
on the
9
th
so it was in Portland or roundabouts, but maybe it’s not a person. Could be
a
local tourist trap or some such.
Could be anything.
”

I raked my fingers through my hair. “This is such a long shot, and I bet Provo will be on it soon enough.”

“
I’m sure they are
checking her financial and phone records as we speak,” Royal agreed. “
If only we had someone inside Provo PD.”

I
momentarily stopped breathing as I
remembered
the day we left Little Barrow. Carrie said she wished she could come with us, which made me think of various uses for a shade who could move away from her place of death and travel wherever she wanted.

No one
in Provo PD would talk to us, but we could
put
someone in there
, an unseen interloper, a listening ear, a hidden eye
.

Could I? Should I? No, I should not. Definitely not.
No, no, NO, Tiff.

I pulled in a shallow breath
and
faced
Royal
. “About that.”

His eyeb
rows drew together. “You a
re about to tell me something I will not like.”

I
moved away
and sat on the edge of
the
unmade
bed. “Do you remember Carrie?”

“Carrie? No. Should I?”

“Carrie in England?” I plucked at my
rumpled
duvet. “The Hart and Garter Carrie
who followed us
everywhere
?”

His eyebrows almost met above his nose now. “Ah,
that
Carrie.” He pushed
his hands in his hip pockets. “
What about her?”

“She’s here.”

“Here?”

“Downstairs.”

He pulled his hands free and sat on the desk chair. “How?”

I began to lose patience. “S
he can go where she wants
, remember?
She
decided to come
to the States
.”

Definitely
a scowl on his face
. “How long has she been here?”

“I found her outside this morning.”

“And she will follow us wherever we go.” He looked a
t the room
. “Is she
in
here?”

Shoulders
tight
, I flipped my hands palm out. “
She won’t.
She’s behaving herself
, giving me space
.”