Dead Demon Walking (3 page)

I had positioned my chair sideways
next the table. Jack and Mel can blink out in one area, back in
another, and go through walls and other obstructions, but they
generally move through the house like the living. I expected Jack
to enter the kitchen from the hall and wanted to face him when he
arrived.

I didn’t raise my voice. He would hear
me just fine from wherever he lurked in the house. “Hey, Jack, I
got something for you.”

He skipped down the stairs and in the
kitchen with Mel at his heels. “What is it?”

Mel came in close. “You got something
for Jack and not me!”

“
What I got is a question
for Jack.”

Jack sagged. “Have I told you before
you’re a heartless bitch?”

“
Often and
loudly.”

He twitched one shoulder irritably.
“All right, what’s your question?”

“
Who’s Dale
Jericho?”

“
Who?” Mel
asked.

Jack went still. “Never heard of him.
Why do you ask?”

That gave me pause. “Odd. He showed me
a photo, you and him together. Said you were friends in Junior
High.”

He wound his fingers together. “You
talked to . . . this man?”

“
Over
breakfast.”

“
And he had my
photograph?”

“
Both of you. Sure
seemed
like you knew each
other.”

He flipped one hand in a dismissive
gesture. “You know those old school photos, they sit you next to
anyone.”

“
I didn’t say a school
photo.” I shook my head. “This was taken when you were in
college.”

Jack marched across the kitchen,
stopped, swiveled on his heel and marched back the other way. “I
went to college with hundreds of guys. Can’t be expected to
remember them all.”

If I knew my Jack, he was antsy, to
say the least. “So you weren’t best friends. He lied.”

“
Apparently.” He stopped up
against the kitchen counter, looking like he leaned on the edge. I
say
looking like,
because he just pretends to lean. To me he looks solid, but he
has no physical substance. “Though why anyone would lie is beyond
me.”

“
You’re sure? You’d tell me
if you knew him?”

He flipped his hands up,
palm out, fingers splayed. “I
told
you I don’t. Haven’t I made that plain?” He came
away from the counter and zoomed at me, veered at the last moment
and stopped, facing me across the table. “What did he
say?”

“
He came to me about you,
wants to hire me.”

“
Why would anyone
I don’t know
take an
interest in me? Why get so het up he wants to hire a PI - you did
say he sounded upset, didn’t you?”

“
No I didn’t, but he seemed
so.”

He jogged one shoulder up
near his ear. “Don’t care. Don’t know him - you had
breakfast
with
him?”

“
Earlier this morning. He’s
looking for you, Jack. Now, why would a stranger want to find
you?”

“
Looking
for me,” he parroted. “But I’m dead.”

“
Only we three know
that.”

I stared at him intently, reading his
body language. He settled first on one foot, then the other, back
and forth. He does that when he’s disturbed.

“
Let me see the
photo.”

“
Don’t have it. Mr. Jericho
tucked it away nice and safe, like it means a great deal to
him.”

A shudder ran over Jack’s shoulders.
He was upset.

“
What’s going on?” Mel
asked.

I knew better than try to exclude her
from the conversation or ask for time alone with Jack. She would
ignore me. “Dale Jericho hails from New York City, but he grew up
in Clarion and lived here till 1986. The year Jack died. He says
they were buddies since they were kids. According to Jericho, they
planned a move to New York City. They went there to scope out the
place and had a falling-out, and Jack came back here. He didn’t
know Jack disappeared till five years later. He’s regularly called
Clarion PD for updates. Now he wants to hire a private detective.
Brad Spacer gave him my name.”

Mel rounded on Jack. “Wow!”

Jack sniffed. “I don’t know what she
means. Honestly, I do not know any . . . what did you say his name
is?”

I caught his wandering gaze, held it.
“Jack, I know for a fact you lived with him and his parents after
yours died. I know you had an apartment during college, then a
duplex.”

Jack went still again,
mumbled, “Oh,
that
Dale Jericho.”

“
There’s more than one?”
Mel asked. She even sounded serious.

We ignored her. “Why deny you know
him, Jack?”

He stared at the backdoor.

Hm.
I squinted at him. “I met him because I’m suspicious of
someone who asks after you, especially a man who kept in touch with
Clarion PD concerning your disappearance. I think I should take a
good look at Dale Jericho.”

He tossed his head in my direction.
“You leave him alone. It’s true, I knew Dale for years, we did go
to New York, he stayed and I came home. That’s it.
Period.”

Curiouser and
curiouser
. If that was it,
period,
why so defensive?
I worked the knife in a little deeper. “This argument you had, bad
enough he’d want to see you dead?”

Jack’s body followed his head as he
spun to face me. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know who killed
me!”

“
Maybe Coleman had an
accomplice. Maybe this - ”

“
Dale would never hurt me!”
he snapped. “You are so heading in the wrong direction with this,
Tiff.” He straightened up. “Tell him you can’t help him and
then
leave him alone!
”

And with that, he stalked from the
room, leaving me alarmed and Mel spinning with
excitement.

“
Jack!” I
called.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway,
then faded out.

Chapter Two

“
Interesting,” Royal said.
“Do you think Jericho was involved in Jack’s death?”

“
I’m not sure. They
definitely have a history, but Jack is adamant Dale had no part in
his murder.” I worried at my lower lip with my fingers as we parked
next the Mount Lomond Cemetery.

Late August is a time of sudden,
violent storms. They are usually just a lot of noise, but this year
brought unseasonal rain. A dark cloudbank menaced the mountain
peaks as I got out the truck and walked to the cemetery. I hoped
this would not take long.

The old graveyard didn’t get many new
occupants nowadays, just those whose family bought plots years ago.
The deceased almost filled the small, lonely place and I think
older coffins lay beneath the newer. I had not visited since my
childhood when I snuck away from the house to come up here. I spent
a grand afternoon, reading old gravestones, making up stories about
who hid beneath, and fell asleep in the shade under the hedge. I
woke hours later, in the dark, scared to death.

On the East Bench, above where
Thirty-Third peters out, the cemetery is scrupulously maintained,
for the five mausoleums near the east wall belong to the old
families. The bones of Clarion’s founding fathers, whose
descendants spread their wealth throughout Utah, rest here. Many
grave markers resemble small, gray and weathered mausoleums among
other stones which tilt lopsidedly. The newer stones, by which I
mean those laid in the last fifty years, stand out like poor
relatives. A line of poplars rise behind the east wall, the roof of
a small house visible in breaks between them and a copse of ancient
yew outside the south wall mark the path to the parking area. I
always think the place looks unbalanced with the low wall and tall
stone posts which flank the entrance.

The view over the valley is stunning,
but the wall does nothing to protect a person from the sharp winds
which can howl along the bench.

I saw Harley Frost as we approached
the wall. He looked natty in his dark suit, glaring white shirt and
thin navy-blue tie as he slouched on his headstone. The old man
stood at his and wife Agatha’s burial plot the day of her funeral,
when his handyman walked from the gathered mourners and dented his
cranium with a shovel. Before anyone could react, Harley tumbled in
the hole, where he landed atop Agatha’s casket. And just like that,
God answered Harley’s insincere plea that he soon follow his loving
wife. Harley wasn’t pleased about that. He didn’t mean one word he
said at Agatha’s funeral.

Mason Haskins told police he killed
Harley because the old monster made his wife’s life miserable. A
spur of the moment response to the pain eating his gut, the acid of
loss. Mason stood at Agatha’s graveside, mourning the woman he
loved, and lost control. His attorney will plead temporary
insanity.

I trudged over cobblestones slicked by
an earlier rainfall. A brisk wind hit my exposed face and snuck
inside the gap at my neck where I left my collar unsnapped. Storm
clouds boiled in from the east at an awesome velocity.

Harley and I already met the day
before, so I skipped the formalities. “Mr. Frost, a whole lot of
folk want a look at your will.”

“
So you said yesterday. I
told you I didn’t make a will.”

“
Yes you did. Last night I
found out Malcolm Grape witnessed one you made in 1989. He spoke of
it in a letter to his daughter.” Actually, Malcolm said, “Went to
town Friday to witness that bastard Frost’s will.”

“
Old Grape? Ask
him
what the damn thing
said.”

“
Wouldn’t be legal, Mr.
Frost. Now why don’t you tell me what you did with it?”

“
Burned it.”

I hoped he didn’t mean that. “You were
a wealthy man. Your estate will be tied up in court for years if
your will doesn’t surface.”

He said in a venomous hiss,
“Exactly.”

I eyed him intently, and knew the old
hellhound would not give up the will, if it still existed and he
did not, as he claimed, burn the thing. Spiteful in life, spiteful
in death, Frost would rather his money rot than give a penny to his
heirs.

I don’t understand that. If I had
money, I’d spend it, not stick it in a bank vault to molder. And if
I had any left when my time neared, I’d make damn sure it went to a
worthy recipient, like a no-kill animal shelter.

***

Royal waited at the two stone pillars
in the shadow cast by one. A single harsh sunbeam broke through the
clouds to define the contours of his face, touching one high
cheekbone, sliding down, cradling his jaw. His copper eyes
shimmered, copper-gold strands of hair gleamed as if
gilded.

Knowing the high-altitude cemetery
could be cool this late in the afternoon, I wore a light jacket
over my T-shirt and jeans, so most of me felt comfortable, but the
extremities were a mite chilled. Royal pretended to flinch as I
slid my hands inside his open shirt, warming my fingers on his
toasty skin.

“
My nose needs warming up
too.” I pushed my face into the hollow of his neck. “Do you ever
feel the cold?”

“
You know us demons, hot as
Hades.”

Hot in a number of ways. Amendment:
hot in every way imaginable.

Even if I remembered to call them
Gelpha, he’d not forget the label I gave him and his people. They
looked kind of demonic to me with their metallic hair and
glimmering eyes, not to mention the pointed teeth. Demonic, lethal,
and incredibly handsome. Sometimes I wondered what kissing another
demon would feel like, those teeth pressing into my
lips.

Royal had his teeth capped. They marry
human beings, have children and family lives just like we do, and a
wife or husband could have a hard time with a pointy-toothed
spouse. Those that don’t have new dental hardware installed must
put their will on their mates, so they have no inkling their
intimate relationship is with an alien being. I like Royal’s way
better.

After only a minute my hands felt a
lot warmer. I saw the churning clouds bearing down on us and
reluctantly moved back. We should go, or end up soaked. He crooked
his arm and I tucked my hand inside his elbow, then the sun
disappeared, smothered by dark, heaving clouds. Rain spattered
down.

We made a dash for the trees just
outside the cemetery. Heavy foliage shielded us from the downpour,
but huge, warm drops of water spattered from above where raindrops
caught on the leaves, pooled, then came down like bullets. Royal
pulled me nearer the cemetery’s wall.

We turned the corner and dived into
the gloom between the trees and hedge. Pieces of flint and small
rocks pitted the dirt path. Behind the poplars, an old brick wall
fronted a small brick house with windows and doors boarded up and a
slate tile roof beginning to sag. Broken tiles littered a small
concrete patio surrounded by what were once flowerbeds. A few old
rose bushes struggled from long, dead grass and
bindweed.