Demon on a Distant Shore (21 page)

Yeah, fancy that.
I gave her a blank look. “I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Then it was fate,” she said cheerfully.

Not
what I meant.

“You’re a big strong girl - a fast right jab to the stomach would do her the world of good,” Carrie suggested.

How I wished I could.

“My mother lives in Pewsey. I come down every other weekend to be with her.”

So she didn’t hear Royal came to town and wanted to reacquaint, and hared down from London to find him. I can’t be right all the time. “I guess The Ugly Duck is your favorite pub?”

Her expression went wary at my slightly hostile tone. I think it was slight. “My brother Ralph lives in Little Barrow. Speaking of which, I should get back to him.”

She slid off the bar stool. “Perhaps I’ll see you later?” she said to Royal.

He smiled at her. “You never know.”

“Smack him one!” from Carrie. “Give him a knee in the Alberts!”

I was too piqued to wonder what Carrie meant. Lorraine sashayed to the door and out. I eased on the stool she had vacated, picked up a small beer mat, turned it in my hands and ran my finger over the edges. I watched Royal’s reflection in the mirror until he returned my gaze, then concentrated on the mat. Interesting little mat, and what’s this on it?
Guinness is Good
for You
. What is Guinness? Maybe I should try some, if it’s so darned good.

“It was a long time ago, Tiff.”

“
What
was a long time ago?” I snapped back,
way
too fast to sound convincingly blasé. I slapped the little mat on the bar.

“Lorraine and I. We - ”

“Oh, Lorraine. Did I so much as mention her name?”
Lorraine and I?

“No, but - ”

“You brought it up, not me.”

“So you are not interested?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Okay.”

I drummed the fingertips of one hand on the bar. “So, how long ago?”

His mouth quirked. “We met when I vacationed in London. We were together three days.”

My throat tightened, but I made myself relax. What was it to me, that he had a brief relationship five years ago? He surely had many before we met.

“And how long have you known her family live here?”

He watched my face in profile. “I did not.”

Fair enough. I changed the subject. “Do I get a drink or sit here thirsty all evening.”

“Derek!” Royal called above the clamor of voices.

The bartender worked his way to us as he swept a cloth over the bar’s surface.

My personal definition of a handsome man underwent a change when I met Royal, but still, this guy was easy on the eyes. I couldn’t estimate his height from the way he leaned on the bar, but he gave the impression of size. Big hands, thick neck, bulging biceps, slab-like pecs and washboard abs clearly visibly under a clinging white T-shirt. Bodies like his don’t come naturally, he had to work out. Thick, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, a generous mouth.

He stuck out his hand. “Derek Jones. I’m the publican.”

My hand disappeared inside his. “Publican?”

“Keeper of a public house. Pub keeper.”

“Oh. Right. Nice to meet you, Derek.”

“Likewise.” His eyes flicked to Royal. “You’re with Royal?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Royal said, “Yes,” before I could.

Derek’s lids drooped; he gave me a lazy look. “Shame,” he said, followed by an audible sigh.

What a performer. A smile tried to widen my mouth. I fought it. The guy was hitting on me. I gave in and beamed at him. I wanted to tell him I liked his style, just for the heck of it.

“Did you know this was originally three cottages?” He swept one hand. “A village freeman opened an ale house in his home in 1485. His grandson bought the other two cottages and knocked the lot together. Apart from plumbing, electricity and modern conveniences, The Ugly Duck has little changed since those days.”

“Interesting.” I put my elbows on the bar and cupped my chin in my hands as I gazed at him. I caught Royal’s reflection. His eyes twinkled.

My ogling Derek entertained him? What, he didn’t take my interest in another man seriously? I tried to work myself into a huff, but instead dropped my chin to hide a smile. I reached for his hand as he reached for mine. We didn’t let go as Derek regaled us with tales of The Ugly Duck and Little Barrow.

Carrie stood on the other side of the bar, looking up at Derek, so close her spectral hip merged with his thigh.

We crossed the road to The Hart and Garter. Royal nudged my side with his elbow. “Idiot.”

Yeah, idiot. To think Lorraine somehow heard Royal was in London, tracked him to Little Barrow and shot down here did seem ridiculous, as did my feigned interest in Derek.

I squeezed his hand. “Did you learn anything new?”

“They are sympathetic, excited, but they know next to nothing. I think we should concentrate on the reason we are here, head to Oban and find the Nortons.”

I stopped walking. “But someone tried to kill us.”

He grabbed my hand, tugged, and we started off again. “Or failing that, frighten us into leaving Little Barrow. So we do what they want. Leave here, check out Oban, then we come back.”

“Oi! What about me then?” a voice whispered from The Ugly Duck’s door.

Chapter Eleven

“I said, we missed breakfast again.”

I smothered a yawn, then linked my hands behind my head. “We can’t have. It’s still the middle of the night.”

“It’s nine-thirty.”

I opened my eyes to slits. “It’s still dark.”

“That is the fog.”

I managed to get one eye open all the way. The room was dim, not dark. I turned my head so I could see the window. Moisture wept down the outside of the panes and a gray bank pressed against them.

Royal shifted, making the mattress vibrate. His arm slid off my waist as he moved away. Drowsing, I lay still as he left the bed and went to the bathroom.

Definitely a day to stay inside, read a book, watch reruns of Oprah. Did they have Oprah in England? Jack adores Oprah. What were he and Mel doing? What could they do, but wander the house when Maryanne wasn’t there? Nothing.

“Oh crap!” Now I felt guilty all over again. I pushed down the covers and slid from the bed.

I went to the east window. Man, talk about
thick
. Looking down, I could barely see the cobblestones in front of The Hart and Garter and the edges of a couple of cars parked outside. Exterior lights on The Ugly Duck and a cottage were diffused gold halos in the distance, the streetlights pale, fuzzy white orbs. The fog hid everything else.

“Is this a pea soup?”

“A pea-souper.”

I shrugged. Soup, souper, stupid name anyway. Pea soup is green. This stuff looked more a murky gray.

My stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry.”

“Give me a minute. I’ll have a quiet word with Sally.”

I pressed nearer the window. I wanted to go outside, in the fog, experience it, feel it. A real English pea-
souper
. “Tell you what, why don’t I get us breakfast?”

“If you like.”

When Royal finished in there, I went in the bathroom and showered, deciding to wash my hair when I got back. I put on jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed my jacket.

Royal’s arms came around my waist from behind. I leaned back on him and sighed as he nuzzled my neck. “I’m getting back in bed. If you like, you can join me when you get back.”

“Oh, I like. Definitely.”

Then I left while I still could.

Moisture condensed on my hair and clothes. I slowly and carefully walked the short distance to the shop. With fog this thick, I could miss the curb or run into one of the granite bollards in front of the inn. I barely made out the faded sign on the shop’s wall: Bellow’s. A bell tinkled as I opened the door and stepped in

A variety of goods you find in a grocery, pharmacy and newsstand crammed Little Barrow’s tiny L-shaped village shop, like the smallest imaginable Wal-Mart. Except the produce outclassed Wal-Mart. Bellow’s carried British fare plus imports from all over the world: India, Greece, Italy, Switzerland and France, to name a few. Each section of the L had an aisle barely wide enough for one shopper to navigate.

I wandered down the left aisle, magnetically attracted to a display of cold foods, especially the fresh cream confections. Oh, drool. Why did I carry a shopping basket and how did that box of cream-stuffed pastries get in there? I read the labels of foodstuffs I’d never seen and had to stop myself from depositing a number of them in my basket.

I walked through the right L section. A low, breathy voice said, “Hello.”

Lorraine appeared around the side of a display of potato chips - crisps - with a basket in her hand.
Damn!

“It’s . . . I’m sorry, I forgot your name. Liv, is it?”

“Tiff.”

“I knew it was something odd. I mean, unusual.”

Keep it casual, Tiff. Be nice.
“It’s easy to forget a name when you only met someone once.”

“You know how it is, some names stick in your mind, some don’t.”

I bristled inside but kept my tone even. “You do your shopping here, when your mother lives in Pewsey?”

She lifted her basket to show me the contents. “Mum loves these crisps, but they don’t sell them in Pewsey so I get a few packets when I visit Ralph. I was coming here yesterday when I saw Royal going in The Ugly Duck and had to say hello. I got so involved, chatting with Royal, I forgot the time. The shop had closed by the time I left the pub. I promised Mum, so I came back this morning.”

Hm. Plausible. But I didn’t like her secretive, dreamy little smile when she said Royal’s name.

“Royal told you about us?”

What did
that
mean? “Yes.”

She smiled, a thin stretch of the lips. “I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

“Why would it?” Oh boy, my voice sounded more like a snarl.

“Oh, I. . . . How long have you been together?”

“Long enough.” That didn’t sound friendly either. But I didn’t feel friendly.

She didn’t appear daunted by my animosity. In fact, her little smile became full-blown. “Do you mind me asking what Royal said about us?”

Really
getting on my nerves now. “You were together, briefly, five years ago.”

“
Briefly?
” She sputtered out a laugh. “We
met
five years ago, that much is true.”

I’d had enough. I stepped in close. My voice came out leaden. “Why don’t you go ahead and spit out what you want to say, because you’re dying to tell me, aren’t you.”