Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons (16 page)

Jack stood at my righ
t shoulder. “Have fun!”

My left cheek twitched up in surprise, but with the alarm
active
I didn’t have a spare minute to ask why they went from indifference to interest in the space of a few seconds.

I
led Mac outside
and closed the door behind me
. Taking him to the curb, I opened the rear pa
ssenger door and lifted him on
the seat.

I took
Bunyon Road
along the east bench
.
Once the main road to North Clarion,
Bunyon is
no longer well maintained
,
but
the grand old homes with their expansive lawns and gardens remain
.
I
t is a route I enjoy. The properties climb the mountainsides in the east, and the west open
s
up to
valley
. In North Clarion, I wound down Harrison, past a small shopping center, t
hen
angled west and soon drove roads which were route numbers
and houses lacked mailboxes. P
eople here drive to the North Clar
ion Post Office for their mail.

Mac sat with his nose lifted to the cracked-open window, snuffling for all he was worth.

I headed
for the
North Fork camp
ground.
C
ampers, trailers and motor
homes
still half-filled the place
, but few tents
remained
. Nights were too chilly for all but the die-hards who snuggled inside cold-weather sleeping bags.
The main road through the campground took me to where a
mile-long gravel road switchbacks up Mount Lomond
to a small gravel parking area
.

I parked the Jeep, extracted Mac and started up the trail.
It’s
steep, but fairly easy going for a
muscular
little creature
. Though h
iking with Mac i
s not
hiking
;
it i
s
trot a few steps, stop, sniff, go back a few steps, stop, sniff, go to the other side of the trail, sniff.

Marked by small rocks painted white, t
he trail
begins as compacted
dirt
, pebbles
and small
pieces of flint. After winding
between the last few scrub oak
, the terrain
open
s up as an expanse of rock to which lichen clings
,
and tufts of tough, wiry grass
are
rooted in pockets of dirt. Eroded rock formations thrust up, some as high as my waist.

Mac took his time and I didn’t hurry him along.
I kept my eyes on the summit and r
esisted the urge to look back; w
hen I walk Mount Lomond to the peak, I
wait
til
l
I reach
the end of the trail
and can see the entire valley and surrounding range, a spectacular vista
.

The trail ends at 7,000 feet on a broad, flat overlook a hundred feet shy of the naked peak.
Winded
from climbing and an elevation higher than I was
accustomed
to, I sat on a flat-topped boulder. Panting, Mac settled down
on his belly
at my feet.
The air was perfectly still
, the calm before the storm, and sure enough a bank of dark clouds
loomed
over the range on the valley’s far side.
Right over my house by the look
of it.

The entire val
ley spread out before me:
Clarion, North Clarion, South Clarion and three tiny unincorporated communities. The Snake River wound out of Pineview Canyon, through town, and
merged
with Black River out on the flats. They meandered side by side to the lake. My gaze drifted, following the mountain range around the valley.

I ha
d dug up
tidbits of information on Jack and Mel over the years,
more to learn about their lives, about them as people,
tha
n
to investigate their deat
hs. I should have looked deeper and
tried to discover Coleman’s motive, but it seemed irrelevant. They were dead, Coleman killed them, he
died
, end of story.

Mel
drove
home from
a part-time evening job. Jack
hiked
up in the Clay Basin area.
Did they witness something?
No, they died
four years apart
so that couldn’t be the connection
.
They didn’t know each other. Their friends didn’t know one another. Maybe I should check out their college professors.

Coleman took Mel
near
the lake when she
pulled over to answer her
cell
phone
. H
e was following her and grabbed her at an opportune moment.
It was late at night,
dark,
so he took her
inside
his
house straightaway.

Did their jobs have anything to do with Coleman’s motive? Mel worked at the old Sm
itty’s
market
on Fifteenth
in Ogden.
Jack
worked for Big Powder Recreation.

Mac opened his mouth o
n a yawn which ended
as
a whine.

“Yeah, I know, sitting and looking isn’t your idea of a good time.” I stood and brushed off my pants. “Come on.”

Descending the trail at
a steep inc
line took as long as going up
. Mac tugging on his leash didn’t help. We moved aside to let a red-faced man and woman carrying a few pounds too many pass
us
about halfway down.

We were fifteen feet from the tree line when two big pit bulls burst from the trees and charged.

“Crap.” I picked Mac up in my arms.

My cell rang as I turned
on
Beeches. My heart beat faster as
I
saw who called.
Maybe Clarion PD ha
d something new on Lynn’s case.

“Hi, this is Tiff.”

“Ti
ff, did you threaten to shoot two
dogs?”

I coughed in
unbelief
. “Did he file a complaint?”
We didn’t exchange names, but tell the cops a six-four, pale-skinned woman with long white hair threatened you and they head in my direction.

“I talked him out of it, pointed out he
violated
the leash law,” Office Mann said.

I winced. “I
may
have suggested if his dogs attacked Mac, I’d have to defend him, he being so much smaller and everything. Did you see his dogs? I’ve nothing against pit bulls, I think they’re unfairly labeled, but these were monsters.”

“The State of Utah doesn’t issue concealed-carry permits so you can shoot dogs.”

“
You’d
sooner
I shoot people?
Bet he told you his dogs are pussycats.”

“Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Bristling back-hair, exposed teeth and stiff tails are not a show of friendliness, but
many
dog owners don’t see it that way. Their dogs are good with the
m, sweetie-pies with their kids
and okay with other dogs with which they’re familiar. A strange dog is a whole new kettle of fish.
Calling his dogs didn’
t occur to the guy
, or maybe he knew they would not obey when faced with tasty new prey.

Problem is,
Mac
feels threatened
when big dogs hare at him
. He does
no
t take to having h
is butt sniffed, either. So, he wi
ll likely snap at the
dogs. Th
ey do no
t take to being snapped at. Before we know it, we have a situation.
I picked Mac up so it didn’t get that far, but I was angry, and when
I tried to
point out the potential dangers of letting two big dogs off-leash,
the guy decided to
argue
with me.

“
T
ry a little
diplomacy
next time
,” Mann suggested, and signed off.

Grinning, I pulled into the driveway. Royal’s truck
was
parked at the curb. He must be in the house. I got out
of
the car, opened the
passenger
door for Mac and caught his leash as he dropped down.

Royal stood at the window, smiling, hands plunged in pants pockets, copper-gold hair pulled back in a tail.
Sunlight flashed on the glass and dazzled
me, or was it his shimmering hair?

I charged
in
the house with Mac following, pulled off
his
leash, shut the door with my heel and went in the kitchen. I barely set foot in there and Royal
clasped
me to him.

“They’re a
t it again,” Mel commented from somewhere
on
my left as Royal’s lips
caressed
mine.

“
As if I could miss it,
”
from Jack.

“Can’t very well avoid it.”

I didn’t hear an
y
more, being kind of dizzy. I
thought
I would
pass out from lack of air if Royal kept this up. Not that I
complained
, if it came down to Royal’s mouth or oxygen, I could hold my breath a good long time.

His lips released me
and I melted against him. “Anyone would think you’ve been away for a decade.
”

He said softly
in
my ear, “It feels like it.”

“Did you
learn
anything?”

His expression soured. “Bon Moragh’
s intelligence network is vast,
but the Council heard nothing
.
”

“You mean spy network?
”

He nodded.
“
It was a long shot anyway.”

“Yeah, I figured, but you gotta try.” I moved back and went to the table. I had to get these boots off. Pulling a chair away from the table, I sat and bent
over
to unlace a boot.

A
crack.
I though
t I felt air waft past my face.

A hundred needles pierced my neck and shoulders.

Royal looked down at his chest.
R
ed blossom
ed
like a blood—
red rose
below
his
shoulder, a glaring color on his white shirt
.

His eyes met mine, he
staggered
, and crumpled to the floor.

When something outrageous happens in front of your eyes, your brain can’t always immediately process it.
The prickles in my neck and along my shoulders were merely an irritation as
I stared at Royal, waiting for him to get up.

The world crashed back in
on
me.
Fear slithered up my spine and my pulse thudded all the way to my fingers.
I
jackknifed
and pushed
away
from my chair as wood splinters exploded from the table.

I fell to the floor.

Someone had shot Royal, then took a potshot at me. They shot through the glass pane in the backdoor.

Royal
lay on his back
in the middle of the kitchen
. He
rolled onto his
belly
and said softly. “Stay down, Tiff!”

My chin
bounced
up and down like a yoyo. I
belly-crawled to
the cabinet next
to
the stove
and squatted there
. The shooter couldn’t see me unless he came in the house.

Royal used his elbows to propel himself over the floor to me until we were nose to nose.

My
heart
pounded like a jackhammer
.
I grabbed his
face
between my hands. “Jesus, Royal, you’re hurt!”