A Conspiracy of Demons: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery, #6

By Linda Welch

Whether there are many people in your life, or only a few, losing one hits just as hard. An old friend is murdered and a new friend stops by long enough to provide a listening ear where Royal and I need it most. Conducting our investigation under Provo PDs radar involves enough shenanigans to give this gal nightmares, and that I'm a "person of interest" doesn't make it any easier.

You'll never believe where this investigation takes us. Never in a million years. Not in your wildest imagination.

Together with the High House, we uncover a plot of epic dimensions. Can we put a stop to it? When desperate times call for desperate measures, will there be casualties?

As if a major catastrophe in the making isn't enough, a conversation prompts me to relook at a decades old case closer to home, What I discover makes me face a tough decision. Do I tell the police and get myself in a heap of trouble? Do I tell the victims? Or do I let it go?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nordic Valley Books
• Release date: Apr 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781501405112

Book preview

Chapter One

Cooey!

I rolled my eyes. Come on, Pete. Enough.

I didn’t raise my voice. Pete heard me from wherever he hid in the old mining town of La Plata.

Over here now! Pete whispered. When a shade yells, it’s still a whisper to me, albeit a hoarse, forceful whisper.

I’d already spent ten minutes pretending to play hide and seek. I couldn’t catch him, he zipped away if I came near his hiding place, and Pete knew I couldn’t.

A flash of red behind woven pine branches—I sighed and slogged up the hill.

High in the Bear River Mountains, La Plata became a silver-mining boomtown in the 1890s. Fifteen hundred miners occupied the small, narrow valley in 1891, their cabins and stores on either side of the creek. It was all over by 1894. What remains of La Plata sits in the middle of La Plata Recreation, a private camping area on the 11,000 acre La Plata Ranch. But no one camps in the old ghost town.

One cabin is still intact, two are piles of rotting wood. The other buildings dissolved into the soil long ago. Some old, rusty mining machinery sits on the hill, and you must watch for collapsing mine shafts if you hike the area. Not all of them have been sealed.

Royal’s voice disturbed the silence. It’s getting dark. He leaned on the cab of his new white Dodge truck, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded on his chest. I admired the way his stance stretched the cream, long-sleeved shirt tight over his arms and shoulders and how his thighs filled the blue denim jeans.

You’d think Royal spent hours in the gym working out, but he never exercises, he’s just naturally built like one of those Greek gods sculptors are fond of chiseling.

He unfolded his arms and reached up to push long copper and gold hair back over his shoulders, which did more interesting things to his shirt. Shall we stay another night?

I gave him a regretful smile. I wouldn’t mind, but I told Maryanne we’ll be home today.

Maryanne is the daughter of my favorite kennel owner, Janie. A student at River Valley University, her schedule allows her to care for my black-brindle Scottish terrier MacKlutzy when I’m away. Her mother offered her services when I needed someone to care for Mac while Royal and I were in England, and I’d used her several times since. A good sitter is a godsend when you’re as paranoid as I am about reliable care for your dog.

Royal flashed his white teeth. I enjoy watching you wake in the morning, especially when you wake in my arms.

Aw.

I enjoyed camping out last night. We brought a mattress in the truck bed and spent the night under the stars. I don’t as a rule camp in the mountains in October, but a thick duvet and Royal’s hot body kept me toasty. With no artificial light to dim their splendor, stars densely packed the night sky as if painted on in thick swaths. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, until Royal distracted me. Need I mention we didn’t get much sleep?

Fringing the valley, pine and quaking aspen stood against a pale-blue sky. The expanse of long, brown grass and dead wildflowers included the brittle remains of Mule Ear, which could pierce the thickness of my jeans, so I found a flat rock and sat with arms wound around bent knees. Four Sharp-Shinned hawks circled overhead, low enough to see their copper and cream undersides. Unlike earlier in the year when birds cry, insects chatter and tiny creatures rustle the undergrowth throughout the evening, only a gentle wind sloughing through pine and shivering aspen leaves broke the silence.

Pete, enough for today. If you don’t come out, we’ll have to leave and you won’t hear the news.

I didn’t begrudge Pete his fun. Of all the people who visited the old mining town, only I saw and spoke to him and he had been alone for so long. I came here whenever Royal and I camped and time with Pete didn’t inconvenience me, even when he played hide and seek. But we should get off the mountain before dusk took over the landscape. Moose and deer descended from the higher altitudes and ambled along the trails now winter approached. A moose could put a serious dent in Royal’s big truck and hurting or killing a moose was not an option.

Oh, all right, Pete grumbled from somewhere off to my right.

He came down the slope, a short, slim young man with waving black hair touching the shoulders of his torn red T-shirt. Dirt smeared his khaki shorts and clumped on his brown tennis shoes. Blood and abrasions showed through tears in his clothing and blood matted his disheveled hair.

Ten years ago, Pete and five buddies got in an argument that escalated and ended in violence. As Pete headed away in a huff, Boyd Harrop crushed the back of his skull with a rock. Boyd’s temper got out of control, he didn’t mean to kill Pete. Terrified, the teens dumped Pete’s body down a mine shaft.

They calmed down after a while and realized what a mess they were in. Their parents expected them to return home together, so saying they left Pete hale and hearty in La Plata wouldn’t wash. One of them drove around till his cellphone picked up service and called emergency services. He said Pete fell down the mine shaft and must be hurt because he didn’t answer them. Life Flight arrived and hauled Pete out, and the coroner later ruled he fell down the shaft and died of multiple wounds from impacting the shaft’s rocky walls. And that was that.

Until Royal leased a campsite two years ago.

After I talked Captain Mike Warren of Clarion PD Homicide into reopening the case, his people found the rock used to smash Pete’s skull at the bottom of the mine shaft. Ground water drips in those old tunnels, but by some miracle, perhaps due to the way in which the rock wedged in a crevice, a few skin cells that did not belong to Pete still adhered. When this type of evidence comes up, it’s not uncommon for the police to request DNA samples from all parties involved. The skin cells, of course, came from Boyd’s hand.

Pete sat next to me. What’s this news?

Boyd got fifteen years. The prosecutor pushed for the max, but the judge took his age at the time and that it was a crime of passion into consideration.

Oh. Pete hung his head, silent for ten seconds before saying, I’m sorry for him. I was angry at first, but we were kids. He didn’t mean to kill me.

He’s not a kid anymore, Pete. He lied and hid the truth for ten years. He could have gotten worse.

But he’s only twenty-seven. He never really lived.

A hawk folded its wings and dropped behind a pine. The breeze became a wind, dipped into the valley and ran over the long grass; it bowed as if stroked by a giant hand. I gave myself a mental shake. Neither did you. I’m sorry, Pete, it’ll be long years before you go on down the road.

He lifted his head and eyed me. What will happen when . . . I leave?

No idea, but those I saw pass over seemed happy to be going.

I stood and swatted dead grass from my Levis. I’ll see you next time.

He stood beside me, face lifted to the sky. Winter’s coming. You won’t be back till spring. You will come back?

You bet. I grinned at him. And next time, I’m gonna catch you.

He laughed in my face. You can’t physically catch a shade.

Royal had the truck running when I joined him. He slowly eased the big beast along the narrow trail to a more populated part of the recreation area. Campers, trailers and motor homes half hidden by quaking aspen still sat in their camping spots, but many people had already taken their rigs out in case snow fell early. We drove past the spring where we filled our five-gallon water containers on the way in, then the manager’s trailer, over the cattle grid and out of the campground.

Driving the ranch trails is teeth-rattling and bone-shaking, until the trail becomes a gravel road on the far side of the property’s gate. I relaxed back in the smooth leather seat and took my soda from the cup holder, happy I could drink without it splashing all over me.

Royal’s amber and sandalwood scent filled the cab. I drank in his perfect profile before returning my gaze to the road.

~*~

Unloading Royal’s truck meant toting the cooler, pillows and other assorted necessities across the street and up the staircase to his apartment. A few pedestrians stopped walking to watch him carry the mattress across, probably because he is six-six, stunning to look at and gripped the mattress with one hand as if it weighed nothing.

I unloaded the cooler of leftovers and put the trash in the can while he stowed the mattress in the storage room behind his kitchen.

He came back and wrapped his arms around my waist. Want to stay for a while? I can make pizza?

Oh, the devil. He knows my weaknesses and pizza is one of them. I relaxed back in his arms and gently beat his shoulder. Not fair! I need to get home and take a shower. I always returned from La Plata feeling as if dust and I were intimate.

He pulled me back in to his rock-hard body. You can use my shower.

I don’t have my stuff here. And I’m not getting back into dirty clothes.

I’ve said before, Sweetheart, he smoothed a wisp of hair away from my face, my bathroom cabinet is half empty and so is my closet.

My body tightened a little, but I kept my tone relaxed. Yeah. The time we spend in each other’s home, I should keep a few things here.

His smile almost changed my mind about leaving. Apparently satisfied with my response, he said, I’ll take you home after I’ve showered.

Okay.

I rocked on my heels as he used a smidgen of demon speed to whip through the living room, through the front door and up to the next floor.

~*~

Maryanne had left a note reminding me I didn’t leave her instructions for the alarm system, which had been off while we were away.

"Tsk, tsk. What am I going to do with you? Royal shook his head side to side.

I winked. "I’m sure you’ll think of something.

His mouth widened to a broad grin. I’m sure I will.

Hey, I usually remember the alarm, don’t I, Jack?

No, Jack said.

Hand cupped behind one ear, I pretended to listen. "See, Jack said ‘sure she does’."

Seriously, Tiff, you should be more careful of your safety, Royal reminded me.

He was a little paranoid about my safety. No, let me amend that statement. The number of times we were targeted made Royal a lot paranoid. I was also paranoid but refused to let fear ride my shoulders and control my life. And as far as I knew no one wanted to kill us at this moment.

I rolled my eyes as I heaved an almighty sigh and turned away. Just once, and you have to make a big deal out of it. You are such an old woman sometimes.

I let out a shriek as his arms snaked around my waist from behind and lifted me off the floor. Old woman! I’ll show you old woman. He toted me toward the stairs.

No, Royal! I’m all gritty. I need a shower.

Sounds interesting.

We were halfway up the stairs. I lolled limply in his arms, giving him all my weight. You already showered.

I’m feeling hot and sweaty already. Another shower sounds good.

As we reached the top of the staircase and Royal swung me around to maneuver me through the bathroom door, MacKlutzy stared up accusingly from the bottom of the stairs.

~*~

I’ll see you tomorrow. I lifted my face for a farewell kiss.

Two minutes later, rather weak in the knees, I went in the kitchen. Mac lay facing the pantry door with head on his front feet. As I walked over to him, he lifted his head, gave me a look and rested his muzzle on his paws again, but facing away from me.

I know, I know, I’m a bad mommy. I eased the pantry door open so as not to hit him with it. But I didn’t have a choice, babe. That big, nasty man took me away against my will.

Mel snorted.

How’s Pete? she asked as I put a full bowl of kibble on the floor. His disgust with me forgotten, Mac got to his feet and buried his muzzle in the bowl.

Same as always. I shut the pantry door and opened the backdoor, knowing Mac would inhale his food in under a minute and want to go out.

I looked in the refrigerator for something to nibble and Mac went outside. After shutting the backdoor behind him, I slid up the hatch of the newly installed pet door. Mac had no problem pushing his way back inside but refused to use the pet door to go outside, which kind of defeated its purpose. Correction—he did use it if he heard an interesting noise in the backyard, so did know how. Dogs can be weird at times and Mac can be perverse.

Royal didn’t like me leaving the backdoor ajar so Mac could push back inside, hence the pet door.

Mel sounded grumpy. At least Pete has a whole valley to play in.

Oh, sure, must be fun. I waved a slice of processed cheese. Especially when snow covers everything, and all those days he doesn’t see a soul, which is most of the year.

I bet he sees wild animals, and the leaves changing close up, and flowers growing. And campers like to look around that old town.

What was with her today? And all you have is this house, and the TV, and me.

Exactly.

I leaned on the door. How about we try an experiment? I pretend you’re not here.

Her chin came up. Go ahead. See if I care.

The sooner I went to bed, the better.

Poor Boyd, Mel said, followed by a sigh. All those years in prison.

Poor Boyd! Jack scoffed. He killed Pete!

He didn’t mean to.

You don’t accidentally cave in your pal’s skull with a hunking great rock, I told her. Anyway, I doubt he’ll serve the full term.

Mel fanned her face. I’m glad. I saw a show on prison life. It didn’t look pleasant.

That’s the idea, Mel.

I was thinking, Jack began.

I flung up my hand. Just a sec. Going to the refrigerator, I detached the pen from the magnetic calendar. "When was that? I want to make a note of it: Jack was thinking."

He went through the motions of flipping his shoulder-length brown hair away from his face and presented his back. His hair didn’t move an inch. Shades often act as if they still possess physical bodies, but their appearance never changes.

I rolled my eyes. What were you thinking, Jack? I do want to know.

He didn’t turn. It was easier back in, what, until the late 1800s? You killed someone, they caught you and strung you up on the spot. Not like nowadays. People stay in prison for decades.

The world is crammed with victims waiting for their killers to die, Mel agreed.

But they also hung innocent people back then. I opened the refrigerator and took out a half-gallon of milk. Hot chocolate made with whole milk, dusted with sugar and cinnamon. Mm, sounded good.

Well that still happens, from Mel. Think of all the times someone’s sentence is overturned after years in prison for a crime they didn’t commit.

Yeah, and it happens more than the public realizes.

I turned off the TV, which sat on a kitchen counter near the big west windows. Jack and Mel groaned in unison, though they hadn’t watched it since I came home.

Mac shoved his barrel-shaped body through the pet door. I decided to forego hot chocolate.

Come on, little buddy. With Mac following, I went upstairs to get ready for bed.

Chapter Two

The phone woke me the next morning. I groggily grabbed my cell from the bedside table and peered at the blank screen. It continued to jangle, until I realized the din came from the house phone. Duh.

I checked Caller ID, then plucked the receiver from the cradle. Hi Mike.

Tiff, can you come down here? Mike Warren asked solemnly.

Right now? I followed with a long yawn into the phone.

I heard papers shuffling. Right now.

Mike usually sounds abrupt and grouchy, that’s his way, but his tone this morning bothered me. What’s going on, Mike?

We’ll talk here.

Not a hint?

"I need you here now." What sounded like a mug thumped the desk to emphasize the last word.

I eyed the phone, inclined to argue, but his temper obviously ran on a short leash. Okay. I’ll head out.

Apprehensive, I slowly replaced the receiver. Mike had something seriously heavy on his mind.

Hauling my body out of bed seemed harder than usual. My duvet and pillows didn’t want to let me go. Why did Mike want me at the precinct on a Saturday? I grumpily slogged downstairs. Mac already waited in the hall.

Passing Jack and Mel where they sat at the kitchen table, I automatically used the remote to flick on the television, then filled Mac’s bowl with kibble from the pantry.

Thankful my roommates were immediately immersed in a show, I poured water in the coffeemaker, filled the filter with French Roast and flipped on the machine. I held a mug under the drip until it filled, then exchanged it for the carafe with unusual sleight of hand. Only a few drops escaped to sizzle on the hot plate.

I took a deep gulp of coffee before letting Mac out of the backdoor and sitting at the kitchen table. I took my time sipping the rest; a good cup of coffee can’t be hurried. Another full mug accompanied me upstairs to my bedroom where I dressed in the first T-shirt and pair of Levis my hand found in the closet. I sat on the bed to tug on socks and sneakers.

Mac still explored the outside world, which gave me an excuse to drink my third mug of coffee while I waited for him to finish his business. With perfect timing, he came inside as I drained the last drop.

I have to go out. Won’t be long. I rinsed the mug and put it in the sink.

I took a moment to slide the cover down on the pet door and say bye to Mac. He paid as much attention to me as my roommates did. All three ignored me.

Oh well. I snatched my keys from the table in the hall, my green cord jacket from the hook, activated the house alarm and headed for my car.

~*~

Saturday is Farmer’s Market day and today’s event the last of the season. Shoppers already packed the area.

Twenty-Second was closed to traffic. As my car idled at a light, I looked past the barriers and saw a stagecoach guided by a cowboy clip-clopping along; inside, a woman restrained a little girl who tried to climb out through the window. People in period clothing mingled with the crowds. I grinned at two prostitutes in their fancy dresses, garters and feathers as they paraded along the sidewalk. Cowboys on horseback cantered up and down the street. The afternoon promised mock gunfights and exhibition marksmanship with rifle, bow and axe in the park. Entertainment would continue into the evening.

Finding somewhere to park meant circling several blocks, hoping someone would pull out. I got lucky when a Dodge van vacated a spot behind the Clarion Hilton Hotel. Zipping in before another auto got there before me, I exited my Jeep, locked it and walked through the nearest alley to Twenty-Second.

Aromas from a variety of foods, fresh-cut flowers, produce and perfume drifted down the street. Market stalls and pedestrians crammed the sidewalks. Merchants positioned tables outside their stores to display a variety of wares, including small antique pieces, jewelry, local art, knickknacks and baked goods. Children screamed as they took advantage of giant blow-up playgrounds with slides and other fun stuff in the center of the street. A guitarist sat on a small stage surrounded by fold-up chairs with an audience of ten people.

Do not go to Farmer’s Market if you’re hungry, unless you intend to eat your way along the street. I gave in to temptation and stopped to buy a donut. The vendor dropped dough in a vat of bubbling oil, scooped out the bloated donut three minutes later and rolled it in a pan of granulated sugar. It tasted delicious; hot, slightly crisp and crusted with sugar on the outside and soft inside.

I ate as I walked, then licked my fingers clean.

Vorhoff German Bakery’s stall tempted me, but I went on by. Getting past the booth where a guy fried onions and sausage took willpower.

The courthouse is closed on weekends, so the handful of people in the gigantic foyer wanted Clarion PD and would sooner wait out here until called than sit outside the various departments. I crossed the marble floor to the desk sergeant’s cubicle. Not that you often see a sergeant at the desk; a lower-ranking officer usually mans the post. Officer Maurer told me to head on up.

I took the escalator to the next floor and headed down the corridor to Homicide. The squad room looked as busy as on a weekday, with guys and gals at their stations or moving between them. Sunlight streamed through the windows in the north wall to wash pale-gold streaks over dusty, seldom used cabinets and desks covered with paperwork, and made sticky coffee cup rings shine. Trash overflowed wastepaper baskets.

Captain Mike Warren stood in his office talking to two guys I didn’t recognize. Both were in the six to six-five range, wore light-gray suits, and obviously were cops.

Mike came from the office and shut the door behind him as I walked the aisle between desks. I smiled. He didn’t. Then he growled in a low voice, You took your time.

I shifted my shoulders. "Much as I wanted to rush out the house immediately,