Dead Demon Walking Read Online Free Page B

I know!” I said
indignantly.
    “ Then why are your nails
digging in my hand?”
    “ Surprised me, is all. And
don’t you dare laugh at me.”
    Peacocks are gorgeous
birds, but I hate their cry, like a high, tragic, disembodied
voice calling for help. Through the rain, I
spotted two beneath a tree near the house, tails spread, necks
stiff and erect. I forgot some made this place their stomping
ground. I shuddered and looked ahead.
    We broke from the trees to hurry
across the parking area to Royal’s truck. He let go my hand so he
could thoughtfully put on a mini burst of demon speed to reach the
truck first and open the passenger door. I scooted in.
    He got the engine rumbling as I
fastened my seatbelt. Water from my braid got under my collar and
dribbled down my neck
    “ Are you going to help Dale
Jericho?”
    “ I can’t. I can’t tell him
what happened to Jack.” I pushed a few loose, dripping strands off
my forehead. “I don’t believe he was involved in Jack’s murder and
that was all I cared about. I think something happened in New York,
maybe personal. In that case, it’s not my business. I’ll have to
let this one go.”
    ***
     
    Royal left me outside my house and
drove away. I stood on the little piece of grass I call the front
yard and examined the mountainside. Leaves were rapidly changing
color and I’d seen fewer hummingbirds in the past week. They would
be the young ones, hanging back to fill up on nectar while the
older birds flew to a warmer climate. My few fading perennials in
the border below the kitchen windows were pathetic. With September
a week away, all the signs of approaching fall were suddenly upon
Clarion. Winter would come early this year.
    I remembered the first time I saw the
house as I drove through the old neighborhood eying For Sale signs.
The small redbrick affair with a disproportionally large backyard
caught my eye, so I parked outside and peeked in the front windows.
I liked the solid look of the place, and it had an air-conditioning
unit. Most homes back then had swamp coolers. I don’t like swamp
coolers, I do like air-conditioning.
    I haggled down the asking price. I
worked three jobs to make payments on the mortgage. It can’t be
called charming by a long stretch, but the house and every stick of
secondhand furniture in there are mine. After all the foster homes
and furnished apartments, that means a lot to me.
    I walked beside the house, unlatched
the gate and went in the backyard. The last strong gale brought a
mess of crabapples down from the single tree and the damn thing had
sent shoots up all over the lawn again. I hate those little sprigs,
but the tree looks pretty when it blooms and shades the square
concrete patio. As if sprouting baby crabapples weren’t nuisance
enough, acorns from all the scrub oak lay everywhere. I should rake
them up soon. Mac likes to eat acorns and crabapples, though he
prefers the crabapples when they start to rot.
    I went in the back door, in the
kitchen, to be greeted by near-silence, my old refrigerator humming
to itself and the tick of the clock on the wall above it the only
sound. Mel sat on the windowsill, her back to the west windows,
feet on the counter beneath.
    Mac ambled in from the hall and went
directly to the pantry. He lowered his rear end and concentrated on
the door. I put hands to hips. “I know you’re hungry, but how am I
supposed to open it with you in the way?”
    He didn’t as much as look at
me
    I inched the door open, making him
jump up and back away, but not without giving me a reproachful look
from brown eyes half hidden by wiry black-brindle hair. “You
idiot,” I told him as I dipped his bowl in the open bag of
kibble.
    “ Did you get anything out
of him?” Mel asked.
    “ Old man Frost? Not a
thing. Won’t get a paycheck for that.”
    “ Shame. I looked forward to
the new chair you picked out.”
    “ I looked forward to food
in the pantry.”
    “ Come on, it’s not that
bad.”
    Right. I