Linda Welch - A conspiracy of Demons by A Conspiracy of Demons

police headquarters building .
    Royal d ipped his head at Mike and got right to the point. “Mike. Why are we here?”
    “Where were you this afternoon?” Looking up at Royal, Mike clasped his hands on his desktop and clenched, hard.
    Royal’s expression remained calm except for the compressed lips. “Are we under inve stigation? Is this an official i nquir y?”
    “If that’s the way you want it. Or you can answer our questions and maybe walk out of here,” Stirland said in a voice like chipped ice.
    I laid my free ha nd on Royal’s arm. “Tell them, h on. I know it’s none of their business, but w hat’s the harm?”
    He looked at me with a tiny, tight smile. “Yes, you are right.” Then he said to Stirland, “We took a drive over Monte Cristo and on to Bear Lake.”
    “And you just returned? Can you prove your whereabouts?”
    “Not unless my pickup made an impression on a passing motorist .”
    “You didn’t stop to eat?”
    “We took a picnic,” I piped up. “Pulled into one of those little camping spots near the road and ate.” Oh my God, I am getting too good at lying.
    “I do n’t believe - ” Stirland began.
    Mike cut in. “De tective Haney saw you in Portland, Oregon, this afternoon.”
    Royal and I let a minute go by, as if trying to wrap our minds around Mike’s statement, then burst out in chuckles at the same time.
    “Had a heavy night last night, did he ?” I chortled. “T ied on one too many?”
    Royal snorted . “Perhaps he overindulged during his flight? ”
    Carrie clenched her fists and her body trembled . Keeping quiet was killing her , figuratively speaking.
    Stirland’s face turned rosy. “I’ve worked with John for five years. He’s a damn fine partner, honest to the bone, and he does not imbibe. If he says he saw you in Portland, you were there.”
    Smirk ing, I squinted at Royal. “W e’re good, but not that good.”
    I asked Stirland, “Guess you checked flights outta Utah?”
    “Not yet, but we will.”
    “You won’t find us on one.” I tapped my chin. “So how did we get there? Drive?” I tipped my head to look up at Royal. “How long would you say it’d take to drive to Portland?”
    “Hm.” Royal looked thoughtful. “ T welve hours ?”
    I nodded solemnly. “ Plus stopping for gas and a snac k, and we had to stay the night or we wouldn’t be this wide awake and chirpy. And the same to get back here. Even if we left from Provo after chatting with the detectives at - when was it, near eleven ? - that’d put us . . . sometime tomorrow?”
    Mike shot a furious look at Stirland. He knew we dare not deny flying to Portland if indeed we did; it was too easy to corroborate.
    “No, Haney’ s right!” I sat upright. “We were t here, compliments of our friend Superman. Zipped us right over.”
    A faint smile tweaked Royal’s lips. “Only way to travel,” he agreed.
    My hand swept the air. “Zoom-zoom.”
    Gaze still on Stirland, Mike thrust his han d at the door. “Get out of here you two.”
    We obliged. I aimed a shit-eating grin at Stirland as we left the office.
    “Shall I come with you now?” Carrie asked from Mike’s doorway.
    I couldn’t ask if she ’d discovered anything pertinent. Maybe she did , maybe not and never would if I took her away . I bet Haney would call Stirland when he left here. And perhaps Haney would get back to Provo tonight. I f he did, he ’d want to meet his partner and go over what they had ASAP .
    I jogged my chin a little.
    “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she called.
    I managed a barely-there nod.
    Nursing his oversized coffee mug in both hands, Brad Spacer sat at his desk . I stopped, perched my hip on his desk and leaned over. “What’s with Mike’s office?”
    He grinned, sc ratched behind one ear, then poked his fingers through wiry salt and pepper hair. “ Mike was on vacation. The Chief went in his file cabinet for some paperwork, which wasn’t there. She did find a pizza box. When he got