Alastair Stone Chronicles Box Set: Alastair Stone Chronicles, Books 1 through 4

by R. L. King

  Stone sighed. “So much for finding him at home.”

  “Why would you want to find me at home?” asked a voice from behind them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  All three spun to find themselves facing a hunched, bearded old man in a shapeless coat and knit cap. He stood back at a safe distance, one hand clutching the strap of a large, dirty, green backpack resting on the snow next to him.

  “Ted, I presume?” Stone asked.

  “I’m Ted, yeah,” he said. “I don’t think I seen you three around before.” His voice was creaky and hesitant, his eyes wandering between the three of them.

  “We’re just visiting,” Verity told him.

  “We’d like to chat with you if we can,” Stone added.

  Ted looked dubious. “I dunno. I was just gonna go have a nap for a little bit. I’m real tired, and it’s gettin’ cold out here.” He nodded toward the shed.

  Stone pulled out his notebook, opened it to an empty page, and sketched the triangle-and-rays symbol. “Ted...what would you say if I showed you this?”

  The effect on the old man was dramatic. As soon as he saw it, his slitted eyes widened, and his hunched body snapped to attention. “How do you—”

  “You know what it means, don’t you?” Jason asked. “You’re Forgotten.”

  “How—did you know?” Ted looked fearful. “How do you—” He glanced around him, as if trying to locate a potential escape route.

  “Ted,” Stone said gently, “We’re from California. We know quite a lot of Forgotten out there. They’re friends of ours. And so was Eleanor Pearsall. I understand you were—the first to find her.”

  Ted’s head bowed. “I tried to warn her. I tried...but I guess she didn’t listen.”

  “Warn her?” Jason asked. “You knew something was going to happen?”

  “Would you like something to eat, Ted?” Stone asked. “We could go down to one of the shops and get you something, and we could talk a bit more about this. Would that be all right?”

  “Could really use a drink,” Ted mumbled without looking up. “But—yeah, okay. They won’t let me in, though.”

  “I think they will,” Stone said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

  By the time they got back to the downtown area, the sun had begun to set. They chose the gourmet burger restaurant this time, selecting a table in the back where they could have some privacy. The proprietor started to say something when she saw Ted and his big grimy backpack, but Stone informed her that he was their guest for the evening and Jason asked if she had a problem with that. She mumbled something noncommittal and headed back toward the kitchen, where she occasionally cast them disapproving glances, but didn’t say anything more. Some of the other customers looked at them oddly as well, though nobody said anything loud enough for them to hear. Several other groups occupied the dining area, but nobody sat near them.

  Ted looked like he couldn’t quite believe that three strangers were taking him out to such a fine dinner and telling him he could order whatever he liked. “Can I get a beer?” he asked hopefully.

  “Anything you like,” Stone said. He waited until everyone had placed their orders and the busybody proprietor—who doubled as the waitress—had headed off to the kitchen before speaking further. “Now then,” he said. “Would you be willing to answer my friend’s question: Did you know something was going to happen to Eleanor that night?”

  Ted sighed, looking down at his placemat, which featured a smiling hamburger wearing a monocle. “I—I thought something might be wrong,” he said. “I didn’t know what. I just—sometimes know when I look at people that something bad might happen to them soon.” He shook his head. “I wish I’d maybe gone to check on her, but I was kinda drunk, and—”

  “It’s okay,” Jason said. “I doubt you could’ve stopped it. They might have killed you too, and that wouldn’t have helped her.”

  “I coulda told somebody...” he mumbled. “Nobody much listens to me, but I coulda tried...”

  “Told who?” Stone asked. “Those security guards—wouldn’t they have been the ones you thought to tell? And you said you tried to tell Eleanor. Please, Ted, don’t tear yourself up about it. But if you could answer our questions, perhaps you could help us.”

  “Who are you?” he asked, looking up. “How’d you know Miz Pearsall?”

  The waitress/proprietor showed up again with their drinks. She was clearly trying not to get too close to Ted without being obvious about it. In her defense, the old man did reek of body odor and stale liquor, especially in the warmth of the restaurant.

  Stone waited until she left again before continuing. “She’s a friend of mine from awhile back. Ted—” He hesitated a moment. “Do you know anything about—magic?”

  Ted didn’t react to that except to shrug. “You mean like top hats and rabbits and magic wands? I useta knew a guy who could pull quarters out of people’s ears—when he had quarters, anyway. Mostly he spent ’em on booze.” He picked up his beer and took a long, satisfied pull, then wiped his mouth and beard with the back of his sleeve.

  Stone nodded. “In answer to your question, Eleanor and I weren’t close friends, but we’ve attended some of the same gatherings over the years. She was a wonderful lady, and this is a terrible thing that’s happened.”

  “Yeah...” Ted agreed, looking down again.

  “Are there any other Forgotten around here?” Jason asked him. “Did you make those symbols behind Hillerman’s and the bar?”

  “Yeah, that was me,” Ted said after pausing for another long swig of beer. “Mr. Miller at the bar—he’s a good guy. He sometimes gives me something to eat, and even a beer sometimes.”

  “What about the bad symbols?” Stone asked. “Those look more recent.”

  “Yeah...I don’t know what it is about Hillerman’s, but I just—thought there might be somethin’ bad there, you know?”

  “Still?” Verity asked. “Or was it just the two guards?”

  Ted shrugged. “Place ain’t been open since—since it happened, so I dunno. Just bein’ safe, is all. In case anybody else comes through.”

  “So Forgotten sometimes come through here, but they don’t stay?” Stone asked.

  “Sometimes. Not often. Sometimes a travelin’ group passes through, but there’s not much here for ’em, so they move on.”

  “What about the Evil?” Verity asked.

  Ted looked quickly up at her. “They talk about that sometimes,” he said. “I dunno what they mean, but they’re scared of it. The Evil.” He looked at Stone. “Do you know?”

  Stone nodded. “It’s hard to explain if you haven’t experienced it, but I’ll wager it’s probably what you’re sensing when you think something bad will happen to someone. Do you get this feeling often?”

  “Nah, not often.” Ted finished his beer and looked hopefully at the empty glass. “Can I—maybe have another one? Just one more? I don’t want to impose on you folks’s kindness—”

  “I got this one,” Jason said, getting the waitress’s attention and pointing at Ted’s glass.

  “Thank you kindly, young fella,” Ted said, a tentative smile lighting up his dirty face. He looked back at Stone. “This is a good town. Not much bad happens here. Even the folks who don’t really like me hangin’ around their biznesses aren’t mean to me—I get it, they don’t want me stinkin’ up the joint. But—” He sighed. “I hope there ain’t gonna be more stuff like this happenin’, y’know?”

  “I understand,” Stone said.

  Their food arrived and for a while they didn’t talk much as they ate. Ted tried hard to mind his manners, but it was obvious he hadn’t had such a good meal in a long time. He devoured his burger noisily, using his sleeve to mop up the juices that collected in his wild gray beard. “Thank you again for the dinner,” he said when he finished. “Wish I could help you more, but—” he shook his head “I ain’t always so good at rememberin’ stuff these days, you know?”

  “Don’t you worry,
” Stone assured him. “You’ve been very helpful, Ted. We appreciate it.”

  They finished up, paid the check (Jason noticed Stone left a larger than normal tip, which seemed to placate the proprietor), and left the restaurant. “Can we walk you back to the park?” Jason asked when they were outside. “Make sure you get home okay?”

  Ted chuckled. “Nah, that’s kind of you, but I’ll be fine. Like I said, nobody much bothers me around here. Thank you again for the dinner—and the beers.” He waved a farewell, hefted his backpack, and headed off down Main Street in his odd, shuffling gait.

  “Interesting...” Stone said. “So he is Forgotten, but he doesn’t know about the Evil.”

  “I guess the Evil aren’t everywhere,” Jason said. “Maybe they’re like mages—they prefer hanging out in big cities where it’s easier to get their jollies.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why they killed Eleanor, though,” Verity added. “Assuming they even did. We still don’t know that. Maybe those guys just got hold of some bad drugs or something and freaked out.” She didn’t sound like she believed that for a minute, however.

  Stone looked at Jason. “You said something about a phone call you wanted to make?”

  “Oh. Right. Let’s go back to the motel and we can do it from there. Not much else we can do tonight, right? Looks like they’re rolling up the sidewalks pretty soon.”

  And indeed he was right: in the hour or so that they’d spent in the restaurant, many of the shops on Main Street had already turned out their lights and put up their Closed signs. It appeared that the only places still open were the bars and the three restaurants. Even the gas station was closed.

  Now that the sun had gone down, it was getting cold; a light snow fell as they walked back up Main Street toward the motel. Jason zipped up his leather jacket and pulled up his collar; he was a southern California boy through and through, and not used to snow. He unconsciously picked up his pace, and Stone and Verity lengthened their strides to keep up with him.

  “Who are you calling?” Verity asked as they reached the motel. Their rooms were just as they had left them.

  “Somebody who might be able to help us,” was all Jason said. “Lemme do this, and if it works I’ll tell you what I found out.”

  “I think that’s a hint,” Stone said to Verity with a raised eyebrow. “Come over to my room, and we’ll work a bit on that concealment spell I was showing you the other day.”

  Jason waited until they left and then sat down on the bed and picked up the phone. He wasn’t sure exactly why he didn’t want them listening in, but it was mostly that if his plan didn’t work out, he didn’t want to look like an idiot.

  A glance at the clock on his nightstand told him it was about six o’clock, which meant it was three in California. He called the operator and told her he wanted to charge the call to his phone back home (realizing as he did that he probably should get around to cancelling that service one of these days), and in less than a minute a gruff voice answered. “Ventura PD, Lopez.”

  “Stan!” Jason said brightly. “Long time no see.”

  There was a pause. “Jason?”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Hey, kid, it’s good to talk to you. How are things?”

  “They’re—interesting,” Jason said, choosing his words with care.

  “Everything okay? Did you find Verity?”

  The question startled him until he remembered that things had been moving so quickly in his life that he hadn’t even thought to call Stan and update him on current events. Last his old friend knew, he’d been heading off to the Bay Area on his motorcycle to try to track her down. “Yeah, Stan. I found her. She’s—good. Better than good, actually. The treatment worked. She’s okay now.”

  “You’re shittin’ me! Seriously? That’s fantastic, Jason!” The cop’s voice was full of happiness and amazement. An old friend of their father, he’d known both Jason and Verity since they were kids. “So are you two comin’ back home, then?”

  “Not—not really. We met some people up in the Bay Area—V’s got some friends up there—so I think we’re gonna stay awhile. But that’s not why I called, Stan. I need your help. I’m not sure if you can do it, but—”

  “Where are you?” Stan asked. “I notice you said ‘up there,’ which kinda implies that’s not where you are right now.”

  Same old Stan—he doesn’t miss much. “It’s a long story. Right now, we’re in a little town called Woodwich, Vermont.”

  Another pause, longer this time. “Vermont. Like, back East?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You and Verity?”

  “Yeah, and another friend of ours.”

  “What the hell are you doin’ back there?”

  “Like I said, it’s a long story. But listen, Stan: I really hate to ask you this, but is there any way you know of that you could pull any strings so they’ll let us talk to a guy who’s being held around here for murder?”

  This time the pause lasted a full twenty seconds. “Jason—you gotta tell me what’s going on. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “No.” He let out his breath in a loud sigh. “I can’t go into the details—it would take too long. But the guy we’re here with, our friend—we’re here for a funeral. A lady he knew was killed in a real messy way. They have a suspect in custody—there were two, actually, but one of them hanged himself at the crime scene, or else the first one killed him and made it look like he did. The first guy—they found him on the scene, freaked out and claiming that he hadn’t meant to do it. They’re holding him to determine if he’s mentally fit to stand trial. I figure they’ll probably move him to the nuthatch soon. But we need to talk to him before they do that. I don’t know how else to do it—we haven’t asked yet, but we’re pretty sure they won’t just let any bozo off the street in to visit him.”

  “Why do you want to visit him?” Stan asked. “’Cuz you know as well as I do, they’re not gonna let you touch him even if you can get in there—”

  “We don’t want to touch him. We just want to talk to him. We need to ask him a couple of questions, that’s all. But it’s really important.”

  Stan sighed. “You don’t want much, kid. I don’t even know where the hell Woodwich, Vermont is, let alone that they have a PD.”

  “They don’t, actually. It’s the county PD.”

  “Oh, that’ll help. So instead of five people and a mutt, it’s fifty people and two mutts.”

  “Can you help us out, Stan? I know it’s a lot to ask—I’ll owe you a big one if you can pull this off.”

  Again, Stan sighed. “I’ll see what I can do. I suppose you need this yesterday, right?”

  “We’re planning to head back tomorrow after the funeral, but we could probably stick around awhile longer if you can make this happen.”

  “I’ll have to make a few phone calls. Closest guy I know back there is in Boston. You just better hope he knows somebody else up there in the sticks.”

  “Thanks, Stan. Seriously, I appreciate it.”

  “But you can’t tell me anything else about why you need to talk to this random murder suspect?”

  “Probably better if I don’t.”

  The cop’s voice took on a harder edge. “This ain’t anything that could get you—or me—in trouble, right? Give me your word, kid, or I don’t lift a finger.”

  “I swear, Stan. Nothing that could get anybody in trouble. All we want to do is ask him a couple of questions. That’s it. You have my word.”

  The line was quiet for a few seconds, and then: “Okay. Like I said, I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though. And I’ll tell you right now, you won’t get near the guy if you tell ’em that you’re friends of the vic. We’ll have to concoct a story about you being consultants or something, so keep that in mind if this works. You got a number I can reach you at?”

  Jason read the number off the phone’s dial. “We’ll be at the funeral tomorrow morning, but you can leave word with the
guy at the desk if we’re not here. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, Stan.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Listen, if you come down here to pick up your stuff, you stop by, okay? I wanna see Verity again before you two disappear.”

  “You got it,” Jason said, grinning. “Talk to you later.”

  He hung up and headed next door to give Stone and Verity the news. “Door’s open,” Stone’s voice called when he knocked.

  He pushed it open. “Okay, we might be in luck,” he said. “We—” He stopped.

  The room was empty.

  “Al? V?”

  No answer.

  “Okay, guys. Very funny.” He moved over and pushed open the door to the bathroom. It too was empty. He glared around the room. “Joke’s over...”

  He heard the faintest sound of a suppressed laugh off to his left. Spinning, he fixed his gaze on one of the room’s corners opposite the door. Grinning, Verity slowly came back into view. After a moment so did Stone, who was sitting in a chair by the bed.

  “Nicely done,” the mage told Verity. “But you have to learn not to make noise—especially when someone suspects you’re in the room.” He looked up at Jason. “So, any luck?”

  “We’ll know later today or tomorrow.”

  Verity, looking quite pleased with herself, dropped down into the other of the room’s two chairs. “Who’d you call?”

  “Stan Lopez. I figured maybe he might know somebody who knows somebody who could get us in to talk to Dwight. No idea if it’ll work, but it’s worth a shot. If we can talk to him, we can probably find out if the Evil made him do it or if he just went nuts for some other reason.”

  “Good idea,” Stone said, nodding. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not holding out much hope, but we might get lucky.”