Demon Walk (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 6)

by Melissa Bowersock

  Taking a gulp of air, Lacey dialed the number.

  Three rings. Four. At a hundred and one, the woman probably could not move quickly. Would voice mail kick in before she got to the phone? Did she even have voice mail?

  Five rings. Six. Seven.

  “Hola?” The voice was quiet but firm. There was a trace of vibrato to it.

  “Mrs. Archuleta? My name is Lacey Fitzpatrick. I’m a private investigator, and the Mission San Juan Capistrano has asked me to investigate”—How to say this?—“spirit activity near the mission. Because you live close by, I was wondering if I could talk to you about it?”

  There was silence on the other end, although Lacey could tell the line was still open.

  “Spirito?” the woman finally asked.

  “Yes.” Lacey suddenly remembered Father David saying Pilar did not speak English well. How much did she understand? Lacey took Spanish in high school, but rarely used it. She probably remembered just enough to get herself into trouble. She plunged.

  “Spirito… Diablo?”

  She thought she heard an intake of breath. There was silence again for a moment, then a string of Spanish too rapid for Lacey to catch anything familiar.

  “Wait,” she pleaded. “Stop. Alto.” She probed her brain for the old conversational Spanish. “Lo siento,” she began slowly. “Solomente tengo poquito Espaniol. Poquito.” She hoped that made sense.

  “Poquito?” the woman asked.

  “Yes. Si. Speak English?”

  “Poquito,” she said.

  Great, Lacey thought. I have a tiny bit of Spanish and she has a tiny bit of English. Now what?

  “Nieto,” Pilar said. “Mi nieto.”

  Nieto? Lacey pulled her laptop to her and plugged the word into Google. Nieto… granddaughter.

  “Si?” Lacey asked. “Nieto speaks English?”

  “Si. Nieto. Carmen Trujillo. Ocho, quatro, cinco…”

  “Wait,” Lacey said. She grabbed her pen and wrote the name. “Okay, numero?”

  Pilar rattled off the phone number. Lacey just hoped she had the numbers right. She used to get some of them mixed up if she didn’t say them in order. She read them back to Pilar.

  “Si,” the woman said, then another string of Spanish.

  “Can I call her?” Lacey asked. “I call—telephone—Carmen?”

  “Si, si,” Pilar said. More Spanish.

  “Okay,” Lacey said, feeling heartened by getting this far. “I will call her. Thank you. Gracias.”

  “Si,” Pilar said again. Then she hung up.

  Lacey stared at the phone. That was weird, but it certainly seemed like Pilar understood what Lacey wanted. And if she was willing to bring in a translator, she was open to talking about it. Hoping she was reading this right, Lacey dialed the number.

  The line rang three times and went to voice mail. A male voice, with a generic message, no name, no number. It looked like Carmen was more careful than her grandmother.

  “Hi, this message is for Carmen Trujillo. My name is Lacey Fitzpatrick. I was given your number by your grandmother, Pilar Archuleta. I’m a private investigator and I would like to talk to her about a situation there in her neighborhood. I don’t speak a lot of Spanish and it sounds like she doesn’t speak much English, but I think what she was saying was that you could act as interpreter for us. Please call me back and let me know if this is something you’d be willing to do. My number is…”

  Lacey laid the phone down and wondered how long she’d have to wait for a call back. She’d fully expect Carmen to call Pilar and verify what Lacey said, so it wouldn’t be right away. Might as well see what there was for dinner.

  She went to the kitchen and prowled the cabinets. Canned soup. Crackers. In the freezer, frozen chicken fried rice. During her brief stint living with Sam, she had definitely been more creative and ambitious with meal planning, but on her own again, it was tougher to get motivated. She opted for the little carton of rice and popped it in the microwave to nuke while she poured a glass of iced tea.

  Her phone, still on the table, chimed. She lunged for it. Wouldn’t she know the microwave would start beeping at that exact time?

  “Hello?” The caller ID said anonymous. More caution.

  “Hello, is this Lacey Fitzpatrick?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “This is Carmen Trujillo. I got your message.”

  “Great,” Lacey said, popping open the microwave door just so it would stop beeping. “Thanks for returning my call. I’m assuming you checked with your grandmother, so I hope I interpreted our, um, conversation correctly.”

  “You did. Yes, she wants to talk to you. But she’s not my grandmother.”

  “Oh?” Lacey wondered if that Spanish to English dictionary she’d consulted was wonky.

  “She’s my great-grandmother.”

  “Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes more sense, with her being a hundred and one years old. It’s amazing that she’s still living independently.”

  “She’s… tough,” Carmen said. “Stubborn, too. Several of us have tried to get her to move in with family and she won’t leave.”

  “Do you know why?” Lacey asked.

  Carmen hesitated. “I’ll let her tell you. Sometimes I’m not really sure how… clear-headed she is.”

  At that advanced age, that wouldn’t be a surprise. “Okay. When’s a good time to get together?”

  “I work days, so it’ll have to be an evening or a weekend.” She paused. “I could do Friday evening. Say five o’clock?”

  “That works,” Lacey said. She was just as glad Carmen suggested early evening. Lacey wasn’t sure she’d want to approach that house after dark. “Do you know what the situation is there that we’re investigating?”

  Again that hesitation. “I can guess. Bad vibes, right?”

  “You could call it that,” Lacey agreed, “although it seems to be more serious than that. The mission is very concerned for the safety of their people, especially their school children.”

  “The mission?” Carmen was clearly surprised.

  “Yes. We met with the director this morning. It seems there have been… attacks lately.”

  “Attacks,” Carmen repeated.

  “Yes. Unusual attacks. Invisible attacks.”

  “You said we.”

  Lacey wondered if the abrupt switch in topics was more evasion or curiosity.

  “My partner and I, Sam Firecloud. He’s a medium.”

  “Sam… I read about him, about you two. You helped in that jogger’s murder.”

  “Right.”

  “Huh. Well, I’m not sure how much you’re going to be able to do with Pilar, but I guess you can try.”

  Lacey was quiet for a minute. “You don’t put much stock in the ‘bad vibes’?”

  Carmen sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s a weird house. I don’t like being there, never have, but it’s never been… creepy, at least not to me. Most of my family won’t even set foot in it. I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  Lacey digested that. “Good to know,” she said. “Well, we’ll just see what Sam gets from it.” She decided not to mention anything about Sam’s first impressions. Let the woman see his reactions firsthand. “So we’ll see you there, Friday at five.”

  “Yeah. See you there.”

  “Thanks, Carmen. Appreciate your help.”

  ~~~

  SIX

  Friday at ten minutes to five, Lacey and Sam pulled up in front of the little house. Lacey felt some trepidation parking her car right there; she’d already lost one vehicle to their investigations. She didn’t want to lose another one.

  Sam was out of the car before her, already standing on the sidewalk as she locked up. He sure seemed in a big hurry to face off with a demon, she thought.

  When she glanced up at the house, she was slightly shocked to see the door open and little Pilar standing in the opening, waving them in. And little was right. The woman could not have been five foot tall. She wore a thin hou
sedress and glasses, her gray hair pulled back into a knot at the back of her head. She looked like anyone’s granny. All she was missing was a plate of cookies.

  They approached the house, Sam looking much more relaxed than Lacey felt. He went directly to Pilar and put out his hand to her. She took his in both of hers, her watery old eyes crinkling at the corners as she grinned at him.

  “Hola,” she said happily. “Samson?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “Nice to meet you. This is my partner, Lacey.”

  Pilar glanced her way, nodded and smiled, but returned her gaze to Sam. Taking his arm, she pulled him toward the door, chattering happily in Spanish.

  So now I’m chopped liver? Lacey said to herself. Feeling a bit of pique, she followed the other two into the house.

  It was dim inside, especially after Lacey closed the door behind her. The flat-roofed adobe had very small windows which let in a minimum of light. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she noted the front room was a combination kitchen and living area, while a doorway led to a bedroom in the back. The walls held a montage of items: paintings, both folk art and religious; bundles of herbs and flowers tied with string and hanging from nails or hooks; and small wooden shelves that supported more dried flowers, colorful animal figurines and tiny metal milagros. In brighter light, Lacey guessed the room would be a riot of color, but the shadows seemed to keep the crazy mix of colors and styles in check. The smell of herbs, both sweet and pungent, permeated the still air.

  Pilar motioned for them to sit in mismatched chairs around a plain wooden table, then went to the kitchen to prepare three cups of hot tea. She talked as she puttered, glancing at them occasionally and smiling, totally unconcerned that they had no idea what she was saying.

  Lacey shot Sam a questioning look.

  “It’s okay,” he said in a low tone.

  What’s okay, Lacey wanted to ask. Was he not getting any sensations? Was the demon not in evidence? What—did the thing go out on the town on Friday nights?

  Pilar brought the tea cups on a battered wooden tray and passed them around. She handed out spoons and napkins, plus a small china sugar bowl complete with a tarnished silver baby spoon. She took the chair nearest Sam and watched happily as both Sam and Lacey sweetened their tea.

  And still she kept up a running commentary in the rapid Spanish. She picked up a bundle of dried herbs from the table and showed them to Sam, apparently naming the various plants, then waved a hand at the paintings on the walls. Lacey examined the paintings, most done in a primitive style, and noted gatherings of people in bright clothing around trees or springs or within rocky canyon walls. The few religious paintings all seemed to show Mary, or at least a Madonna-style woman, crowned with light. Lacey glanced around but saw no evidence of a crucifix or any portrayals of Jesus.

  The sound of car tires on gravel drifted through the open windows, and then Lacey heard the thud of a car door closing. Pilar got up and went to open the front door, bringing her great-granddaughter in to join them.

  “Hi,” Lacey said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Lacey. This is Sam. Sam, this is Carmen Trujillo.”

  Carmen shook hands and sat at the table, tossing car keys down in front of her. She was almost as short as her great-grandmother, but dark-haired and only in her mid-twenties. Pilar questioned her, motioning to her cup of tea, but Carmen shook her head. The girl was not nearly as pleased to meet them as Pilar had been.

  “So, what do you want to know?” she asked abruptly.

  Lacey pulled out her digital recorder and glanced at Sam, but he left it to her. She turned back to Carmen.

  “Would you ask her if she knows what this spirit is that’s emanating from this area?”

  Carmen put the question to Pilar. The old woman nodded immediately and spouted a string of Spanish.

  “She says he calls himself Reyes,” Carmen said.

  “Reyes?” Lacey knitted her brows in concentration. “As in el rey, the king?”

  Carmen confirmed with Pilar. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Huh.” Not lacking in confidence, is he, Lacey thought. “What else can she tell us about him?”

  The three-sided exchange was maddeningly slow, but eventually produced results.

  “She says he is consumed with power, and he gains it by frightening, threatening, even killing people. She says he has killed before.”

  As Carmen spoke, her eyes slid away from Lacey and she fidgeted at the table. Lacey knew the signs of discomfort.

  “Do you believe that?” she asked.

  Carmen glanced uneasily at Pilar. “She’s said things like this before. Most of us in the family don’t… don’t take it literally.”

  Lacey tried to interpret that. “Is she still sharp? Clear-thinking?”

  “We think so. At least most of the time. But this…”

  “Who has he killed?” Sam asked suddenly. He asked the question of Carmen, but his eyes were on Pilar.

  Carmen relayed the question, and Pilar reeled off a response, not to her great-granddaughter but directly to Sam.

  “She says he killed her husband and her father. But we know that’s not true. They both died of heart attacks.”

  Lacey made a note to herself in her notebook.

  “She says he doesn’t like men.”

  Lacey glanced at Sam. He didn’t seem concerned with that pronouncement. If anything, he and Pilar seemed to have developed a bond very quickly. She thought back to when they first arrived.

  “When we got here today, Pilar knew Sam’s name even before we introduced ourselves. How did she know about him?”

  “She heard about him in the news. Some case in LA. She was very excited to see him here.”

  “Huh.” Lacey sat back. How weird was that? The mission hired them, but Pilar was excited to see him? “Does she want us to help her? Does she want us to get rid of Reyes?”

  The answer was an enthusiastic yes. Pilar’s gray head bobbed up and down with her happy response.

  “Yes,” Carmen said. “She says she is getting old and cannot contain him like she used to. He grows stronger as she grows weaker.”

  “Contain him?” Sam repeated. “How does she do that?”

  Immediately after hearing the question in Spanish, Pilar rose to her feet and began to point to various things around the room.

  “Herbs,” Carmen said. “Bitter herbs to frustrate him, like wormwood. Cleansing herbs like basil and rosemary, then sweet herbs to stabilize the area.”

  Pilar moved to some of the shelves on one wall, fingered the objects there, holding them up.

  “Milagros,” Carmen said. “You know—miracles?” Lacey nodded. She was familiar with the tiny metal fetishes. “She has amulets, incense. She uses everything in her power, but it is no longer enough.”

  “Is she a curandera?” Lacey asked. “A healer?”

  Carmen looked uncomfortable. “She does call herself that. We’ve asked her not to. The liability, you know. But it’s been years since anyone has sought her out. Most are afraid to come here.”

  Lacey’s brain was surging into overdrive. “You said she can no longer contain him. Does she know where he comes from? Why he emanates from this house?”

  The response was a string of Spanish, some head bobs and some shakes. Pilar moved toward the door to the bedroom and motioned for them to follow.

  “She wants you to go with her,” Carmen said. “She will show you.”

  Glancing quickly at each other, Lacey and Sam stood up to follow. Carmen came behind.

  Pilar led them into the bedroom, talking, motioning with her hands. She pointed out more dried flowers, dried herbs, small fabric dolls and tiny metal milagros. Then she moved toward the closed closet door and pointed.

  “Cuidado,” she said to Sam.

  Lacey knew that word. She touched his arm. “Be careful,” she said.

  Sam nodded, both to Lacey and to Pilar. The old woman stood aside, her earlier excitement replaced by a worried frown as she wrung he
r hands. Sam stepped forward and reached for the doorknob, but didn’t touch it. Instead he held his open hand over it, barely inches away, and just stood there.

  The room was silent except for an occasional creak from aging timbers.

  Sam moved his hand upward, his palm facing the door. He was careful not to touch the paint-chipped wood. He stood quietly, head down, eyes half closed.

  Lacey chewed on her lower lip. For the first time, she noted the metal hasp on the door above the knob, a locked padlock hanging there. It was grimy with age. How could a padlock contain a demon, she thought.

  But then again, it obviously wasn’t.

  Sam’s body spasmed slightly, as if a chill gripped him. He pulled his hand away from the door, rubbing his palm on his jeans.

  “Okay,” he said. “That’s enough.” He turned back toward the front room, motioning for Pilar to lead the way. The woman immediately began speaking again, but Lacey noted that she closed one hand on Sam’s arm and leaned on him for support.

  They retook their seats at the table. Pilar kept her hand on Sam’s arm, patting it frequently.

  “She says she’s tried everything she can think of,” Carmen translated. “But nothing banishes him. He always comes back, resurges.”

  Sam looked around the room, at the folk medicine, the charms and cures. “What about the religious aspect?” he asked. “I see she has pictures of Mary. Has she tried exorcism? Holy water? Maybe getting a blessing?”

  Carmen put the questions to her, and the old woman responded effusively, shaking her head the entire time.

  “Anything of the church enrages him,” Carmen said. “If she brings a crucifix in here, it burns or melts. If she puts a picture of the Christ on the wall, it is dashed down and shattered. Only the old magic has any effect. She has gone back to the old ways, to the magic of the Acjachemen.”

  “What is that?” Lacey asked.

  “The people who were here when the Spanish first arrived. Indios. The Spanish called them Juaneños after the mission was built.”

  Pilar spoke again, motioning around the room.

  “She has recently redoubled her efforts to contain him, to keep him at bay for your safety, but she does not know how long it will hold him. She fears she grows weaker every day.”