Demon Walk (Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 6)
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DEMON
WALK
Book 6 of the Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Series
Melissa Bowersock
Copyright © 2017 by Melissa Bowersock
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in an online review or one printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
First Printing
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover image by coversbydesign.net.
ISBN-13: 978-1978479043
ISBN-10: 1978479042
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have to start out with an apology. I believe it is the author’s job to be as authentic as possible while still crafting the best story possible; sometimes those two goals conflict. In the case of this book, I’m afraid I have played fast and loose with the layout of Mission San Juan Capistrano and the surrounding area, and for that I apologize. However, my tweaks were necessary for the story, and for that I do not waver. I hope, rather than look for inconsistencies, the reader will simply sink into the story and enjoy it. I certainly did.
Books by Melissa Bowersock
The Appaloosa Connection
The Blue Crystal
Burning Through
Finding Travis
(No Time for Travis Series Book 1)
Being Travis
(No Time for Travis Series Book 2)
Fleischerhaus
Ghost Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 1)
Skin Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 2)
Star Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 3)
Dream Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 4)
Dragon Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 5)
Demon Walk
(Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud
Mystery Book 6)
Goddess Rising
Lightning Strikes
Love’s Savage Armpit by Amber Flame
(Originally published as The Pits of Passion)
The Man in the Black Hat
Marcia Gates: Angel of Bataan
Queen’s Gold
The Rare Breed
Remember Me
Sonnets for Heidi
Stone’s Ghost
Superstition Gold
DEMON
WALK
Melissa Bowersock
ONE
“So, Sam, tell our viewers how you do what you do. How do you communicate with ghosts?”
Glen Stamos, the square-jawed host of the Glen and Holly Morning Show, smiled at Sam expectantly. The petite Holly Fraser, beside him on the couch, leaned forward with wide-eyed interest.
“It’s, uh, hard to explain,” Sam said. “I think it’s different for everyone with mediumistic abilities, but for me, it’s a matter of focus and concentration. I just block out as much sensory input as possible and tune into the ethereal sensations. It’s a little like blocking out the sound and picture of a TV right next to me, and concentrating instead on a faint radio playing down the hall in another room.”
Lacey watched her Navajo partner with sympathy. He hated this—the questions, the attention, the hype. His extraordinary talents, second nature to him, were an unknowable superpower to the show hosts—and their viewers—and intensely interesting. What he did naturally, instinctively, they saw as some weird aberration, spiritual mumbo-jumbo, or outright fabrication. They examined him as they might an exotic bug.
“What about you, Lacey?” Holly asked. “Do you feel things like Sam does?”
“Oh, no,” Lacey said, happy to take the spotlight off of Sam for a minute. “I’m afraid I don’t have any of Sam’s ability like that. I rely on research and my own analysis. Hunches, really. We come at an investigation from completely different perspectives, but we always meet up at the end.”
“And get your man,” Holly added, alluding to their success in tracking down murderers.
“Or woman,” Glen joked, arching an eyebrow at his co-host.
Lacey smiled painfully at the byplay. Was everything a joke to these people? Did everything have to be cute? It was enough to make her gag.
“Don’t go away,” Glen said to the camera, “because after this glimpse into private investigators Sam Firecloud and Lacey Fitzpatrick, we’re going to take a look at everything pumpkin spice, and later… ballroom dancing! Stay with us.”
By the time Sam and Lacey made their way out of the TV station into the bright sunlight, they were both just grateful to be done.
“Holy crap,” Sam said under his breath. “Can we not do anything like that ever again?”
Lacey managed a rueful laugh. “I think next time we get an invitation to go on TV, we’ll have to watch the show a few times before we decide. That was just painful.”
“Tell me again why we have to do TV at all,” Sam grumbled. He took his phone out of his pocket and turned it on, checking for messages as they walked to the parking lot.
“Because,” Lacey repeated for the umpteenth time, “it builds credibility and lets people know we are for real. The more familiar people are with our work, the more likely they are to call us, and the more likely we are to catch the bad guys.”
He wasn’t listening. He had his phone to his ear. Lacey gave up. Maybe they wouldn’t do any more TV. She actually wasn’t sure it was worth it.
She pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked her Toyota.
“Hey,” Sam said, holding up his phone. “We got a call. The director of San Juan Capistrano.”
Lacey blinked at him. “The mission?”
“I guess.” He climbed into the passenger seat. “Let me call him back and see what he wants.”
Lacey put her key into the ignition but didn’t start the car. See, she wanted to say to Sam. People call us. That’s a good thing.
“Mr. Swayze? This is Sam Firecloud. I got your message…”
Sam listened for a moment, then interrupted. “Excuse me, sir. Let me put you on speaker so my partner can hear you, too.” He punched a button and said, “Okay, go ahead.”
“As I was saying,” the little voice said, “we’re having a problem with a particular area of our grounds, and we think it’s something you could help us with. There’s no, uh, normal explanation for it. And it’s getting worse.”
“All right,” Sam said. “When would you like us to come down and have a look around?”
“Tomorrow too soon?” the director asked hopefully.
Sam looked at Lacey. She was already nodding.
“Sure. What time?”
“How about ten a.m.?”
“We can do that,” Sam said.
“Good.” The director let out a relieved breath. “Here’s the address…”
Sam grabbed Lacey’s notebook from the console and scribbled the address.
“Got it,” he said. “Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank God,” the man murmured.
Sam hung up the phone and glanced at Lacey. “Don’t say it,” he cautioned.
“Say what?” Lacey asked innocently.
Sam hooked a thumb at the TV station behind them. “He saw us on the
morning show. Called as soon as the segment was over.”
“Oh.” Lacey stifled a laugh and started the car. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Maybe it was worth it after all.
~~~
TWO
Rocketing down the I-5 toward San Juan Capistrano, Lacey appreciated the straight shot and one-hour drive. So often in Southern California, a trip of any distance involved one or two or three interchanges, jumping from one freeway to another. This was a breeze.
Sam’s phone pinged. He didn’t answer it.
“No one you know?” she asked.
“No. I tell you, Lacey, I’m getting just crazy stuff. One guy left me a message asking if I could give him the winning lottery numbers. Just nuts.”
“Blurgh,” she huffed. “This really is a two-edged sword. Like I’ve been saying, our fifteen minutes of fame can help people reach us for very real problems, but on the other hand, we get the wackos, too.” She looked over at Sam. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” He grinned wickedly. “It’s Captain Shaw’s fault. He’s the one who started this with that press conference and those awards he gave us.”
Lacey laughed. “True enough. But it was really sweet of him to recognize us for our work on that last case. Believe me, he doesn’t give out attaboys easily. Even when I was still a cop, he did not hand out praise lightly. And for him to recognize us as private investigators, well, that’s a milestone.”
“Yeah, I get that. And I’m glad you’re getting the recognition you deserve. Me, not so much.”
Lacey reached over and squeezed his hand. “Thank God for voicemail, huh?”
“Yeah.” He squeezed back. “And caller ID.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Here’s our exit,” he said, pointing.
“Got it,” she said. She put on her blinker and steered down the offramp.
The city of San Juan Capistrano was just slightly schizophrenic. The style of the old adobe and stone buildings of the mission carried over to the new buildings: whitewashed walls and red tile roofs. But all around the perimeter of the mission grounds were crowded chain stores and fast-food outlets: Starbucks, McDonald’s, Chili’s. The mission, enclosed by its protective walls, was an island of religious history in a sea of modern commercialism.
They found the parking lot nearest the administration building and piled out of the car. Taking a walkway to the front door, Lacey noticed the overriding sense of peace here: the gardens, the ponds, the swaying palm trees and the pastel fuchsia and salmon flowers of the bougainvillea. This would be a nice place to come to every day, she thought.
Inside, signs steered them to the director’s office. They entered the open reception area and walked to the woman behind a counter.
“May I help you?” the woman asked. Fortyish and trim with short, dark hair, she stood to greet them.
“I’m Lacey Fitzpatrick and this is Sam Firecloud. We have an appointment with the director at ten a.m.”
“Oh, yes, of course. How do you do? I’m Belinda Armstrong.” She offered her hand to each of them over the counter. “Let me check to make sure he’s ready for you. Would you like some coffee or water?”
“None for me thanks,” Lacey said. Sam shook his head as well. Belinda excused herself and slipped through the door behind her.
The office was tastefully done. White walls and Saltillo tile harkened back to the colonial Spanish origins of the mission and the town that grew up around it. Only a single picture graced one wall, a stunning sunset behind the Basilica, bathing the graceful domed building in pink and orange light. A small arched niche in the opposite wall held an unadorned bronze crucifix.
Lacey turned to Sam. “Anything yet?” she asked.
Sam grimaced. “The original mission is over two hundred years old,” he said quietly. “There are plenty of ghosts here.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. “Will it be hard to cut through the noise?” she asked.
“I should be able to, but we’ll have to wait and see.”
Just then Belinda’s heels tapped out her return. “Director Swayze will see you now.” She motioned them toward the open door.
“Thank you,” Lacey said. She preceded Sam into the office.
Nice digs, she thought. A high-ceilinged room with clean white paint, two windows set into the thick walls. Bright area rugs scattered over the tile, bookshelves across one entire wall. The morning breeze through the windows brought the cool, dry air of fall.
“Hello,” Swayze said as he rose from his chair. “Come in. So nice to meet you.”
They all shook hands, and Swayze motioned them to red leather chairs with nailhead trim.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “We really were out of options, so when I saw you two on TV yesterday…” He shrugged and pointed skyward. “It seemed like a sign.”
Sam and Lacey exchanged a quick, startled look.
“I’m, uh, not sure you want to describe us as heaven-sent,” she said. “We’re just private investigators.”
“Ah, but very special private investigators. Am I right?” Swayze smiled at them.
Sam managed a crooked smile. “Let’s just say not your average, garden-variety type.”
“Exactly,” Swayze said, pleased. “So how do we do this?”
“First off,” Sam said, “what’s the area that has the problem? I’d prefer to walk it before you tell me much about what people are experiencing. I’d like to get my own impressions before I hear yours.”
“Yes, of course,” the director said. “Here, let me grab a brochure.” He pulled a tri-fold brochure from his desk and laid it open on the surface.
“Here’s a map of the grounds. As you can see, most of the mission property is bounded by commercial properties all along Camino Capistrano to the west. On the east, across El Camino Real, are schools and other businesses. It’s not until you go to the northern end of the property that you see residential neighborhoods. It’s this area that’s the problem.”
Sam studied the map. “The entire northern end?”
Swayze looked slightly uncomfortable. “The northeast corner, actually. Here.” He pointed to a very specific spot.
Lacey watched Sam peruse the map. She wasn’t sure, but she had a feeling he was already picking up something.
“As I said, I don’t want a full-blown description now, but can you give me a sense of the nature of the problem in just a few words?” Sam asked.
Swayze sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Oh, I can give it to you with one word.”
They waited.
“Evil.”
~~~
THREE
“Evil,” Sam repeated.
Swayze nodded. “I don’t know if you folks are religious, but I’m guessing, in your work, you’ve come up against evil a time or two.”
Sam cleared his throat. “I’m Navajo, so my spiritual path is slightly different…”
“But still,” Swayze said. “In your Navajo belief system, does evil exist?”
Sam stared at him, his face expressionless.
The director stared back.
“Yes,” Sam said finally. “It does.”
Swayze spread his hands as if to say, there you go. “Well,” he said, “let’s get you out there and you can see for yourself.” He keyed an intercom. “Belinda, would you ask Father David to come in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Father David will escort you out there. He’s in charge of the Mission Basilica School, which is closest to the problem area. And, when you’re ready, he can tell you what some people have experienced.” He folded up the brochure and offered it to Sam. “Want to keep this?”
“Yes,” Sam said. He took it and stuck it in his back pocket.
A knock sounded on the door, which then pushed open. A tall priest with thinning hair came in. He was dressed all in black except for the small white section of his collar. Swayze made the introdu
ctions.
“This is Father David Ruiz. Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud.”
Lacey and Sam stood and shook hands. Lacey noted the man’s gentle grip and his rather sad, dark brown eyes.
“Our guests here,” Swayze told Ruiz, “want to see our ‘problem area.’ Sam has requested that we don’t tell him anything about what’s occurred out there until he’s seen it for himself.” The director turned to Sam. “I’m assuming you’ll ask questions as you’re ready to hear more.”
“Yes,” Sam said.
“All right. Take as much time as you need, and I’d appreciate it if you’d all come back here when you’re done, let me know what you find.”
“Certainly,” Lacey said. She smiled to Father David. “Lead the way.”
Outside, the peaceful solitude of the mission was pierced by children’s calls and shouts floating on the breeze from a school across the street.
“Is that school part of the mission?” Lacey asked.
“No. That is the unified school district. Our schools are here on the property.”
“So there are a lot of children about,” Lacey said. Children in close proximity to an evil presence? That did not bode well.
“Yes, there are,” Father David said. He met Lacey’s eyes for a moment, and she could see the worry there.
She knew she was right.
They neared the far northeast corner of the property. Lacey deliberately slowed her pace, falling behind Sam, and she noticed that Father David stayed with her. She dug quietly in her pack for her phone and set it on video. She wanted to be ready for anything.
Suddenly Sam slowed as well. Lacey put out her arm, motioning Father David to stay back, and started filming.
Sam’s steps slowed even more, but at the same time his body tensed. Lacey noticed he pulled himself up to his full height, and thrust his chest out. She’d never seen this attitude, this… defiance in him.