Free Demon on a Distant Shore by Linda Welch Page B

coughing until I heard “ toads!” in a voice muffled by laughter. I eyed my gateaux and imagined a glob hitting him dead center between the eyes, but it was too good to waste.
    We went up to our room after supper. I hung my jacket on the hook behind the door and carefully eased down on the bed. I patted the mattress. “C’mon over here, Watson.”
    “Whatever you say, Holmes. Just give me a minute.” He went in the bathroom.
    I was already under the covers when he came back. He stood at the end of the bed and deliberately leered at me. “No sexy lingerie tonight, I see.”
    I flapped my hand at where the threadbare old T-shirt I usually wear in bed lay on the chair. “It’s hot, and this place doesn’t have air-conditioning.”
    I blinked as he blurred, and ran my tongue over my upper lip. He can move too fast for the eye to focus on him, but stripping off his clothes in an instant was a first.
    The glint in his eyes had nothing to do with his Gelpha looks. I held up both hands palm out. “Royal, no!”
    Too late. He took a flying leap and hit the bed next to where I lay. The way the mattress tossed us around we could well have been in an earthquake’s epicenter. When it subsided, I lay in the circle of his arms. We were face to face, body to body, and an awful lot of Royal snuggled into an awful lot of me.
    “Oh my,” I murmured.
     
     
    . . . . helpless!
    I came awake, sitting bolt upright in bed with the sheet, blanket and bedspread snarled around my waist.
    My head hurt as if from pressure inside my skull, for a fleeting moment it felt like something shared it with me. Something spoke to me, but not with words. A feeling, an emotion . . . helpless!
    I almost woke Royal, but what could I tell him? There is something in my head. No, not a voice. Not a headache or a bad dream. I did not imagine the whole thing. I decided to leave it alone and hope it never happened again.
    I knew I would not be able to go back to sleep. I took his laptop to the chair, powered it up and typed in the search words.
    Spotted Dick .

Chapter Seven
     
    We stayed in bed till nine-thirty and had missed breakfast by the time we showered and dressed. Breakfast was served between six and nine in the morning, not a moment longer. If you missed it, you went hungry till lunch or grabbed something from the tiny village shop. I think the inn had a deal with the shop, which coincidentally was open for business seven days a week. Maybe they took a percentage of what hungry guests paid for snacks, because I am positive I didn’t see any signs advertising dining times in The Hart and Garter.
    Royal told me it was pretty much the norm, meaning the dining times, not a deal with the shop.
    He dressed and went downstairs. Wearing just my old T-shirt, I looked through the window at a gray sky with not a hint of sunshine.
    Royal returned with a tray laden with coffeepot, cups, plates, buttery croissants and a tiny bowl of strawberry preserve. “Sally had these left over from breakfast,” he said by way of explanation.
    Not a day here and already on a first name basis with the proprietor. I bet other guests who missed breakfast didn’t get special treatment, but Royal has a unique kind of charm.
    We sat cross-legged on the rug, munching as we talked over our options. Where to start?
    We dared not ask the villagers about Peter Cooper and the Nortons. I’d already talked to Greg and no doubt more probing would get back to him and make him suspicious. If he wasn’t already. Word would surely spread fast in a tiny place like Little Barrow. We had to maintain our pretense of being vacationers who knew friends of the Nortons back in the States, and asked after them all casual-like. No big deal, not our concern, just gonna say hi to the Nortons from our friends, if we happen on them.
    Obviously something was not kosher. What I saw in Greg’s eyes, the note under the door . . . god forbid something unpleasant happened to the Nortons.
    I carried the tray