The Demon Pool (13 page)

The phone rang as Martha finished restocking the candle
display. She made her way to the counter and answered it.

“Candle and Wind Spiritual Supplies and Gifts,
this is Martha,” she said, smiling into the phone. She believed that customers
could feel her smile when she answered the phone, even if they could not see
her face.

“Martha, it’s Kevin. Kevin Williams. I think
you’re going to have a visitor. From the Highway Patrol. I think they are
looking for Kat.”

Martha kept her smile, even after Kevin
identified himself. She had practiced the habit for so long she probably could
not frown into the phone if she wanted to, though Kevin did test her limits. He
was a strange little fellow who had come in once for some advice on voodoo. She
had sold him a book about Marie Laveau, the infamous New Orleans voodoo
priestess. Though Laveau had been dead for decades, she still had a significant
following. Since that time, Kevin had bought several other books on voodoo,
magick, and, occasionally, he ordered some special supplies that Martha did not
usually carry. This was the third time Kevin had called since Kat Connors had
come into the store. His interest in gaining supernatural power now seemed
dwarfed by his interest in Kat.

“I can’t imagine why the Highway Patrol would
want to talk to me, Kevin, or even how you would know they wanted to speak to
me.”

“It’s about Kat. Something about the car she was
driving. An accident on I-75 that the Highway Patrol is investigating. I told
the trooper she was visiting from Atlanta, that she just asked for directions.”

Martha cut him off.

“Did he believe you?”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s coming to see you
next.”

Martha bit her lip. Kat had had a powerful aura.
Probably some connection to one of the ancient ones. Martha had felt it when
Kat came into the shop, though Kat herself may not fully realize the power she
emanated. Martha’s spirit guide, the incorporeal being that shared her body,
had realized it also, and Kevin had practically groveled at her feet.

“Well, I’ll tell him the truth. New customer who
paid cash for some candles and left. That’s all I know.”

Her answer did not satisfy Kevin.

“What if he asks to see your security video?”

Martha looked up at the camera, tucked away in a
corner behind the counter. Kevin had installed it recently after several local
strip malls had experienced robberies and break-ins.

“You’re good with computers,” she said.

Kevin like to brag about his computer prowess.

“I could work for NASA or even the CIA if I
wanted to. They’re always trying to recruit me.”

Martha shook her head. He always added that last
part.

“Well, you connected the camera to the computer,
so I’m sure there is something you can do,” Martha assured him.

“What if he wants to take the computer?” Kevin
asked.

Martha hesitated. “I don’t know, Kevin. You’re
the expert. Besides, he can’t touch my computer without a warrant.”

“Ok, tell him you only save the video files for a
week because the video takes up so much room on your crappy little hard drive.
After he leaves, call me. I’ll come right over and do some electronic magic.”
Kevin snickered.

His laugh annoyed the hell out of Martha.

“I told you she would need our help,” he bragged.

Before Martha could hang up, the door to the shop
opened. Even from back behind the counter, Martha could feel the warm air rush
in from the outside. Martha looked toward the door and saw a tall Highway
Patrol Trooper enter the shop.

“He’s here. I’ll call when he leaves.”

Before Kevin replied, Martha hung up the phone.

“Welcome to Candle and Wind.”

She smiled her most genuine smile.

***

Jim Demore let the door close behind him. As he
approached the counter, he glanced around the small store. A curious shop
jammed full of things that he never gave much thought to. Things that had to do
with spirits, and the occult, and religion. Considering his general disdain for
metaphysical crapola, and despite the friendly smile on the face of the woman
who greeted him, Jim somehow did not feel very welcome or very comfortable in
this place.

He looked around, but did not see any customers.
Except for the woman, the store appeared empty. Regardless of how it looked,
Jim had that “something or someone is watching me” feeling.

A small video camera stared out past the counter.
It reassured him. If it worked, it would have captured both Williams and the
woman he was with, if she had entered the shop.

Somehow, the feeling of someone watching seemed
to come from something more than just the security camera. It was as if
eyeballs had locked onto him and he had become an acquired target. Even felony
traffic stops, as risky as they frequently were, did not raise the hackles on his
neck the way walking into this quiet, weird, little store did. Only combat
patrols, when everyone knew that contact with the enemy was imminent, had set
off alarm bells close to what he felt now.

“May I help you find something?”

Martha continued to smile as Jim approached the
counter and parked his campaign hat there.

“No thank you, ma’am. I really don’t see anything
here that I would have much use for.”

Jim pushed down the alarm signals that pulsed
into his brain. After seeing the inside of the store, it did not surprise him
that Kevin Williams was a customer, or at least a visitor. The little freak
probably bought books on vivisecting and sacrificing small animals here.

“I would like to ask you a couple of questions,
though. I’m looking for information on a customer you may have had.”

“We have a lot of customers. A lot of people find
spiritual things interesting.”

“Yes, ma’am. I suppose they do.” Jim pointed at
the camera. “Does your security system work?”

“Most of the time.”

“The time frame I’m interested in would have been
about a week ago. Are you the manager here?”

“The owner. Martha St. Onge.”

Martha held out her hand. Jim met her eyes as he
reached out and shook it. Her grip was stronger than he expected.

“Trooper Demore.” Jim kept his voice courteously
neutral.

“Nice to meet you, officer.”

 “I’m an accident investigator for the Ft. Myers
district.” Jim pointed to the camera. “You record to a hard drive?”

The longer Jim looked at Martha, the more he
realized that there was something wrong with her eyes. They seemed to change
colors, shifting from shade to shade. Not so much like flipping the channels on
a television set, but more of a subtle, mildly hallucinogenic effect. The
store’s lighting came from standard fluorescent fixtures set into the drop
ceiling. Completely normal. Yet, as he looked at Martha, the lighting itself
oscillated along with the colors in Martha’s eyes. The store’s illumination
seemed to take on a kind of metaphysical self-existence.
Metaphysical
self-existence. Where did that crap come from?

The eerie, occult atmosphere that hung over the
store made Jim not want to be there any longer than absolutely necessary.

Martha’s voice cut through Jim’s reverie.

“That’s the way it’s set up. When it works. My
hard drive crashed a couple of weeks ago. It does that every now and then.
Especially during thunderstorms.”

Jim thought about the problem with the video
servers at the traffic operations center. South Florida electrical storms could
be hell on computers.

“Would you mind if one of our technicians made a
copy of your video files? I’m investigating a serious accident, possibly a
vehicular homicide. A person of interest may have entered your store.”

“Things have been slow lately. I’m not sure there
will be much to see.”

“It would be less disruptive to your business and
quicker for us if we could just copy the files without having to take your
computer in.”

Martha’s eyes darkened. Her smile faded away.

“So basically, what you are telling me is that I
can cooperate, or I can wait for a warrant, but then you will come back and
take my computer?”

Jim felt like he had the upper hand.

“Yes, ma’am. Basically, that’s it.”

Martha’s smile returned, but an element of
confrontation colored it.

“Just let me know when, Trooper Demore.” She used
his correct title. “I’ll have everything ready for you.”

Jim picked up his hat.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll call you tomorrow to set up
a time.”

He did not care much for this mostly smiling,
friendly appearing woman with the strange eyes. He did not care much for her,
and he cared even less for her store. He picked up his hat and got the hell out
of Dodge.

He opened the front door and stepped back into
the late afternoon sun. The warmth felt good. Something about the store left
Jim feeling spiritually polluted, unclean even. Which was something,
considering he did not think himself a spiritual person. At least not in the
standard religious sense.

He stood in the sun for a moment and let the
daylight work its own magic. The sun acted as a bright, fiery disinfectant. He
rarely spent time thinking about spirituality. He focused on the world he could
see and touch. If the supernatural world did exist, which he strongly doubted,
and if it included characters like Martha St. Onge and Kevin Williams, then he
would be more than happy to keep it out of his mind and out of his day-to-day
world. Given the choice between science and superstition, Jim had no doubt that
science would always triumph.

Jim looked at the printout. The number of Dodge Vipers
registered in Florida surprised him. Patrolling the southern Gulf Coast
freeways, Jim would occasionally see a Viper, but he was more likely to see a
Corvette or Porsche. And rarely, a Ferrari or a Lamborghini.

The printout showed most of the Viper
registrations clustered in the Ft. Lauderdale-to-Miami corridor. A couple
registered in Florida’s northern counties, and a few more registered in the
central, as well as the lower, west coast counties. Of the dozen or so
Southwest Florida Vipers, three were red, and one red and black. The red and
black Viper had a Tampa address.

The accident had occurred on the southbound leg
of the I-75 freeway, south of Ft. Myers but north of Naples. Was it possible
that the Viper he had glimpsed at the voodoo store was the same car? When
questioned, the little freak, Williams, had told him that the woman was from
Atlanta and just wanted directions. He did not believe Williams’ story. His
cop-sense told him that Williams was lying.
But then, why would he lie? What
connection could he have with her that would cause him to risk his job by lying
to a cop?

Williams didn’t seem like the brightest bulb in
the box. What if in the lie, there was a sliver of truth? What if she were
actually from Tampa, but the best Williams could come up with in the moment was
Atlanta? It was only a hunch, but it gave Jim a place to start. He would take a
drive up to Tampa. Bruce York was the name on the registration.
Time for a
little road trip.

A couple of clicks of his computer’s mouse and Jim
had Bruce York’s phone number. Jim punched the numbers into his desk phone.

***

A cloud of anxiety had descended on Bruce. Kat was
supposed to have called him an hour ago. He wanted to talk to her about their
relationship. A serious talk. It was time to take their relationship to the
next level, as clichéd as that sounded. Bruce wanted to talk about being
“exclusive.”

He jumped when the phone finally rang. The caller
identification said “unknown.” Unknown might be either a government phone or a
telemarketer. Bruce took great care in keeping his name and number off of
telemarketing lists. Probably more FEMA crap. A new tropical storm had formed
out in the Gulf. He answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Mr. York?”

The voice sounded courteous and professional, but
not familiar.

“Yeah, I’m Bruce York,” Bruce said, trying not to
sound too friendly. “And you are?”

“Corporal Jim Demore with the Florida Highway
Patrol.”

Bruce’s first thought was that Kat had been in an
accident, which was why she had not called. They must have found his number in
her cell phone.
Don’t panic.

“Is everything OK?”

 “Mr. York, I am investigating a motor vehicle
collision and I need to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t understand. I haven’t been in any
accidents.”

“Mr. York, you do own a red and black Dodge
Viper, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I keep it parked in my garage when I’m
not driving it and I haven’t been in any accidents.”

 Demore’s questioning made Bruce uncomfortable.
The Viper was not something he wanted most people to know about. Bruce’s story
about a small inheritance had held up well thus far, but it would not hold up
for long under serious scrutiny.

“Mr. York, are you married?”

“No.” That question brought back some unpleasant
memories. “Not at the moment anyway. Why?”

“Anyone else drive your car recently?”

Bruce hesitated just a second before answering.

“No. No one drives the Viper but me.”

“Mr. York, I would like to speak with you in
person. Is the address on your registration still valid?”

“Yes.”
Don’t panic.

“Great. I’ll be in Tampa in about two hours. I’m
sure we can get this cleared up fairly quickly. I would like to see the car.”

“Two hours?” Bruce asked, trying not to let his
voice give away the concern and fear creeping into his mind.
Don’t panic,
don’t panic, don’t panic.

“Yeah, I guess that’s okay,” Bruce managed to
squeak out. He would let him look at the Viper, see that it had no damage, and
that should be the end of it.

“I haven’t been in any accidents,” Bruce said
again.
Shit, why do I keep saying that?

“That’s fine, Mr. York. I’ll see you in about two
hours.”

“Ok...yeah...two hours.”

The line went dead. Bruce hung up the phone. He
stared at the receiver for a moment and picked it back up. He dialed Kat’s
number.