Page 11 of Speak of the Devil

It’s only a meeting,she reminded herself, and sipped some more pinot noir.

True, except she could have easily turned the man — Robert Hendricks — down and said that sorry, demons weren’t her field of expertise.

He hadn’t sounded crazy on the phone…but then, they rarely did.

And although he hadn’t mentioned any exact numbers, she’d gotten the impression that he was ready to lay a substantial amount on the line if he thought she could help him. Money wasn’t a problem anymore, not when she sold at least a house every month and also received ten percent of the commission whenever her mother sold a home that Delia had cleansed, but despite that, she wasn’t about to look an unexpected windfall in the mouth.

But still…demons?

There had been that crazy flap on the internet a few years ago, when footage from a show that had never aired —Project Demon Hunters?— flooded YouTube and other social media channels, but the hubbub had died down after a bunch of rumors circulated that the images of those horrible demonic creatures had been doctored somehow and the whole thing was a fake. In fact, she thought she remembered reading a story that said the footage had been leaked by the show’s creators in retaliation for the cable channel that had funded the show going in and adding special effects without their permission.

Anyway, she’d assumed it had all been a bunch of sound and fury that signified absolutely nothing at all.

But…what if it hadn’t been?

Although the room was warm enough, a shiver still inched its way down Delia’s spine. Maybe she should text Robert Hendricks and tell him sorry, she’d just checked her calendar and had a conflict and would need to cancel.

That was the coward’s way out, though. No, she’d agreed to this meeting, and she would see him tomorrow morning as they’d planned. If it turned out he was stark raving mad, well, that was the reason for setting up their meeting in such a public place.

And if he sounded plausible?

That, Delia reflected, might be even worse.

By ten o’clock, a lot of the early morning rush had already subsided, but Mothership was still busy enough that she was glad she’d arrived a few minutes early so she could grab a venti Americano and a relatively quiet table off to one side. The place had a great outdoor patio area, but on this particular January morning, it was still just a little too nippy to sit outside for any length of time.

However, the interior of the coffee shop was light and bright, with high ceilings and lots of windows and mid-toned wood, just about the opposite of the sort of location that would seem conducive to discussions about demons. Delia settled down at the table she’d found and blew on the surface of her coffee while she waited.

Which wasn’t for very long, because less than five minutes after she’d seated herself, a tall man with graying dark hair and wearing a gray sportcoat and jeans and loafers entered the shop and came immediately over to her table.

“Delia Dunne?” he asked, and she nodded. It wasn’t too surprising that he’d recognized her, considering how her photo was prominently displayed on the Dunne & Dunne website.

“Mr. Hendricks?” she responded.

He shook his head, smiling as he extended a hand. “Robert, please. Do you mind waiting a few more minutes while I get some coffee?”

“Not at all,” she said. “Take your time.”

“Thank you.”

The line at the counter was pretty much nonexistent by then, so he was able to place his order and come back to join her, coffee in hand, in only a couple of minutes. By that point, Delia’sAmericano had cooled enough that she was able to take a sip, glad of the happy tingle of caffeine hitting her veins. Sure, she’d already had a cup at home earlier that morning, but she figured it was probably a good idea to get some extra coffee in her before they got into the whole demon thing.

“Thanks again for meeting me,” Robert told her as he sat down in the chair opposite hers. Up close, he looked like he was probably closer to fifty than forty, with laugh lines around his eyes and skin the warm tone of someone who was outside a lot.

And he definitely didn’t look like a crackpot who believed in demons. No, he seemed much more like someone who would approach her looking to buy a vacation home on a golf course.

She glanced around them, but neither of the two closest tables was occupied.

Might as well dive right into it.

“So, what makes you interested in demons?” she asked, hoping she sounded neutral and not at all judgey.

The laugh lines around Robert Hendricks’ eyes deepened as he smiled again. “Put like that, I suppose it does sound kind of crazy.”

“Well, I clean haunted houses,” she said. “So I probably have a different definition of ‘crazy’ than most people.”

Still looking amused, he picked up his cup of coffee — plain old black, as far as she could tell — and took a sip. “I suppose you have a point there. Anyway, I’m a member of a group of casino managers and owners, and lately we’ve been noticing some suspicious activity.”

“‘Suspicious’?” she echoed, wondering exactly where he was going with this. Surely if there were some sort of shenanigans going on at the local casinos, it would be a matter for their in-house security to handle, or maybe even the police if they thought some kind of actual fraud was occurring.

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