Dead Ever After ss-13

by Charlaine Harris

  A knock at the door put an end to my speculations. I swung around in Sam’s swivel chair to see someone I’d never expected to see again. For a second, I thought I’d pass out, like Halleigh Bellefleur at the Rotary Club.

  “Arlene,” I said, and got stuck. That was all I could manage. My former coworker—my former good friend—seemed to be waiting for me to say something more. Finally, I thought of adding, “When did you get out?”

  This moment was not only awkward in the extreme but completely unnerving. The last time I’d seen Arlene Fowler (aside from in a courtroom), she had been part of a conspiracy to murder me in a particularly horrible way. People had gotten shot that day. Some had died. Some had been wounded. Some of those had recovered in jail.

  Oddly enough, considering I was facing a conspirator in my murder, I was not afraid of her.

  All I could think about was how much Arlene had changed. She’d been a curvy woman a few months ago. Now she was thin. Her hair was still defiantly red, but it was shorter and drier, lank and lifeless. The wrinkles around her eyes and mouth were cruelly evident in the overhead light. Arlene’s time in jail hadn’t been that long, but it seemed to have aged her in dog years.

  “I got out four days ago,” she said. She’d been giving me the same kind of scrutiny I’d given her. “You’re looking good, Sookie. How’s Sam?”

  “He’s sick today, Arlene,” I said. I felt a little light-headed. “How are Lisa and Coby?”

  “They’re confused,” she said. “They asked me why Aunt Sookie hasn’t come by to see them.”

  “I thought it would be real weird if I visited them, all things considered.” I held her eyes with my own until she nodded reluctantly and looked away. “Specially since I was sure you must have said some awful things about me. You know, when you decided to lure me to your place so your buddies could nail me to a cross.”

  Arlene flushed and looked down at her hands.

  “Did they stay with Helen when you were away?” I asked, not knowing what else to talk about.

  Arlene’s new best bigot buddy had promised to take care of the kids when she’d taken them from Arlene’s trailer before the shooting started.

  “No. She got tired of ’em after a week. She took ’em to Chessie.”

  “Chessie Johnson?”

  “She was Chessie Fowler before she married Brock,” Arlene explained. “Chessie is—was—first cousin to my ex.” (The ex whose name Arlene had kept, though she’d been married several times. Rick Fowler had perished in a motorcycle accident in Lawton, Oklahoma.) “When Jan Fowler died out at the lake in that fire, she left Chessie some money. Chessie ain’t hurting. She loves those kids. It could have been worse.” Arlene didn’t sound angry with Helen, just resigned.

  Frankly (and call me punitive), what I wanted to see was Arlene feeling angry with herself. Yet I didn’t detect anything like that, and I could see Arlene inside and outside. What I heard from her thoughts was a bright streak of malice, a lack of hope or enterprise, and a dull loathing of the world that had treated her so ill . . . in her estimation.

  “Then I hope the kids are doing well with the Johnsons,” I said. “I’m sure they’ve missed their mama.” I’d found two true things to say. I wondered where Sam’s gun was. I wondered how fast I could get to it if it was in the right-hand drawer of his desk, as I suspected it was.

  She looked as if she were about to cry, just for a second. “I think they have. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do to those two.”

  Gosh, I’d be glad when this conversation was over. At least there was one emotion I could recognize, and it was regret for what she’d done to her family. “You got out awful early, Arlene,” I said, suddenly realizing what was most surprising about her presence in Sam’s office.

  “I got me a new lawyer. He bonded me out on appeal,” she said. “And my behavior in jail was good, naturally, since I had a lot of motivation. You know, Sookie, I never would have let them hurt you.”

  “Arlene, you can’t lie to me,” I reminded my former friend. The pain of Arlene’s betrayal was a red, sore scar on my spirit.

  “I can tell you don’t trust me,” Arlene said.

  No shit, Sherlock. I waited for the words I saw coming next. She was going to play the reformation card.

  “And I don’t blame you,” Arlene said. “I don’t know where my head was at, but it sure wasn’t on my shoulders. I was full of unhappiness and rage, and I was looking for a way to blame it on someone else. Hating the vampires and werewolves was the easiest thing to do.” She nodded solemnly, righteously.

  Someone had had a little therapy.

  I’m not mocking therapy; I’ve seen it do people a lot of good. But Arlene was aping the ideas of the counselor just as she’d aped the ideas of the anti-supernatural Fellowship of the Sun. When was she going to come up with some convictions of her own? It seemed incredible to me now that I’d admired Arlene so sincerely for years. But she had a great zest for life, she had an easy chemistry with men, she had two cute children, and she made her own living. These were enviable things to lonely me.

  Now I saw her differently. She could attract men but not keep them. She could love her children but not enough to stay out of jail and take care of them. She could work and raise her kids but not without a constant stream of men through her bedroom.

  I’d loved her for her willingness to be my friend when I had so few real ones, but I understood now that she’d used me as a babysitter for Coby and Lisa, an unpaid house cleaner, and a cheering section and admirer. When I came into my own life, she’d tried to have me murdered.

  “Do you still want me dead?” I said.

  She winced. “No, Sookie. You were a good friend to me and I turned on you. I believed everything the Fellowship was preaching.”

  Her thoughts matched her words, at least as far as they went. I was still not much of a person in Arlene’s estimation. “And that’s why you came by today? To mend fences with me?”

  Though I saw the truth in her thoughts, I couldn’t really believe it until she said, “I came to see if Sam would think of hiring me again.”

  I could not think of a response, I was so astonished. She began to shift around as I stared at her. Finally, I felt able to answer. “Arlene, I feel sorry for your kids, and I know you want to get them back and take care of them,” I said. “But I can’t work with you here at Merlotte’s. You must know that would be impossible.”

  She stiffened and raised her chin. “I’ll talk to Sam,” she said, “and we’ll just see what he has to say.” The old Arlene surfaced. She was sure if she could appeal to a man, she’d get her way.

  “I do the hiring here now. I’m part owner,” I said, poking myself in the chest with my forefinger. Arlene stared, definitely shocked. “It wouldn’t work in a million years. You must know that. You betrayed me in the worst possible way.” I felt a pang of grief, but I wasn’t sure what element of this encounter grieved me most: the fate of Arlene’s kids or the fact that people could hand out hate like candy and find takers.

  The struggle in Arlene’s face made for uncomfortable viewing. She wanted to lay into me, but she’d just told me she had changed and that she understood her former ways were wrong, so she couldn’t really defend herself. She’d been the dominant one in our “friendship,” and she was grappling with the fact that she had no sway over me any longer.

  Arlene took a deep breath and held it for a moment. She was thinking about how angry she was, thinking about protesting, thinking about telling me how disappointed Coby and Lisa would be—when she realized none of that would make any difference because she’d been willing to see me hung on a cross.

  “That’s right,” I said. “I don’t hate you, Arlene.” I was surprised to realize that was true. “But I can’t be around you. Ever.”

  Arlene spun on her heel and left. She was going to find her new friends and pour all her bitterness into their ears. I could tell that right from her head. Not surprisingly, they were guys. Trust
Arlene. Or rather, don’t.

  Sam’s mother slipped into the doorway in Arlene’s wake. Bernie remained standing half in, half out, watching Arlene’s progress until my former friend was out Merlotte’s front door. Then she took the chair Arlene had vacated.

  This was going to be my day for really uncomfortable conversations.

  “I heard all that,” Bernie said. “And someday you’ll have to tell me the backstory. Sam’s asleep. Explain what happened to him.” Bernie looked a lot more human. She was about my height, and slim, and I noticed that she’d restored her hair to the same color as Sam’s, a red-gold. Bernie’s hair minded better than Sam’s ever had. I wondered briefly if she was dating someone. But at the moment, she was all business and all mother.

  She already knew the gist of the story, but I filled in the blanks.

  “So Sam was involved with this Jannalynn, the one who showed up at our house in Wright, but he was beginning to have doubts about her.” Bernie was scowling, but she wasn’t angry with me. She was angry that life wasn’t being good to Sam, because she loved him dearly.

  “I think so. He was nuts about her for a while, but that faded.” I wasn’t going to attempt to explain his relationship, and it wasn’t my responsibility. “He’d come to a few realizations about her, and it was—well, not exactly breaking his heart; at least, I don’t think so—but it was painful.”

  “What are you to him?” Bernie looked me right in the eyes.

  “I’m his friend, his good friend, and I’m his business partner now.”

  “Uh-huh.” She eyed me in a way I could only describe as skeptical. “And you sacrificed an irreplaceable artifact to save his life.”

  “I wish you’d quit bringing that up,” I said, and winced. I’d sounded like a ten-year-old. “I was glad to do it,” I added in a more adult tone.

  “Your boyfriend, this Eric, left the werewolf land right after.”

  She was drawing some incorrect conclusions. “Yeah . . . it’s a long story. He didn’t expect me to use the cluviel dor like that. He thought I should use it to . . .”

  “Use it to benefit him.” She ended my sentence for me, which is one of my least favorite things.

  But she was right.

  She dusted her hands together briskly. “So Sam’s alive, you’re out a boyfriend, and Jannalynn’s dead.”

  “That sums it up,” I agreed. “Though the boyfriend thing is kind of hanging fire.” I suspected I was clinging to ashes rather than fire, but I wasn’t going to say that to Bernie.

  Bernie looked down at her own hands, her face inscrutable while she thought. Then she looked up. “I may as well go back to Texas,” she said abruptly. “I’ll stay tonight to make sure he wakes up stronger tomorrow before I take off.”

  I was surprised at her decision. Sam appeared far from recovered. “He seems pretty unhappy,” I said, trying to sound nonjudgmental.

  “I can’t make him happy,” Bernie said. “He’s got all the raw material. He just has to work with it. He’s going to be all right.” She gave a little nod, as if once she said the words, he had to be so.

  Bernie had always seemed like a down-to-earth woman; however, I thought she was a little too dismissive of Sam’s emotional recovery. I could hardly insist she stay. After all, Sam was in his thirties.

  “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “Well, you have a good night, and call me if you need me.”

  Bernie got out of the chair and knelt before me. “I owe you a life,” she said. She got to her feet more easily than I would have, though she was almost twice my age. And then she was gone.

  ELSEWHERE

  in Bon Temps

  “She said no,” Arlene Fowler told the tall man and the medium man. The old trailer was hot and the door was open. It was musty and cluttered inside. No one had lived in it for a while. The sun flowed through the bullet holes, creating odd patterns of light on the opposite wall. Arlene was sitting in an old chrome-and-vinyl dinette chair while her two guests sat forward on the battered couch.

  “You knew she would have to,” said the medium man, a bit impatiently. “We expected that.”

  Arlene blinked. She said, “Then why’d I have to go through it? It just made me feel terrible. And it took time off from what I had to spend going over to see my kids.”

  “I am sure they were glad to see you?” the medium man said, his pale eyes fixed on Arlene’s worn face.

  “Yes,” she said, with a small smile. “They were real glad. Chessie, not so much. She loves them kids. They looked like they’d settled in there. They’re doing real well in school, both of them.”

  Neither of the men was at all interested in the children’s progress or welfare, but they made approving noises.

  “You made sure to go through the bar’s front entrance?” the tall man asked.

  Arlene nodded. “Yeah, I spoke to three people. Just like you said. Am I through now?”

  “We need you to do one more thing,” the tall man said, his voice smooth as oil and twice as soothing. “And it won’t be hard.”

  Arlene sighed. “What’s that?” she said. “I need to be looking for a place to live. I can’t bring my kids here.” She glanced around her.

  “If it weren’t for our intervention, you wouldn’t be at liberty to see your children,” the medium man said gently, but his expression wasn’t gentle at all.

  Arlene felt a prickle of misgiving. “You’re threatening me,” she said, but hardly as if that surprised her. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You and Sookie were good friends,” the tall man said.

  She nodded. “Real good friends,” she said.

  “So you know where she keeps an extra key outside her house,” the medium man said.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “You planning on breaking in?”

  “It’s not really breaking in if you have a key, is it?” The medium man smiled, and Arlene tried to smile back.

  “I guess not,” she said.

  “Then what we need is for you to use that key and go inside. Open the drawer in her bedroom where she keeps her scarves. Bring us a scarf you’ve seen her wear before.”

  “A scarf,” Arlene said. “What you going to do with it?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” the tall man said. He smiled, too. “You can be sure she won’t enjoy the result. And since she turned you down for a job, and since you wouldn’t be here in this place if it weren’t for her, that shouldn’t bother you at all.”

  Arlene mulled that over for a moment. “I guess it doesn’t,” she said.

  “Well, you know she’s at work now,” said the medium man. “So I think right now would be a good time to go there. And in case her house is warded, carry this.” He handed her a strange old coin. At least, it looked old, and it was surprisingly heavy for its size. “Keep it in your pocket at all times,” he said.

  Arlene was startled. She looked down at the small object dubiously before she put it in her pocket. “Well, okay. I’ll go to Sookie’s now. Then I got to go look at rental places. When will that money be in my account?”

  “Tomorrow,” the tall man assured her. “And you’ll find your own place, and your kids will be able to move back in with you.”

  “And this is all you want me to do? I asked her for a job, and in a little bit I go get a scarf from her drawer? With this thing in my pocket?”

  “Well, you’ll have to meet us and give us the scarf and coin,” the tall man said, shrugging. “That’s no big deal.”

  “Okay,” said Arlene. “If my old car will make it there. It isn’t doing too good after being parked in Chessie’s backyard since I been in jail.”

  “Here’s some gas money,” the tall man said, pulling out his wallet and handing Arlene some cash. “We wouldn’t want you running out of gas.”

  “No,” said the medium man. “We wouldn’t want that.”

  “I’ll call you on that cell phone you gave me, when I got the scarf,” Arlene said. “We can meet tonight.”

&nbs
p; The two men looked at each other silently. “Tonight will be great,” the tall man said after a second or two. “Just great.”

  Chapter 5

  I saw Terry Bellefleur for the second time that day while I was putting gas in my car at the Grabbit Kwik. He was filling up his pickup. Terry’s Catahoula, Annie, was in the back of the truck. She was interested in everything that was going on at the gas station, though she was panting heavily in the heat.

  I knew just how she felt. I was glad I’d waited until evening to take care of this task. At least the pavement didn’t look like it was rippling, and I didn’t have to let my tongue hang out.

  After Terry pulled his charge slip from the pump, I called to him. He turned and brightened. “Hey, Sook. How’s Sam doing? I was glad to see you today. I wish I’d sat at your tables instead of that An’s. She talks the hind leg off a donkey.”

  He was the only guy I knew who didn’t want to howl at the moon when he saw An Norr. “Sam may be back on the job tomorrow,” I said.

  “Crazy, you both getting sick at the same time.”

  He was also the only person in Bon Temps who would say that without leering. I’d “overheard” several comments in the bar today about Sam and me both being AWOL for four days. “So, how’s Jimmie?” I asked. Jimmie was his girlfriend; at least I thought that was their relationship. I was pleased to see that Terry’s hair had been cut and combed, and that he’d shaved in the past couple of days. Jimmie was a good influence.

  “She’s real good,” he said. “I asked her dad if I could marry her.” Terry looked down a little nervously as he told me this important fact. Terry had had a rough time as a POW in Vietnam. He’d come away with a multitude of physical and mental problems. I was so happy he’d found someone, and proud of his determination to do the right thing.