Dead Ever After ss-13

by Charlaine Harris

  Hell, I was pretty sure Karin would have killed Arlene for me, if I’d asked. It might take Andy and Alcee a while to figure that out, but they would.

  “Andy,” I said, “I couldn’t get Arlene in that Dumpster if I tried for a month, not without a hoist. You want to test me for vampire blood, you go right ahead. You won’t find any in my system. If I’d choked Arlene to death, I hope I wouldn’t leave my scarf around her neck. You may not think much of me, but I’m not dumb.”

  Andy said, “Sookie, I never have known what to think of you.” And he walked away.

  “That could have gone better,” Sam said, in a huge understatement. “I remember you wearing that scarf last winter. You wore it to church, tied around your ponytail, with a black dress.”

  Well. You never know what men will remember. I started to feel a little touched and tender. Sam said, “You were sitting right in front of me, and I was looking at the back of your head the whole service.”

  I nodded. That was more like it. “I wish I knew what had happened to it since then. I’d like to know who got it out of my house and used it on Arlene. I know I wore it to the bar once. I don’t know if it got lifted out of my purse or stolen from my drawer in my bedroom. That’s gross and sneaky.” At that moment I remembered my drawer being ajar. I wrinkled my nose, thinking of someone pawing through my scarves and panties. And one or two things had seemed to be out of place. I told Sam about the little incident. “It doesn’t sound like much when I say it out loud, though,” I concluded ruefully.

  He smiled, just a little upturn of his lips, but I was glad to see it. His hair was wilder than usual, which was saying something. The sun caught the reddish bristles on his chin. “You need to shave,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, but absently. “We’ll check it out. I was wondering . . . Andy knows you can read minds. But it seems like he can’t keep that in his head when he’s talking to you. Does that happen a lot?”

  “He knows, but he doesn’t know. He’s not the only one who acts that way. The people who do get that I’m different—not just a little crazy—they still don’t seem to get it completely. Andy’s a true believer. He really understands that I can see what’s in his head. But he just can’t adapt to that.”

  “You can’t hear me that way,” Sam said, just to reaffirm what he already knew.

  “General mood and intent, I pick up. But not specific thoughts. That’s always the way with supernaturals.”

  “Like?”

  It took me a minute to interpret that. “Like, right now I can tell you’re worried, you’re glad I’m here, you’re wishing we’d cut the scarf off her neck before the police got here. It’s easy to get that, because I’m wishing the same damn thing.”

  Sam grimaced. “That’s what I get for being squeamish. I knew there was something around her throat, but I didn’t want to look any closer. And I definitely didn’t want to touch her again.”

  “Who would?” We fell silent. We sweated. We watched. Since we were sitting on Sam’s own steps, looking over his own hedge, they could hardly tell us to go away. After a while, I got so bored that I called or texted the people due to work today to tell them to come in at three. I thought of all the lawyers I knew, and debated which one to call if I had to. Beth Osiecki had prepared my will, and I’d liked her real well. Her partner, Jarrell Hilburn, had prepared the document that formalized my loan to Sam to keep the business afloat, and he’d also prepared the paperwork giving me part interest in the bar.

  On the other hand, Desmond Cataliades was very effective and personally interested in me, since he’d been best buds with my biological grandfather. But he was based in New Orleans and had a brisk trade, since he was knowledgeable about both the supernatural world and American law. I didn’t know if the part-demon would be able or willing to come to my aid. His e-mail had been friendly, and he’d talked about coming to see me. It would cost me an arm and a leg (not literally), but as soon as the bank released the check from Claudine’s estate, I’d be good for his fee.

  In the meantime, maybe the police would find another suspect and make an arrest. Maybe I wouldn’t need a lawyer. I thought about the last statement I’d received for my savings account. After the ten thousand I’d put into Merlotte’s, I had around three thousand remaining from the money I’d earned from the vampires. I’d just inherited a lot of money—$150,000—from my fairy godmother, Claudine, and you’d think I’d be sitting pretty. But the bank issuing the check had come under sudden and vigorous scrutiny by the Louisiana government, and all its checks had been frozen. I’d called my bank to find out what was up. My money was there . . . but I couldn’t use it. I found this utterly suspicious.

  I texted Eric’s daytime man, Mustapha. “Hope Karin will be available to tell police she saw me last night and I was home the whole time,” I typed, and sent it before something happened to stop me. That was a huge hint, and I hoped Karin got it.

  “Sookie,” Alcee Beck said, and his deep voice was like the voice of doom. “You don’t need to be telling anyone what’s happening here.” I hadn’t even seen him approach, I was so lost in calculation and concern.

  “I wasn’t,” I said honestly. That was what I called a fairy truth. The fae didn’t out-and-out lie, but they could give a convoluted version of the truth to leave a completely false impression. I met his dark eyes and I didn’t flinch. I’d faced scarier beings than Alcee.

  “Right,” he said disbelievingly, and moved away. He went out to the edge of the parking lot to his car, which was pulled into the shade of a tree, and bent to reach in the open window. As he walked back to the bar, putting on his sunglasses, I thought I saw a quick motion in the woods by his car. Weird. I shook my head to clear it, looked again. I saw nothing, not a flicker of movement.

  Sam got us two bottles of water from the trailer refrigerator. I opened mine gratefully and drank, then held the chilly bottle to my neck. It felt wonderful.

  “Eric visited me last night,” I said, without any premeditation. I saw Sam’s hands go still. I very carefully wasn’t looking at his face. “I’d gone to see him at Fangtasia, and he wouldn’t even talk to me while I was there. It was beyond humiliating. Last night he stayed about five minutes, tops. He said he wasn’t supposed to be there. Here’s the thing. I’ve got to keep it secret.”

  “What the hell . . . ? Why?”

  “Some vampire reason. I’ll find out soon enough. The point is, he left Karin there. She’s his other child, his oldest. She was supposed to protect me, but I don’t think Eric ever thought of something like this happening. I think he thought someone was going to try to sneak in the house. But assuming Karin will tell Alcee and Andy that I didn’t leave my house last night, he did me a great good deed.”

  “If the police will accept the word of a vampire.”

  “There’s that. And they can’t question her until tonight. And I have no idea how to get in touch with her, so I left a message with Mustapha. Here’s Part Two of the bad Eric stuff. He told me I would be seeing him tonight, but he warned me I wouldn’t like it. It sounded pretty official. I kind of have to go, if I’m not in jail, that is.” I tried to smile. “It’s not going to be fun.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  That was an amazing offer. I appreciated it, and I said so. But I had to add, “I think I have to get through this by myself, Sam. Just now, the sight of you might make Eric more . . . upset.”

  Sam nodded in acknowledgment. But he looked worried. After some hesitation, he said, “What do you think is going to happen, Sook? If you have to go, you have the right to have someone with you. It’s not like you are going to a movie with Eric or something.”

  “I don’t think I’m in physical danger. I’m just . . . I don’t know.” I believed—I anticipated—that Eric was going to repudiate me publicly. I just couldn’t push the words out of my throat. “Some vampire bullshit,” I muttered dismally.

  Sam put his hand on my shoulder. It was almost too hot for even th
at slight contact, but I could tell he was trying to let me know he was ready to back me up. “Where are you two meeting?”

  “Fangtasia or Eric’s house, I suppose. He’ll let me know.”

  “The offer stands.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled at him, but it was a weak attempt. “But I don’t want anyone more agitated than they’re gonna be.” Meaning Eric.

  “Then call me when you get home?”

  “I can do that. Might be pretty late.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  Sam had always been my friend, though we’d had our ups and our downs and our arguments. It would be insulting to tell him that he didn’t owe me anything for bringing him back to life. He knew that.

  “I woke up different,” Sam said suddenly. He’d been thinking during the little pause, too.

  “How?”

  “I’m not sure, yet. But I’m tired of . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Of what?”

  “Of living my life like there’ll be plenty of tomorrows so what I do today doesn’t matter.”

  “You think something’s going to happen to you?”

  “No, not exactly,” he said. “I’m afraid nothing will happen to me. When I work it out, I’ll let you know.” He smiled at me; it was a rueful smile, but it had warmth.

  “Okay,” I said. I made myself smile back. “You do that.”

  And we returned to watching the police do their thing, each sunk in our own thoughts. I hope Sam’s were happier than mine. I didn’t see how the day could get much crappier. But it could.

  ELSEWHERE

  that night

  “I think we can call him now,” the medium man said, and took out his cell phone. “You take care of the throwaway.”

  The tall man extracted a cheap cell phone from his pocket. He stomped on it a few times, enjoying the crushing of the glass and metal. He picked up the carcass of the telephone and dropped it into a deep puddle. The short driveway from the road to the front of the trailer was dimpled with such puddles. Anyone driving in would be sure to press the phone into the mud.

  The medium man would have preferred some method of disposal that completely obliterated the little collection of circuitry and metal, but that would do. He was frowning when the call he placed went through.

  “Yes?” said a silky voice.

  “It’s done. The body’s found, the scarf was on it, I retrieved the magic coin, and I’ve planted the charm in the detective’s car.”

  “Call me again when it happens,” said the voice. “I want to enjoy it.”

  “Then we’re through with this project,” the medium man said, and he might have been a little hopeful that was so. “And the money will be in our accounts. It’s been a pleasure working with you.” His voice was quite empty of sincerity.

  “No,” said the voice on the other end. It held such promise; you just knew that whoever could speak that way must be beautiful. The medium man, who’d actually met the owner of the voice, shuddered. “No,” the voice repeated. “Not quite through.”

  Chapter 7

  By the time I was able to leave work, I felt like I’d been steamed and left out on the counter.

  We had gotten to open at three on the dot, to my surprise. By then rumors and facts had spread all over Bon Temps. A big crowd showed up at Merlotte’s just pining to get the lowdown on what had actually happened. What with questions from every customer and the endless speculations of Andrea Norr, I was fixing to start screaming.

  “So who could have put her in the Dumpster, and how’d they get her in there?” An said for the fiftieth time. “Antoine puts the kitchen trash in there. That’s disgusting.”

  “It sure is,” I said, just managing not to bite her head off. “That’s why we’re not going to talk about it.”

  “Okay! Okay! I get your drift, Sookie. Mum’s the word. At least I’m telling everyone that you didn’t do it, sweetie.” And she went right back to talking. There was no doubt that gossipy An had the mysterious “it.” Following her movements around the bar was like watching an all-male rendition of the wave.

  It was nice to know that An was telling everyone I wasn’t guilty, but it was depressing to think that anyone would have assumed I was. An’s reasoning echoed that of the detectives. It seemed impossible that a lone woman could lift Arlene, literally a dead weight, up into the mouth of the Dumpster.

  In fact, when I tried to picture the insertion, the only way such a maneuver would work for one person would be if the killer already had Arlene over his shoulder (and I was using his because it would take a strong person to lift Arlene that way). She had gotten skinny, but she was still no featherweight.

  Two people could do it easily enough—or one supernatural of any gender.

  I glanced over at Sam, working behind the bar. Since he was a shifter, he was incredibly strong. He could easily have tossed Arlene’s corpse into the trash.

  He could have, but he hadn’t.

  The most obvious reason was that he would never put Arlene’s corpse in the Dumpster right behind his business in the first place. Second, Sam would never have staged himself finding the body with me as witness. And third, I simply didn’t believe he would have killed Arlene, not without some compelling reason or in the heat of some terrible struggle. Fourth, he would already have told me if either of those circumstances applied.

  If Andy understood that I couldn’t get Arlene in there by myself, he must be trying to figure out who would help me do such a thing. When I considered that, I did have a lot of friends and acquaintances who were not strangers to body disposal. They would help me with few questions asked. But what did that say about my life?

  Okay, screw the brooding introspection. My life was what it was. If it had been tougher and bloodier than I’d ever imagined . . . that was a done deal.

  Suspect Number One for “helping Sookie dispose of a body” came in right after that. My brother, Jason, was a werepanther, and though he hadn’t ever changed publicly, word had gotten around. Jason had never been able to keep his mouth shut when he was excited about something. If I’d called him to help me put a woman in a Dumpster, he would have jumped in his pickup and been there as fast as he could drive.

  I waved at my brother as he walked in the door holding hands with his Michele. Jason was still stained and sweaty after a long, hot day’s work as a boss of one of the parish road crews. Michele looked perky in contrast, in her red polo shirt all the employees wore at the Schubert Ford dealership. They were both in the throes of marriage fever. But like everyone else in Bon Temps, they were fascinated by the death of a former Merlotte’s server.

  I didn’t want to talk about Arlene, so I headed them off by telling Michele I’d found a dress to wear in the wedding. Their forthcoming ceremony took precedence over everything else, even a lurid death in the parking lot. As I’d hoped, Michele asked me a million questions and said she was going to come by to look at it, and she told me Greater Love Baptist (Michele’s dad’s church) was willing to lend their folding tables and chairs for the potluck reception at Jason’s house. A friend of Michele’s had volunteered to make the cake as her wedding present to the happy couple, and the mother of another friend was going to do the flowers at cost. By the time they’d finished their meals and paid their tab, the word “strangled” hadn’t entered the conversation.

  That was the only respite I had the whole evening. Though I’d noticed the bar crowd was thin the previous day, an amazing number of people now told me they’d seen Arlene enter Merlotte’s. They’d all spoken to her personally before watching her go to the office. And they’d all watched her leave (either five or fifteen or fifty minutes afterward) with steam coming out of her ears. No matter how their stories varied on other points of interest, to me that was the important memory: that she’d left, alive and unharmed. And angry.

  “Did she come to ask your forgiveness?” Maxine Fortenberry asked. Maxine had come in to have supper with two of her cronies, buddies of my grandmother
’s.

  “No, she wanted a job,” I said, with as much frank and open honesty as I could plaster on my face.

  All three women looked delightfully shocked. “Not really,” Maxine breathed. “She had the gall to ask if she could have her job back?”

  “She couldn’t see why not,” I said, lifting a shoulder as I gathered up their dirty plates. “You all want a refill on your tea?”

  “Sure, bring the pitcher around,” Maxine said. “My Lord, Sookie. That just takes the cake.”

  She was absolutely right.

  The next moment I had to spare was spent cudgeling my brain to try to remember when I’d last seen that blue and green scarf. Sam had said he remembered me wearing it to church with a black dress. That would have been to a funeral, because I didn’t like to wear black and reserved it for the most serious occasions. Whose funeral? Maybe Sid Matt Lancaster’s? Or Caroline Bellefleur’s? I’d been to several funerals in the past couple of years, since most of Gran’s friends were aging, but Sam wouldn’t have gone to those.

  Jane Bodehouse drifted into Merlotte’s close to suppertime. She clambered onto her usual stool at the bar. I could feel my face get tight and angry when I looked at her. “You’ve got some nerve, Jane,” I said baldly. “Why do you want to drink here, when you’re so damaged by the firebomb incident? I can’t believe you can endure coming in here, you suffered so much.”

  She was surprised for a second until the cogs in her brain turned enough to give up the memory that she’d hired a lawyer. She looked away, ostentatiously, trying to brazen it out.