I thought before I answered. “I guess the cluviel dor magic changed you into someone who wants a different thing out of life than you wanted before. Well, using it changed me, too. Or maybe it just woke me up. I want to make sure. I don’t want any more impulse relationships or relationships that could kill me. I don’t want any secret agendas or misunderstandings on a massive scale. I’ve done enough of that. Call me chicken, if it seems I’m being cowardly. I want something different now.”
“All right,” he said. “We’ve listened to each other. Enough serious stuff for today, huh? I’m going to help you get to bed, because I think that’s where you need to be.”
“You’re right,” I said, stifling a groan as I got up from the couch. “And I’d appreciate your help. Would you bring me a pain pill and some water? They’re on the kitchen counter.” Sam vanished. I called after him, “I keep expecting Mr. Cataliades and Diantha to come in. Or Barry. I wish I knew where my houseguests are.”
Sam was back with the pill and a glass of water in nothing flat. “I’m sorry, Sook. I got so—distracted—by our talk. I forgot to tell you Barry came into the bar early this evening to say that he and the two demons were looking for something. Or someone? He said to tell you not to worry, they’d be in touch. Oh, and he gave me this. If you hadn’t called, I would have sent Jason out here with it.”
That made me feel some better.
Sam pulled a folded yellow sheet of paper from his pocket. It was legal paper, and it smelled faintly as though it had come out of a garbage bag. With no regard for the lines, one side was covered by large writing in very strange penmanship. Whoever had done the writing had used a fading Sharpie. It said, “Your front door was open, so I stored something in your hiding place. See you later.”
“Oh my God,” I said. “They’ve put something in the vampire hidey-hole, the one in the guest bedroom.” Bill had built it when I was dating him, so he could spend the day in my house if he had to. The floor of the closet in my guest room could be lifted up. Mustapha had come to get a few possessions of Eric’s from it before Eric left. I wondered if he’d had the chance to complete that task the day Warren had shot Tyrese.
“Do you think there’s a vampire in there?” Sam was startled, to put it mildly. He handed me the water and pill, and I swallowed and drank.
“If it were a vampire, he’d be up by now.”
“I guess we better check,” Sam said. “You don’t want to spend the night wondering what might come out of that hole.” He helped me up, and together we went to the guest bedroom. We opened the door and went into the room. Amelia had packed all her belongings and Bob’s, too, but the bed was disheveled. I spied a sock under the night table as I got a flashlight out of the drawer and handed it to Sam.
He had the unenviable job of opening the hole.
The tension got worse and worse as he figured out how to lift the floor of the closet. Then he swung it up and looked inside the hidey-hole.
“Well, shit,” Sam said. “Sookie, come see.”
I slowly made my way over to the open closet door. I looked down over Sam’s shoulder. Copley Carmichael was there, securely bound and gagged. He glared up at us.
“Close it up, please,” I said, and walked out of the room slowly.
I’d imagined spending a day or two relaxing and recuperating, reading in bed with maybe a foray into the living room to watch television or to try to learn how to play computer games. There was plenty of food in the refrigerator since I’d so recently stocked up for my houseguests. I would not have anything more to worry about than getting well and who was working in my place at the bar.
“But no,” I said out loud. “Unh-uh. Not gonna happen.”
“Are you feeling sorry for yourself?” Sam asked. “Come on, Sook, if we’re not pulling him out, let me help you climb into bed.”
But I sat down in the chair in the corner of my room. “Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. And I may whine a little. What’s it to you?”
“Oh, nothing,” he said, with a suspicion of a smile. “I’m all for a good sulk every now and then.”
“I’m just supposing that Mr. Cataliades or Diantha thought this would be a good after-birthday present for me, if they’re responsible,” I said. “I wonder what they’re doing for their follow-up. Maybe they’ll wash my car. I wish they’d call. I’m kind of worried about Barry.” In case it wasn’t obvious, the pain pill was beginning to work.
“Have you checked your cell phone or your answering machine?” Sam asked.
“Well, no, kind of busy getting shot and going to the hospital,” I said, my self-pity deflated by Sam’s practical suggestion. After a moment, I asked Sam if he’d bring me my purse from the kitchen.
I had all kinds of voice mail: Tara, India, Beth Osiecki, the bank, and, weirdly, Pam, who only said she needed to have a word with me. I subdued my curiosity and continued going down the list. Yes, here was a call from Mr. Cataliades.
“Sookie,” he said in his rich voice. “When we returned and found you had been shot, we knew we had to search farther afield. Copley Carmichael has vanished, but we are on the trail of other game. I truly think you take the prize for having more people wanting to kill you than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m only trying to get to them first. But it’s fun, in a way.”
“Right,” I muttered. “I arranged all this so you’d have a good time. Sounds like Mr. C and Diantha didn’t know Copley was in my house all today.”
“Text him and then move over,” Sam said. “You’re in the middle of the bed. Pick a side.”
“What?”
“I need to take a nap. Move over.”
I blinked. “Presuming? Much?”
“If someone comes to get him out of the hole, wouldn’t you rather have me in here beside you?”
“I’d rather have you out on the porch with a rifle,” I muttered, but I moved over a little.
“Doors are locked,” Sam said. His eyes closed the second he lay down. And within two minutes, he was asleep. I could tell by his breathing and his brain waves.
Well, damn. I was in bed with Sam Merlotte, and we were both going to sleep.
When I woke up, it was daytime again. I heard someone moving around the house. I didn’t open my eyes. Instead, I reached out with my other sense, the sense that Mr. Cataliades had given me. Tara was here, but I couldn’t sense Amelia’s dad, so I assumed his soullessness was really acting as a mask. Apparently, not having a soul nullified you as a person.
Tara came in, wearing her new shorts. “Hey, sleepyhead,” she said. “I was just going to come wake you up. Sam had to go do some paperwork, so he asked me if I could come over to stay for a few minutes. He said you’d started tossing and turning.” She tried very hard not to stare significantly at the dent in the pillow beside me.
“Hey, sleeping was all that went on,” I told her.
“With the vamp gone, the door’s wide open,” she said innocently. “Nobody to say nothing about how you spend your time. You’re a free woman.”
“I’m just saying, that’s premature.” I gave her a no-nonsense look.
“All righty. If that’s the way you want to play it.”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not playing it. That’s the way it is. I’m still working through some stuff.”
Tara looked at me blandly. “Sure, that’s real smart. You need to get up and have some sausage-and-egg biscuits. My mother-in-law says it’ll build your blood back up.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. Suddenly, I was hungry.
While I ate, she showed me a few dozen pictures of the twins and talked about the babysitter she’d just hired, Quiana something. “She’s like me, she’s got a bad past,” Tara said. “We’re going to get along fine. Listen, I know Sam’s handy, and since you and him are so tight, maybe you can help us? We’re going to plan how to make the baby’s room bigger. We sure can’t afford to move.”
“Sure, after my shoulder gets better. Just name the day,” I said. It
was nice to think about the future. A home-improvement project sounded both wholesome and normal.
Tara got restless after ten minutes, and I could tell she was thinking about getting back to the twins. There was a suspicious damp spot on the front of her blouse. I hurried her off with sincere thanks for the meal, and after she was gone, I got dressed, which took time and a surprising amount of energy. I also put my phone on its charger and began returning calls. I tried very hard to forget there was a bound man in my closet, and I tried not to imagine how many hours he’d been there without access to a bathroom. I had no sympathy for Copley Carmichael, and more practically, I couldn’t even imagine how I could get him to a toilet without endangering myself.
Calling Andy Bellefleur flitted across my mind for maybe half a second. I could just see myself trying to explain that I really hadn’t known my friend’s dad was tied up and a prisoner in my home. Even I could hardly believe it, and I knew it was true. I would not go back to jail for anything. Anything.
So, for the time being, there Copley Carmichael would have to stay, even if he peed all over himself.
Chapter 19
A HOUSE IN A BON TEMPS SUBURB
the same day
“You’re friends of Sookie Stackhouse’s?” Alcee Beck stood in his doorway, eyeing his visitors with deep suspicion. He’d heard about the girl; everyone in Bon Temps who’d been in Merlotte’s had talked about the girl. Platinum hair, bizarre ensemble, talked in a foreign language. Her companion was not as weird to the eyes, but something about him set off an alarm in Alcee Beck’s head, and Alcee was never one to ignore such an alarm. It was how he’d stayed alive in the air force. It was how he’d stayed alive when he’d come home.
“We are,” said Mr. Cataliades, his voice as smooth and rich as cream. “And we’ve brought a coworker of yours with us.” He indicated the car parked by his van, and Andy Bellefleur emerged, looking horribly self-conscious but determined.
“What are you doing with these people, Bellefleur?” Alcee said, and the threat was clear in his voice. “You shouldn’t bring anyone to my house. I should beat you senseless.”
“Honey,” said a quavering voice from behind him, “You know you like Andy. You got to listen to what he has to say.”
“Shut up, Barbara,” said Alcee, and a woman appeared behind him.
Alcee Beck had many faults, and they were well-known, but it was just as well-known that he loved his wife. He was openly proud of Barbara’s college degree and her job as the only full-time librarian working in Bon Temps. He was rough with the rest of the world, but he minded his manners with Barbara Beck.
That made her appearance all the more shocking to Andy Bellefleur. Barbara, always well groomed and dressed, was wearing a bathrobe and no makeup. Her hair was a mess. And she was obviously terrified. If Alcee hadn’t hit her yet, it was evidently something she had cause to fear. Andy had seen a lot of battered wives, and Barbara was as cowed as a woman who’d been hit more than once. And Alcee Beck had no notion he was behaving in a way contrary to his normal practice.
“Alcee, your wife is scared. Can she come out of the house?” Andy asked, in a neutral voice.
Alcee looked both startled and angry. “How dare you say such a thing?” he bellowed. He spun to face his wife “Tell them that isn’t true.” For the first time, he seemed to take in her demeanor. “Barbara?” he said uncertainly.
It was obvious to them all that she was afraid to speak.
“What do you want?” Beck asked his visitors, all the while looking at his wife with a troubled face and a troubled mind.
“We want you to let us search your car,” Andy said. He’d gotten closer while Alcee was staring at his wife. “And just in case you think I’d plant something in your car, we’d like it if you’d let this young lady do the search.”
“You think I’m taking drugs?” Alcee’s head swung around like an angered bull’s.
“Not for a second,” Mr. Cataliades reassured him. “We think you have been . . . bewitched.”
Alcee snorted. “Right.”
“Something is wrong with you, and I think you know it,” Mr. Cataliades said. “Why not let us check this simple thing, if only to rule it out?”
“Alcee, please,” whispered Barbara.
Though he was obviously unconvinced there was anything in his car, Alcee agreed with a nod to the search. He withdrew his car key from his pocket and unlocked the car doors with the electronic key without moving from the front door. He gestured with the hand holding the key. “Knock yourself out,” he told the girl. She gave him a bright smile and was in the car so fast she seemed to be a blur.
The three men moved closer to Alcee Beck’s car.
“Her name’s Diantha,” Mr. Cataliades told Alcee Beck, though Alcee hadn’t asked out loud.
“Another fucking telepath,” Alcee said, with an ugly sneer. “Just like Sookie. Our town didn’t need the one we got, much less another one.”
“I’m the telepath. She’s much more. Watch her work,” said the part-demon proudly, and Alcee felt compelled to watch the white hands of the girl as she patted and probed every inch of his car, even leaning close to smell the seats. He was glad he kept his car clean. The girl—Diantha—slid bonelessly from the front seat to the back and then froze in place. If she’d been a dog, she’d have been on point.
Diantha opened the back door and emerged from the car with something clutched in her left hand. She held it up so they could all see it. It was black and stitched with red, and it was mounted on twigs. It had a vague resemblance to the omnipresent dream catchers sold in fake Indian stores, but it emanated something much darker than the desire to make a buck.
“What is that thing?” Alcee asked. “And why is it in my car?”
“Sookie saw it get thrown in, when you had your car parked in the shade at Merlotte’s. Someone in the woods tossed it through your window.” Andy tried not to sound relieved. He tried to sound as though he’d been confident all along that such an object would be found. “It’s a charm, Alcee. Some kind of hex thing. It’s made you do stuff you really don’t want to do.”
“Like what?” Alcee didn’t sound disbelieving, just startled.
“Like persecute Sookie when the evidence is far from conclusive that she is guilty. She has a good alibi for the night of Arlene Fowler’s murder,” Mr. Cataliades said, reasonably. “And also, I believe you haven’t been yourself at home since the murder.” He looked at Barbara Beck for confirmation. She nodded violently.
“Is this true?” Alcee asked his wife. “I’ve been scaring you?”
“Yes,” she said out loud, and took a step back, as though she feared he would sock her in retaliation for her honesty.
And with that clear evidence that Barbara feared him for the first time in their twenty years of marriage, Alcee had to admit that something was wrong with him. “I’m still mad, though,” Alcee said, sounding more grumpy than enraged. “And I still hate Sookie, and I still think she’s a murderess.”
“Let’s see how you feel once we destroy this thing,” Mr. Cataliades said. “Detective Bellefleur, do you have a lighter?”
Andy, who smoked the occasional cigar, slid a Bic out of his pocket and handed it over. Diantha squatted to the ground and laid the charm on some dry grass blown out by the Beck lawn mower. She flicked the Bic, smiling happily, and the charm caught fire immediately. The blaze flared up much higher than Andy would have guessed, since the charm itself had been small.
Alcee Beck staggered back when the flame began to catch hold, and by the time the charm had burned away, he’d sunk to his knees in the doorway, clutching his head. Barbara called for help, but by the time Andy hustled over to him, Alcee was already trying to get to his feet.
“Oh, my Lord,” he said. “Oh, my Lord. Help me to the bed, please.” Andy and Barbara steered him back inside the house while Mr. Cataliades and Diantha waited outside.
“Good work,” said Mr. Cataliades.
Diantha
laughed. “Kid’swork,” she said. “Iknewwhereitwasafterasecond. Ijustwantedtomakeitlookgood.”
Mr. Cataliades’s pocket buzzed. “Oh, bother,” he said quietly. “I’ve ignored it as long as I can.” He took out his phone. “I’ve got a text message,” he told Diantha, in the same way another man might have said, “I’ve got herpes.”
“Who from?”
“Sookie.” He studied the screen. “She wants to know if we know who tied up Copley Carmichael and left him in her hidey-hole,” he told Diantha.
“What’sahidey-hole?” she asked.
“I have no idea. You would have told me if you’d captured Carmichael?”
“Sure,” she said, nodding vigorously. She added proudly, “InaNewYorkminute.”
Her uncle ignored the expression. “My goodness. I wonder who put him there.”
“Maybewe’dbettergosee,” Diantha suggested.
Without further ado, the two part-demons got into their van and drove back to Hummingbird Road.
SOOKIE’S HOUSE
I was glad to see Diantha and Mr. C.
“We un-bewitched Alcee Beck,” Diantha said slowly, by way of hello.
“There really was a voodoo doll in his car? Dang, it’s good to be right.”
Enunciating carefully, Diantha said, “Not a voodoo doll. A complex charm. I found it. I burned it. He’s in bed. Okay tomorrow.”
“Does he not hate me anymore?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Mr. Cataliades. “But I’m sure he’ll admit you couldn’t have killed Arlene Fowler and that he was wrong to drive the investigation in a false direction. The district attorney is going to be embarrassed, too.”
“As long as they know I couldn’t and didn’t kill Arlene, they can dance naked on the courthouse lawn and I’ll show up to clap,” I said, and Diantha laughed.
“To get back to your query via text message,” Mr. Cataliades said. “We don’t know who is responsible for capturing Amelia’s father or for placing him in . . . whatever you’ve found him in.”
“My vampire hole,” I explained. “See? In here.” I led the way into the bedroom and opened the closet. I knelt with some difficulty and reached in for the hidden lever Eric had had installed. It hitched up the edge of the false floor. Then it was easy to work my fingers under the edge and hoist it up, especially when Mr. Cataliades knelt beside me to help. The lid came up easily and we swung it out of the closet. We looked down into Copley Carmichael’s face. He wasn’t as angry as before, but that might have been because he’d spent some more hours in there. The hole had been made for a night’s shelter for a vampire, not for a permanent resting place. An adult could lie down in it in a fetal position, without curling up tightly. At least it was deep enough that he could sit up with his back against the wall.
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