Dead Ever After

Chapter 6

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, fighting the paralysis in my throat.

“Sorry!” said an accented voice. “I’m Karin.”

I couldn’t place the accent—not Cajun or Spanish or English. . . . “How’d you get in?”

“Eric let me in. You said you consented to be guarded.”

“I thought he meant someone would be outside.”

“He said, ‘here.’ ”

I thought back over the conversation I’d just had, which I didn’t remember any too well. “If you say so,” I said doubtfully.

“I do,” said the calm voice.

“Karin, why are you here?”

“To guard you,” she said, with obvious patience.

“To keep me here? Or to keep other people out?”

“Other people out,” Karin said. She didn’t sound irritated, just matter-of-fact.

“I’m going to turn on the light,” I said. I reached over to my bedside lamp and switched it on. Karin the Slaughterer crouched by the door to my room.

We regarded each other. Weirdly, after a moment, I could see Eric’s progression. If I was a golden blonde and Pam was a paler true blonde, Karin’s hair was at the ash blond end of the spectrum. It fell in heavy waves down her back. Her face was utterly bare of makeup and utterly lovely. Her lips were narrower than mine, as was her nose, but her eyes were wide and blue. Karin was shorter than me or Pam, but just as curvy. Karin was Me 101.

Eric ran true to type.

The biggest difference was not in our features but in our expressions. When I looked into Karin’s eyes, I knew she was a stone-cold killer. All vampires are, but some have more aptitude for it than others. And some take more pleasure in it than others. When Eric had turned Pam and Karin, he’d gotten blond warriors.

If I became a vampire, I’d be like them. I thought of things I’d already done. I shivered.

Then I saw what she was wearing.

“Yoga pants?” I said. “A dread vampire wears yoga pants?”

“Why should I not? They are comfortable,” she said. “Freedom of movement. And very washable.”

I was on the verge of asking her what detergent she used and if she washed them on the cold cycle when I stopped myself. Her sudden appearance had really thrown me for a loop.

“Okay, I’m betting you heard everything Eric said to me. Would you care to expand on his very unsatisfactory conversation?” I asked, moderating my voice to a calm-and-casual level.

“You know as well as I what he was telling you, Sookie,” Karin said. “You don’t need me to interpret, even assuming my father Eric wanted me to do that.”

We kept silent for a moment, me still in the bed and her crouching a few feet away. I could hear the bugs outside when they resumed droning in unison. How’d they do that? I wondered, and realized I was still stunned with sleep and shock.

“Well,” I said. “It’s been fun, but I need to get some rest.”

“How is this Sam doing? The one you returned from the dead?” Karin asked unexpectedly.

“Ahhh . . . well, he’s having a little trouble adjusting.”

“To what?”

“To being alive.”

“He was hardly dead any time,” Karin scoffed. “I’m sure he is singing your praises? I’m sure his gratitude is heartfelt?” She wasn’t sure at all, but she was interested in hearing my answer.

“Not so’s you’d notice,” I admitted.

“That’s very strange.” I could not begin to imagine why she was curious.

“I thought so, too. Good night, Karin. Can you watch me from outside my room?” I switched off my light.

“Yes, I can do that. Eric didn’t say I had to stay by your bed and watch you sleep.” And there was a little ripple in the darkness to indicate she’d gone. I didn’t know where she’d stationed herself, and I didn’t know what she’d do when day came, but frankly, that belonged in the big pile of things that weren’t my problem. I lay back and considered my immediate future. Tomorrow, work. Tomorrow night, apparently I was scheduled to have some kind of painful public confrontation with Eric. I couldn’t get out of it, since I simply didn’t see not showing up as an option. I wondered where Arlene had found to lay her head tonight. I hoped it wasn’t nearby.

The upcoming schedule of events didn’t seem very attractive.

Do you sometimes wish you could fast-forward a week? You know something bad’s coming up, and you know you’ll get through it, but the prospect just makes you feel sick. I worried for about thirty minutes, and though I knew there was no point in doing so, I could feel my anxiety twisting me up in a knot.

“Bullshit,” I told myself stoutly. “This is utter bullshit.” And because I was tired, and because there was nothing I could do to make tomorrow any better than it was going to be, and because I had to live through it somehow, eventually I fell back asleep.

I’d missed the weather report the day before. I was pleasantly surprised to wake up to the sound of heavy rainfall. The temperature would drop a little, and the bushes and grass would lose their coating of dust. I sighed. Everything in my yard would grow even faster.

By the time I’d gone through my morning routine, the downpour had slacked off a bit, from torrential to light, but the Weather Channel told me heavy rain would resume in the late afternoon and might continue intermittently through the next few days. That was good news for all the farmers and, therefore, for Bon Temps. I practiced a happy smile in the mirror, but it didn’t sit right on my face.

I dashed out to my car through the drizzle without bothering to open my umbrella. Maybe a little adrenaline would help me get going. I had very little enthusiasm for anything today held. Since I wasn’t sure if Sam would be able or willing to walk across the parking lot to work, I might have to stay until closing. I couldn’t keep dumping so much responsibility on employees unless I gave them a bump in pay, and we simply couldn’t afford that right now.

As I pulled up behind the bar, I noticed that Bernie’s car was gone. She’d meant it when she said she was leaving. Should I go in the bar first or try to catch Sam in his trailer?

While I was still debating, I caught a glimpse of yellow through the rain on my windshield. Sam was standing by the Dumpster, which was conveniently placed between the kitchen door and the employee entrance. He was wearing a yellow plastic rain poncho, one he kept hanging in his office for such occasions. At first, I was so relieved to see him I didn’t absorb the message in his body language. He was standing, frozen and stiff, with a bag of garbage in his left hand. He’d shoved the sliding Dumpster lid aside with his right. He was looking into the Dumpster, all his attention focused on something inside.

I had that sinking feeling. You know, the one you get when you realize your whole day has just turned south. “Sam?” I opened my umbrella and hurried over to him. “What’s wrong?”

I put my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t twitch; it’s hard to surprise a shapeshifter. He also didn’t speak.

There was more odor than usual coming from the Dumpster.

I choked, but made myself look into the hot metal confines, half-full with bagged garbage.

Arlene wasn’t in a bag. She was lying on top. The bugs and the heat had already started to work on her, and now the rain was falling on her swollen, discolored face.

Sam dropped the garbage bag to the ground. With obvious reluctance, he bent forward to touch his fingers to Arlene’s neck. He knew as well as I that she was dead. There was nothing in her brain for me to register, and any shifter could smell death.

I said a very bad word. Then I repeated it a few times.

After a moment Sam said, “I never heard you say that out loud.”

“I don’t even think it that often.” I hated to enlarge on this particular piece of bad news, but I had to. “She was just here yesterday, Sam. In your office. Talking to me.”

By silent mutual consent, we moved over to the shelter of the oak tree in Sam’s yard. He’d left the Dumpster open, but the raindrops would not hurt Arlene. Sam didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I guess lots of people saw her?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t call it lots of people. We didn’t have that many customers. But whoever was in the bar had to have seen her, because she must have come through the front door.” I thought for a second. “Yeah, I didn’t hear the back door open. She came back to your office while I was working on the mail, and she talked to me for maybe five or ten minutes. It seemed like forever.”

“Why would she come to Merlotte’s?” Sam looked at me, baffled.

“She said she wanted her job back.”

Sam closed his eyes for a long moment. “Like that was going to happen.” And he opened them, looking right into mine. “I am so tempted to take her body out of here and dump it somewhere else.” He was asking me a question; though I was shocked for a split second, I understood his feelings very well.

“We could do that,” I said quietly. “It would sure . . .” Save us a lot of trouble. Be a terrible thing to do. Take the focus of any investigation away from Merlotte’s. “Be messy,” I concluded. “But doable.”

Sam put an arm around my shoulders and tried to smile. “They say your best friend will help you move a body,” he said. “You must be my best friend.”

“I am,” I said. “I’ll help you move Arlene in a New York minute—if we really decide that’s the right thing to do.”

“Oh, it isn’t,” Sam said heavily. “I know it’s not. And you know it’s not. But I hate the thought of the bar being involved in another police investigation . . . not only the bar, but us personally. We have enough to heal from already. I know you didn’t kill Arlene, and you know I didn’t. But I don’t know if the police will believe that.”

“We could put her in the trunk of my car,” I said, but I didn’t even convince myself that we were going to act on that. I could feel the impulse dying away. To my surprise, Sam hugged me, and we stood in the shade of the tree for a long moment, water dripping down on us as the rain died away to a light drizzle. I’m not sure what Sam was thinking exactly, and I was glad of that; but I could read enough from his head to know that we were sharing a reluctance to start the next phase of today.

After a while, we released each other. Sam said, “Hell. Okay, call the cops.”

With no enthusiasm, I called 911.

While we waited, we sat on the steps of Sam’s porch. The sun popped out as though it had been cued, and the moisture in the air turned to steam. This was as much fun as sitting in a sauna with clothes on. I felt sweat trickle down my back.

“Do you have any idea what happened to her, what killed her?” I asked. “I didn’t look that close.”

“I think she was strangled,” Sam said. “I’m not sure, she was so bloated, but I believe something is still around her neck. Maybe if I’d watched more episodes of CSI . . .”

I snorted. “Poor Arlene,” I said, but I didn’t sound too grieved.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t get to pick who lives and who dies, but Arlene wouldn’t have topped my list of people I’d ask mercy for.”

“Since she tried to have me killed.”

“And not just killed quick,” Sam said. “Killed slow and awful. Taking all that into consideration, if there had to be a body in my garbage, I’m not too sorry it’s hers.”

“Too bad for the kids, though,” I said, suddenly realizing there were two people who would miss Arlene for the rest of their lives.

Sam shook his head silently. He was sympathetic to the kids’ plight, but Arlene had been transforming into a less-than-stellar mom, and she would have warped them right along with herself. Arlene’s adopted brand of extreme intolerance was as bad for children as radiation.

I heard a siren, and as it got louder, my eyes met Sam’s in resignation.

What a mess the next two hours were.

Both Andy Bellefleur and Alcee Beck arrived. I tried to stifle a groan. I was friends with Andy’s wife, Halleigh, which made this situation doubly awkward . . . though at the moment, social awkwardness was not on the top of my list of worries, and it was preferable to dealing with Alcee Beck, who simply didn’t like me. At least the two patrol officers doing the actual evidence gathering were familiar to us; Kevin and Kenya had both graduated from the training course for collecting and processing evidence.

That must have been some course, because the Ks sure seemed to know what they were doing. Despite the smothering heat (the rain didn’t seem to have worked in the cooling-down department), the two went about their jobs with careful efficiency. Andy and Alcee took turns helping them and asking us questions, most of which we couldn’t answer.

When the coroner came to pick up the body, I heard him remark to Kenya that he figured Arlene had been strangled. I wondered if the pathologist who did the autopsy would reach the same conclusion.

We should have gone inside Sam’s trailer, where it was cool, but when I suggested it, Sam said he wanted to keep an eye on what the police were doing. With a long sigh, I pulled my knees up to my chin to get my legs in the shade. I propped my back against the door of the trailer, and after a moment Sam propped his against the rails around the little porch. He’d long since discarded the plastic poncho, and I’d pulled up my hair on top of my head. Sam went in the trailer and came out with two glasses of iced tea. I drank mine in three big gulps and held the cold glass to my forehead.

I was sweaty and gloomy and scared, but at least I wasn’t alone.

After Arlene’s body had been tagged and bagged and started its pathetic journey to the nearest state medical examiner, Andy came over to talk to us. Kenya and Kevin were now searching the Dumpster, which had to be one of the world’s worst tasks—definitely worthy of Dirty Jobs. They were both sweating like pigs, and from time to time they’d vent their feelings verbally. Andy was moving slowly and wearily, and I could tell the heat was getting him down.

“Arlene just got out less than a week ago, and she’s dead,” Andy said heavily. “Halleigh’s feeling poorly, and I’d rather be home with her than out here, for God’s sake.” He glared at us as if we’d planned this encounter. “Dammit, what was she doing here? Did you see her?”

“I did. She came to ask for a job,” I said. “Yesterday afternoon. Of course, I told her no. She walked out. I didn’t see her after that, and I left for home about . . . seven, or a little later, I guess.”

“She say where she was staying?”

“Nope. Maybe in her trailer?” Arlene’s trailer was still parked in the little clearing where she’d been (a) shot and (b) arrested.

Andy looked skeptical. “Would it even be still hooked up to electricity? And there must be twenty bullet holes in that thing.”

“If you’ve got somewhere to go to, that’s where you go,” I said. “Most people have to do that, Andy. They don’t have a choice.”

Andy was sure I was accusing him of being an elitist since he was a Bellefleur, but I wasn’t. I was just stating a fact.

He eyed me resentfully and turned even redder. “Maybe she was staying with friends,” he plowed on.

“I just wouldn’t know.” I privately doubted if Arlene had that many friends anymore, especially ones who would have wanted to host her. Even people who didn’t like vampires and didn’t think much of women who consorted with the undead might think twice about buddying up to a woman who’d been willing to lure her best friend to a crucifixion. “She did say when she was leaving the bar that she was going to go talk to her two new friends,” I added helpfully. I’d heard that in her thoughts, but I’d heard it. I didn’t have to spell it out. Andy got all freaked-out when he had to think about what I could do. “But I don’t know who she meant.”

“You know where her kids are?” Andy asked.

“I do know that.” I was pleased to be able to contribute more. “Arlene said they’d been staying with Chessie and Brock Johnson. You know them? They live next to where Tray Dawson had his repair shop.”

Andy nodded. “Sure. Why the Johnsons, though?”

“Chessie was a Fowler. She’s related to the kids’ dad, Rick Fowler. That’s why Arlene’s buddy Helen dumped the kids there.”

“And Arlene didn’t pick ’em up when she got out?”

“Again, I don’t know. She didn’t talk like they were with her. But we didn’t exactly have a cozy chitchat. I wasn’t happy to see her. She wasn’t happy to see me. She thought she’d be talking to Sam, I reckon.”

“How many times was she married?” Andy finally plopped down in one of Sam’s folding aluminum chairs. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead.

“Well. Hmm,” I said. “She was with John Morgan for about ten minutes, but she never counted that. Then Rene Lenier. Then Rick Fowler, then Doak Oakley, then back to Rick. Now you know everything I do, Andy.”

Andy wasn’t satisfied with that, as I’d known he wouldn’t be. We went over the conversation I’d had with the dead woman, from soup to nuts.

I gave Sam a despairing glance while Andy was looking down at his notes. My patience was wearing thin. Sam interjected, “Why was Arlene out, anyway, Andy? I thought she’d be in a cell for years!”

Embarrassment turned Andy’s face even redder than the heat. “She got a good lawyer from somewhere. He filed an appeal and asked she be out on bail before the formal sentencing. He pointed out to the judge that she was a mother, practically a saint, who needed to be with her kids. He said, ‘Oh, no, she didn’t plan to take part in the killing, she didn’t even know it was going to happen.’ He practically cried. Of course Arlene didn’t realize her asshole buddies were planning on killing Sookie. Right.”

“My killing,” I said, straightening up. “The killing of me. Just because she didn’t plan on personally hammering in a nail . . .” I stopped and took a deep breath. “Okay, she’s dead. I hope that judge enjoys being all sympathetic now.”

“You sound pretty angry, Sookie,” Andy said.

“Of course I am angry,” I snapped. “You would be, too. But I didn’t come over here in the middle of the night and kill her.”

“How do you know it was the middle of the night?”

“I sure can’t slip anything by you, Andy,” I said. “You got me there.” I took a deep breath and told myself to be patient. “I know it had to have happened in the middle of the night because the bar was open until midnight . . . and I don’t think anyone would have murdered Arlene and put her in the trash while the bar was full and the cooks were working in the kitchen, Andy. By the time the bar closed, I was asleep in my bed, and I stayed that way.”

“Oh, you got a witness to that?” Andy smirked. There were days I liked Andy more than others. Today was not one of those days.

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

Andy looked a little shocked, and Sam’s face was carefully blank. But I myself was pretty glad that I’d had a nocturnal visitor or two. I’d known this moment would come while I sat sweating and waiting for Arlene’s body to be removed. I’d thought it through. Eric had said he wanted his visit to be kept secret, but he hadn’t said anything about Karin’s.

“Who’s your witness?” Andy said.

“A—woman named Karin. Karin Slaughter.”

“You switching teams, Sookie? Did she stay all night?”

“None of your business what we were doing, Andy. Last night before the bar closed, Karin saw me at my house, and she knows I stayed there.”

“Sam, what about you? Anyone at your house?” Now Andy was sounding heavily sarcastic, as if we were covering up something.

“Yes,” Sam said. Again, Andy looked surprised, and not happy.

“All right, who? Your little girlfriend from Shreveport? She come back from Alaska?”

Sam said steadily, “My mom was here. She left early this morning to get back to Texas, but you can sure call her. I can give you her phone number.”

Andy copied it down in his notebook.

“I guess the bar has to be closed today,” Sam said. “But I’d appreciate being able to open as soon as I can, Andy. These days, I need all the business I can get.”

“You should be able to open at three this afternoon,” Andy said.

Sam and I exchanged glances. That was good news, but I knew the bad news was not over, and I tried to convey that to Sam with my eyes. Andy was about to try to shock us with something. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I could tell he was baiting his trap.

Andy turned away with an air of unconcern. Abruptly, he turned back to us with the sudden pounce of someone springing an ambush. Since I could read his mind, I knew what was coming. I kept my face blank only because I’ve had years of practice.

“You recognize this, Sookie?” he asked, showing me a picture. It was a gruesome close-up of Arlene’s neck. There was something tied around it. It was a scarf, a green and peacock blue scarf.

I felt remarkably sick.

“That looks kind of like a scarf I used to have,” I said. In fact, it was exactly like a scarf I’d gotten by default: the one the werebat Luna had tied around my eyes in Dallas when the shifters had been rescuing me.

That seemed like a decade ago.

Feverishly, I tried to remember what had happened to the scarf. I’d gone back to my hotel with it. After that, I’d left it in my belongings in a Dallas hotel room and returned to Shreveport on my own. Bill had deposited my little suitcase on my porch when he’d returned, and the scarf had been tucked inside. I’d hand-washed it, and it had come out real pretty. Also, it was a memento of an extraordinary night. So I’d kept it. I’d worn it tucked into my coat in winter, tied it around my ponytail the last time I wore my green sundress . . . but that had been a year ago. I was sure I hadn’t used it this summer. Since I’d just cleaned out my bedroom drawers, I’d have seen it when I was refolding my scarves, but I had no specific memory of that, which didn’t mean a thing. “I sure don’t remember the last time I saw it,” I said, shaking my head.

“Hmmm,” said Andy. He didn’t like to think I’d strangled Arlene, and he didn’t believe I could have gotten her in the Dumpster by myself. But, he thought, don’t people who drink vampire blood get real strong, for a while? This was one reason vamp blood was the hottest illegal drug around.

I started to tell him out loud that I hadn’t had any vampire blood in a long time. But luckily, I thought twice.

There was no point in reminding Andy that I could read his thoughts. And there was no point in telling him that I had been very strong from vamp blood . . . but in the past.

I sagged against the wall of the trailer. If Sam’s mother could provide Sam an alibi, and if Andy believed Bernie . . . that would leave me as prime suspect. Karin would back up my story, I was certain, but in the eyes of the local law, her testimony would be almost worthless. Andy would be less likely to believe Karin simply because she was a vampire. Other officers who were familiar with the vampire world would believe Karin would have helped me dump Arlene’s body if I’d asked her, because she was Eric’s child and Eric was my boyfriend, as far as everyone knew.

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 that 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.”