“I trust people when they’ve proved they’re trustworthy,” I muttered, and went back in the house. The kitchen was empty. Sounded like Bel enos and Dermot had gone upstairs to watch television; I caught the faint sound of a laugh track. I climbed halfway up the stairs, intending to suggest that Bel enos move his own clothes from the washer to the dryer, but I paused when I heard them talking during a commercial break.
“It’s cal ed Two and a Half Men,” Dermot was tel ing his guest.
“I understand,” Bel enos said. “Because the two brothers are grown, and the son isn’t.”
“I think so,” Dermot said. “Don’t you think the son is useless?”
“The half? Yes. At home, we’d eat him,” Bel enos said.
I turned right around, sure I could put the clothes into the dryer myself. “Sookie, did you need us?” Dermot cal ed. I might have known he’d hear me.
“Just tel Bel enos that I’m putting his clothes in the dryer, but he’s responsible for getting them out. I think they’l be dry in …” I made some hasty calculations. “Probably forty-five minutes. I’m going to bed now.” Though I’d had the nap, I was beginning to drag.
I barely waited to hear Dermot say, “He’l get them,” before I hurried to the back porch to toss the wet clothes into the dryer. Then I went into my bedroom, shut the door, and locked it.
If the rest of the fae were as casual about cannibalism as the elf, Claude couldn’t come back soon enough to suit me.
Chapter 7
Cara Ambroselli called me first thing Monday morning, which was not a great way to start the week.
“I need you to come to the station so I can ask a few more questions,” she said, and she sounded so brisk and awake that I could easily dislike her.
“I’ve told you everything I know,” I said, trying to sound alert.
“We’re going over everything again,” she said. “I know you’re as anxious as we al are to find out who caused this poor woman’s death.”
There was only one possible response. “I’l be there in a couple of hours,” I said, trying not to sound sul en. “I’l have to ask my boss if I can be late to work.”
That real y wasn’t going to be an issue since I was scheduled to work the later shift, but I was grumpy enough to drag my heels. I did cal Jason to tel him where I was going, because I think someone always needs to know where you are if you’re going into a police station.
“That’s no good, Sis,” he said. “You need a lawyer?”
“No, but I’m taking a number with me just in case,” I said. I looked at the front of the refrigerator until I spotted the “Osiecki and Hilburn” business card. I made sure my cel phone was charged. Just to cover al kinds of crises, I put the cluviel dor into my purse.
I drove to Shreveport without noticing the blue skies, the shimmering heat, the big mowers, the eighteen-wheelers. I was in a grim mood, and I wondered how career criminals managed. I was not cut out for a life of crime, I decided, though the past few years had held enough mayhem to last me til I was using a walker. I hadn’t had anything to do with the death of Kym Rowe, but I’d been involved in sufficient bad stuff to make me nervous when I came under official scrutiny.
Police stations are not happy places at the best of times. If you’re a telepath with a guilty conscience, this unhappiness is just about doubled.
The heavy woman on the bench in the waiting room was thinking about her son, who was in a cel in the building. He’d been arrested for rape. It wasn’t the first time. The man ahead of me was picking up a police report about an accident he’d been in; his arm was in a sling, and he was in a fair amount of pain. Two men sat silently side by side, their elbows on their knees, their heads hung. Their sons had been arrested for beating another boy to death.
It was a positive treat to see T-Rex come out of a door, apparently leaving the building. He glanced my way, kept moving, but did a double take.
“Sookie, right?” Under the harsh light, his dyed platinum hair looked garish but also cheerful, simply because he was such a vital person.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking his hand. Pretty, vamp’s girl, from Bon Temps? He was having his own little stream of consciousness about me. “They cal you in, too?”
“Yeah, I’m doing my civic duty,” he said with a very smal smile. “Cherie and Viv already came in.”
I tried to smile in a carefree way. I didn’t think I was very successful. “I guess we al got to help them find out who kil ed that girl,” I offered.
“We don’t have to enjoy it.”
I was able to give him a genuine smile. “That’s very true. Did they wring a confession out of you?”
“I can’t keep secrets,” he said. “That’s my biggest confession. Seriously, I’d’ve told them anything after we were here a couple hours the night it happened. T-Rex is not one for secrets.”
T-Rex was one for talking about himself in the third person, apparently. But he was so vivid, so ful of life, that to my surprise I found I liked him.
“I have to go tel them I’m here,” I said apologetical y, and took a step toward the window.
“Sure,” he said. “Listen, give me a cal if you ever want to come to a wrestling match. I get the feeling you ain’t been to many, if at al , and you might have a good time. I can get you a ringside seat!”
“That’s real nice of you,” I said. “I don’t know how much time I’l have, between my job and my boyfriend, but I do appreciate the offer.”
“I never hung around with vampires before. That Felipe, he’s pretty damn funny, and Horst is okay.” T-Rex hesitated. “On the other hand, your boyfriend is pretty damn scary.”
“He is,” I agreed. “But he didn’t murder Kym Rowe.”
Our conversation ended when Detective Ambrosel i cal ed me to her desk.
Cara Ambrosel i was a little dynamo. She asked me the same questions she’d asked me Saturday night, and I answered them the same way.
She asked me a few new questions. “How long have you been dating Eric?” (He was no longer Mr. Northman, I noticed.) “Did you ever work in a strip club?” (That was an easy one.) “What about the men you live with?”
“What about them?”
“Doesn’t Claude Crane own a strip club?”
“Yeah,” I said warily. “He does.”
“Did Kym Rowe ever work there?”
I was taken aback. “I don’t know,” I said. “I never thought about that. I guess she might have.”
“You cal Crane your cousin.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“We got no record of him being related to you.”
It would be interesting to know what records they could possibly have about Claude, since he wasn’t human. “He comes from an il egitimate birth,” I said. “It’s private family business.”
No matter how many times she asked questions about Claude, I stuck to my guns. She eventual y gave in to my determination, since there was real y no way she could link Kym to Claude to me. At least, I hoped that was the case. This was something else I needed to talk to Claude about, when I had the chance.
I’d nodded to Mike Coughlin, who was sitting a few desks away. He’d been doing some paperwork, but now he was talking to a young man who sat with his back to me. It was the guy who’d watched the gate to Eric’s community on Saturday night.
Ambrosel i had been cal ed away by another police officer, one in uniform, so I felt free to listen. And there was nothing wrong with my hearing.
Evidently, Coughlin had asked—and I had a hard time remembering the name he’d had on his shirt—Vince, that was it. Coughlin had asked Vince why he’d been substituting for Dan Shel ey the night of Eric’s party.
“Dan was sick,” Vince said instantly. I could tel his mind was ful of agitation, and I wondered what was so scary. “He asked me to sit in for him.
Said it was easy work. I needed the money, so I said sure.”