Barry thought we should talk to Arlene's kids and Brock and Chessie Johnson, to see if Arlene had said anything about her plans to them.
Diantha thought we should steal the scarf, and then they'd have no evidence on me at all. I have to admit, that option really resonated with me. I knew I hadn't done it. I knew the police weren't looking in the right direction. And, frankly, even more than I wanted Arlene's murderer to be found, I knew I didn't want to go to jail. At all. Ever again.
Diantha also wanted to search Alcee Beck's car. "I'll know a magic object when I see it," she said, and that was a truth no one could argue. The problem was, a skinny, strangely dressed white girl was going to look a little conspicuous searching anyone's car, much less the car of an African-American police detective.
Desmond Cataliades told us that in his opinion, the case against me was weak, especially since I had a witness who could place me in bed at my home at the probable time of the murder. "It's a pity your witness is a vampire - not only a vampire, but one new to the area and bound to your ex-lover," he said in his ponderous way. "However, Karin is certainly better than no witness at all. I must talk to her soon."
"She'll be out in the woods tonight," I said, "if she follows her pattern."
"You truly believe that Detective Beck was spelled with something?"
"I do," I said. "Though I didn't understand what I was seeing at the time. I tried to get Andy Bellefleur to tell Alcee to search his car. I hoped Alcee would find the hex, or whatever you call it, and understand that he'd been supernaturally influenced against me. Obviously, that's not going to work. So if we can think of a way to get the magic object out of Alcee's vehicle, we need to move on that plan. When it's removed, I hope things will get a lot better for me." And God knew, I wanted things to get better. I glanced at the clock. It was one p.m.
"Amelia, we have some things we need to talk about," Mr. Cataliades said, and Amelia looked apprehensive. "But first, let's go into town and get lunch. Even passive deliberations call for energy."
We packed into Mr. Cataliades's rental van for the short drive into town. As we were seated at Lucky Bar-B-Q, we garnered more attention than I wanted. Of course, people recognized me, and there were a few glances and a few mutters - but I was pretty much prepared for that. The real eye-catcher was Diantha, who'd never dressed like an average human being because she wasn't. Diantha's clothes were bright and random. Green yoga tights, a cerise tutu, an orange leotard, cowboy boots . . . well, it was a bold ensemble.
At least she smiled a lot; that was something.
Even aside from Diantha's exceptional wardrobe choices (and that was a big "even aside"), we simply didn't look like we belonged together.
Luckily, our waiter was a high school kid named Joshua Bee, a distant cousin of Calvin Norris's. Joshua wasn't a werepanther, but as a connection of the Norris clan, he knew a lot about the world most humans didn't see. He was polite and quick, and he wasn't a bit frightened. That was a relief.
After we'd ordered, Desmond Cataliades was telling us about the progress of post-Katrina reconstruction in New Orleans. "Amelia's father has played a large part," he said. "Copley Carmichael's name is on a lot of rebuilding contracts. Especially in the last few months."
"He had some difficulties," Bob said quietly. "There was an article in the paper. We don't see Copley a lot, since he and Amelia have issues. But we were kind of worried about him. Since the New Year came in . . . well, everything's turned around for him."
"Yes, we'll talk about that when we're in a more private place," Mr. Cataliades said.
Amelia looked worried, but she accepted that well.
I knew she didn't really want to know that her father was up to no good. She suspected it already, and she was frightened. Amelia and her father had an adversarial relationship on many fronts, but she loved him . . . most of the time.
Diantha was making cat's cradles with a piece of string she'd pulled from her pocket, Barry and Mr. Cataliades were having an awkward conversation about the true meaning of the word "barbecue," and I was trying to think of another conversational topic when an old friend of mine walked into Lucky's.
There was a moment's silence. You couldn't ignore John Quinn. Sure, Quinn was a weretiger. But even when people didn't know that (and most didn't), Quinn stood out. He was a big bald man, with olive skin and purple eyes. He looked spectacular in a purple tank top and khaki shorts. He was a man people noticed, and he was my only lover who looked his true age.
I jumped up to give him a hug and urged him to sit down. He pulled up a chair between me and Mr. Cataliades.
"I think I remember who's met Quinn and who hasn't," I addressed the table in general. "Barry, you met Quinn in Rhodes, I think, and Amelia, you and Bob know him from New Orleans. Quinn, you've met Desmond Cataliades and his niece, Diantha, I think."
Quinn nodded all around. Diantha abandoned her piece of string to look at Quinn full-time. Mr. Cataliades, who also knew Quinn was a large predator, was cordial but very much on the alert. "I went to your house first," Quinn told me. "I've never seen flowers bloom in the middle of the summer like that. And those tomatoes! Damn, those things are huge." It was like we'd seen each other yesterday, and I felt that warm and comfortable feeling I got around Quinn.
"My great-grandfather soaked the ground around my house with magic before he left," I said. "I think it was probably some kind of spell to make the land flourish. Whatever it was, it's working. How's Tij doing, Quinn?"
"Everything's going great," he said. He grinned, and it was like seeing a whole different person. "The baby's growing like crazy. You want to see a picture?"
"Sure," I said, and Quinn extracted his wallet and drew out one of those shadowy ultrasounds. There were two markers on the picture, showing where the baby began and ended, Quinn explained.
I'd seen a lot of Tara's ultrasounds - this baby seemed pretty big for a couple of months. "So, will Tijgerin have a baby sooner than a regular human?" I asked.
"Yeah. Weretigers are unique in that. And it's another reason traditional tiger moms spend their pregnancy and birth times away from people. Including the dad," Quinn said grimly. "At least she e-mails me every few days."
Time to change the subject. "I'm glad to see you, Quinn," I said, looking pointedly at Mr. Cataliades, who hadn't yet relaxed. And Diantha's wide-eyed stare didn't mean she was thinking of jumping Quinn's bones, but exposing them with her knife if the occasion arose. Diantha didn't like predators. "What brings you to Bon Temps?" I asked. I put my hand on his arm. This man is my friend, I said silently, and Mr. Cataliades nodded slightly but didn't look away.
"I came to help," Quinn said. "Sam put it on the board that someone had it in for you. You're a friend to the Shreveport wolf pack, you're a friend of Sam's, and you're a friend of mine. Plus, the scarf used to kill the lady was a Were gift to you."
Sam had definitely put a good spin on the scarf's history. The Weres had "gifted" it to me by using it as a blindfold so I wouldn't know where they'd taken me . . . the night I'd first met a werewolf. That night seemed so long ago! I had a fleeting second of incredulity that there'd ever been a time I hadn't known the extent of the supernatural world. And here I sat in Lucky Bar-B-Q with two witches, two part-demons, a telepath, and a weretiger.
"Sam has always been a good friend to me," I said, wondering again what the hell was going on with my good friend. (He'd put forth all this effort on my behalf, trying to drum up help for me in my time of need, but he could barely manage to look me in the face. Something was definitely rotten in the state of Bon Temps.) "That two-natured board must be hopping with news."
Quinn nodded. "Alcide had posted, too, so I stopped in at his office on my way here. He wants to know if one of his pack can scent in your house. I told him I was capable of any tracking that needed to be done, but he insisted the Weres help you out. You assume that the scarf was stolen from your house?"
Everyone at the table was listening intently, even Mr. C and Diantha. They'd finally accepted Quinn as a friend of mine. "Yes, that's what I believe. Sam remembers me wearing it to church, and that must have been to a funeral months ago. And I'm pretty confident I saw it when I cleaned out my scarf drawer last week. I think maybe I would have noticed if it hadn't been there."
Amelia said, "I can help there. I know a spell that might help you remember, especially if we have a picture of the scarf."
"I don't think I've got one, but I can draw a picture," I said. "It's got a feather pattern." The first couple of times I'd worn it, I hadn't realized that the subtle sweeps of color represented feathers. With the bright peacock colors, you'd think I'd have noticed earlier, but hell, it was just a scarf. A free scarf. And now it might cost me my life or my freedom.
"That might work," Amelia said.
"Then I'm willing to try it," I told Amelia. I turned to Quinn. "And the Weres can come sniff my house anytime they like. I keep it pretty clean, so I'm not sure what they'll pick up."
"I'm going to search your woods," Quinn said. He wasn't asking.
"It's awful hot, Quinn," I said. "And snakes . . ." But my voice died away when I met his eyes. Quinn wasn't afraid of heat or snakes or much of anything.
We had a good time eating together, and Quinn ordered a sandwich because our food smelled so good. I couldn't even begin to tell everyone how grateful I was that they'd come, that they were helping me. When I'd thought three days before that I had only Jason on my side, how wrong I'd been. I was immensely, deeply grateful.
After lunch, we went by Wal-Mart to get some groceries for supper. To my relief, Mr. Cataliades and Diantha went to fill up their van at the gas station while the rest of us shopped. I simply couldn't imagine those two in Wal-Mart. I divided the list and handed it out, so we were done in no time.
As we filled up our cart, Quinn, a supernatural event planner, was telling me about a werewolf coming-of-age party that had turned into a free-for-all. I was laughing when we turned a corner and met Sam.
After his weirdness yesterday at the bar and on the phone today, I hardly knew what to say to Sam, but I was glad to see him. Sam looked pretty grim, and he looked even grimmer when I reintroduced him to Quinn.
"Yeah, man, I remember you," Sam said, trying to smile. "You come to give Sookie moral support?"
"Any kind of support she needs," Quinn said, not the happiest choice of words.
"Sam, I've talked about Mr. Cataliades, I know. He's brought Diantha and Barry and Amelia and Bob," I said hastily. "You remember Amelia and Bob, though maybe Bob was a cat last time you saw him. Come visit!"
"I remember them," Sam said between clenched teeth. "But I can't come by."
"What's stopping you? I guess Kennedy is working the bar."
"Yeah, she's got this afternoon."
"Then come on out."
He closed his eyes, and I could sense the words beating at his head, wanting to come out. "I can't," he repeated, and he rolled his cart away and left the store.
"What's up with him?" Quinn asked. "I don't know Sam well, but he's always been standing right behind you, Sookie, always in your corner. There's something compelling him to step aside."
I was so confused I couldn't speak. While we checked out and loaded the groceries into the back of the van, I chewed at the problem of Sam and what was happening with him. He wanted to come out to the house, but he wouldn't come out to the house. Because? Well, why would you not do something you wanted to do? Because you were being prevented.
"He's promised someone he won't," I muttered. "That's gotta be it." Could it be Bernie? I thought she liked me, but maybe I was reading her wrong. Maybe she thought all I was was trouble for her son. Well, if Sam had made her - or someone else - such a promise, there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it, but I would put the situation on the back burner of things that worried me. When there was room on the front burner, I'd move it forward. Because it sure made me hurt inside.
When the groceries were put away, we assembled again in the living room. I wasn't used to sitting around all day, and I felt a little restless as we all took the chairs we'd been in earlier. Quinn took the only one left, a kind of dumpy armchair I'd always planned on exchanging for something better . . . but I'd never gotten around to it. I tossed him a cushion, and he gamely tried stuffing it in the small of his back to make the chair a bit more comfortable.
"I have some things to tell all of you," Mr. Cataliades said. "And later, some things to tell Sookie individually . . . but now I have to tell you what I've witnessed and suspected."
This sounded so ominous that we all turned our attention to the part-demon.
"I'd heard that there was a devil in New Orleans," he said.
"The Devil? Or a devil?" Amelia asked.
"What an excellent question," Mr. Cataliades said. "In fact, a devil. The Devil himself seldom makes a personal appearance. You can imagine the crowds."
None of us knew quite what to say, so perhaps we couldn't.
Diantha laughed as if she were remembering something very funny. I, for one, didn't want to know what it was.