Charlaine Harris - Dead Ever After

Diantha smiled faintly.

“How’d you manage it?” Amelia asked. She looked admiring.

“I had a scarf in my pocket in a plastic bag. It was pretty close to Sookie’s description. We found it at Tara’s Togs. I turned myself into Kenya. I went to the locker and storage area. I told the policeman there I needed to see the scarf. The old guy, he brought it to me in a plastic bag. I looked at it, and when he went to the bathroom, I swapped it for the scarf I’d brought. I handed it to him when he came back. I walked out.” She reached for her glass of tea in a weary way.

“Thank you, Diantha,” I said. I was both happy she’d done such a ballsy thing and sorry she’d done something illegal. My law-abiding half was kind of appalled that we were screwing around with real evidence in a real murder. But my self-preserving half was relieved that we might find out something, now that we had the real scarf . . . if the touch psychic lived up to her billing.

Diantha perked up after receiving a good helping of praise from all of us. Though she was still moving and speaking slowly, after she ate everything on the table that wasn’t on someone’s plate she seemed to have taken a big step toward restoring her strength. Obviously, the transformation she’d accomplished had burned up a tremendous amount of energy.

“It’s much harder when she has to speak as the person, rather than just resemble them,” Mr. Cataliades said quietly. He’d read my mind. He treated her with courtesy and respect, refilling her glass with tea and passing her the butter with great frequency. (I made a mental note to add butter to my store list.) Barry had bought a cake at the bakery. Though Gran would have thrown up her hands in horror at having a store-bought cake in her house, I was not so proud, since I hadn’t had time to bake. Diantha was definitely on board for dessert, which I planned to dish up as soon as the kitchen was clean.

Amelia was such a clear broadcaster. She stared across the room at Diantha, lost in thought. While we were clearing the table, I had to listen to her reassessing Diantha’s abilities and cleverness. She was really impressed with the part-demon girl. Amelia was thinking about Diantha’s amazing elasticity. She wondered if Diantha was transforming her actual flesh or if she was casting an illusion. Diantha’s success made Amelia feel she hadn’t done her share of the detecting.

“Of course,” Amelia said abruptly, “Bob and I couldn’t cast the spell we wanted to cast, since we haven’t found the two men yet. But after Barry came back to get us in his snazzy rental”—this was a joke; Barry had come back in a battered Ford Focus—“we did go to all the apartment and house rental places in Bon Temps, including answering the newspaper ads. We were ready to insist on seeing any unrented apartments or houses we’d seen an ad for, because we thought the owner would say, ‘Oh, sorry, we just rented that place to two guys from wherever.’ Then we could go check them out. But we didn’t get a lead.”

“Well, that’s good information to have,” I said. “They’re too smart to stay locally.” I could tell Amelia was steamed that she and Bob hadn’t tracked down the two guys and handed them over to us.

“However,” Bob said, “we did verify why your flowers and tomatoes are growing so well.”

“Ahhhhh . . . great. Why?”

“Fairy magic,” he said. “Someone has charged all the Stackhouse land with fairy magic.”

I didn’t tell them I’d already figured that out, because I wanted them to feel good. I remembered my great-grandfather’s good-bye embrace, when I’d felt a jolt of power. I’d thought it was the finality of his farewell . . . but he’d been, for want of a better term, blessing me and my house. “Awww,” I said softly. “That’s so sweet.”

“He would have done better to put in a giant ring of protection,” Amelia said darkly. She’d been outmagicked on several fronts, and while normally she was a practical person, she was also proud. “How did Arlene get past your old wards?”

“Alcide thought she had a charm,” I offered. “I’m assuming someone gave her magic.”

Amelia flushed. “If she did have a charm, another witch is involved in this, and I want to know who. I’ll take care of that.”

“Gran would have loved seeing the yard like this,” I said, to change the subject. I smiled at the thought of the pleasure my grandmother would have felt. She’d loved her yard and worked in it tirelessly. The flowers would bloom and flourish, the bulbs would spread, the grass . . . well, it was growing like wildfire. I was going to have to mow it tomorrow, and frequently thereafter.

That was fairies for you. Always some blowback.

“Niall did more for you than that,” Mr. Cataliades said, distracting me from my unwelcome thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” I said, and that didn’t sound as civil as I meant it. “I’m sorry. You must know something I don’t.” I managed a more cordial tone.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. “I do know many things you don’t, and I’m about to tell you one of them. I would have come to Bon Temps without your being charged with murder, because I have business with you as your great-grandfather’s lawyer.”

“He’s not dead,” I said immediately.

“No, but he doesn’t plan on returning here. And he wanted you to have something to remember him kindly.”

“He’s my family. I don’t need anything else,” I said. Which was crazy, I knew it the moment I said it, but I have a little pride, too.

“I would say you do need a few things, Miss Stackhouse,” said Mr. Cataliades mildly. “Right now, you need a defense fund. Thanks to Niall, you have one. Not only will you be receiving a monthly income from the sale of Claudine’s house, your great-grandfather deeded the club to you, the one called Hooligans, and I have sold it.”

“What? But that belonged to Claude, Claudine, and Claudette, the triplets who were his fae grandchildren.”

“Though I don’t know the story, I understood from Niall that Claude did not buy the club, but was given it because he threatened the true owner.”

“Yes,” I said, after I thought about it a bit. “That’s true. Claudette was dead by then.”

“That’s a story I’d like to hear another time. Be that as it may, when Claude plotted treason against Niall and became his prisoner, he forfeited all his possessions to his ruler. Niall gave me instructions to sell the properties and give the proceeds to you in the ways I’ve described.”

“Who—? To me? You already sold the business and the house?” And Claude was a prisoner. I hadn’t missed that part of the speech. Though he richly deserved to be imprisoned after attempting a coup that would have ended with Niall dead, I would always have some sympathy for anyone in a cell. If that was how they locked up people in Faery. Maybe they stowed them in giant pea pods.

“Yes, the properties have already been sold. The proceeds have been put in an annuity. You’ll be getting a check every month. After we fill out the papers, it can be direct-deposited to your checking account. I’ll bring them down after we dine, along with the check for the business. Though part of the proceeds from that went into your annuity.”

“But Claudine already left me a huge chunk of money. There were some whistles blown on the estate bank, and everything froze. A week ago, the paper said the inspectors hadn’t found anything.” I should call my bank again.

“That was from Claudine’s personal estate,” the lawyer said. “She was a frugal fairy for many decades.”

I couldn’t comprehend my good fortune. “It’s a huge relief to have the money to defend myself. But I still hope that someone will confess and spare me the trial,” I murmured.