Dead as a Doornail

he’s got that house over on Robin Egg to finish. He can work on your kitchen before he begins a house in Clarice. So, say, three to four months from now, you’ll have you a usable kitchen.”
    “Thanks, Delia. Do I need to sign something?”
    “We’ll get an estimate ready for you. I’ll bring it to the bar for you to check. We’ll include the new appliances, because we can get a dealer discount. But I’ll tell you right now, you’re looking at this ballpark.”
    She showed me the estimate on a kitchen renovation they had done a month before.
    “I have it,” I said, though I gave one long shriek deep inside. Even with the insurance money, I’d be using up a big chunk of what I had in the bank.
    I should be thankful, I reminded myself sternly, that Eric had paid me all that money, that I had it to spend. I wouldn’t have to borrow from the bank or sell the land or take any other drastic step. I should think of that money as just passing through my account rather than living there. I hadn’t actually owned it. I’d just had custody of it for a while.
    “You and Alcide good friends?” Delia asked, our business concluded.
    I gave it some thought. “Some days,” I answered honestly.
    She laughed, a harsh cackle that was somehow sexy. Both men looked around, Randall smiling, Alcide quizzical. They were too far away to hear what we were saying.
    “I’ll tell you something,” Delia Shurtliff said to me quietly. “Just between you and me and the fencepost. Jackson Herveaux’s secretary, Connie Babcock—you met her?”
    I nodded. I’d at least seen her and talked to her when I’d dropped by Alcide’s office in Shreveport.
    “She got arrested this morning for stealing from Herveaux and Son.”
    “What did she take?” I was all ears.
    “This is what I don’t understand. She was caught sneaking some papers out of Jackson Herveaux’s office. Not business papers, but personal, the way I heard it. She said she’d been paid to do it.”
    “By?”
    “Some guy who owns a motorcycle dealership. Now, does that make sense?”
    It did if you knew that Connie Babcock had been sleeping with Jackson Herveaux, as well as working in his office. It did if you suddenly realized that Jackson had taken Christine Larrabee, a pure Were and influential, to the funeral of Colonel Flood, instead of taking the powerless human Connie Babcock.
    While Delia elaborated on the story, I stood, lost in thought. Jackson Herveaux was without a doubt a clever businessman, but he was proving to be a stupid politician. Having Connie arrested was dumb. It drew attention to the Weres, had the potential to expose them. A people so secretive would not appreciate a leader who couldn’t manage a problem with more finesse than that.
    As a matter of fact, since Alcide and Randall were still discussing the rebuilding of my house with each other instead of with me, a lack of finesse appeared to run in the Herveaux family.
    Then I frowned. It occurred to me that Patrick Furnan might be devious and clever enough to have engineered the whole thing—bribing the spurned Connie to steal Jackson’s private papers, then ensuring she was caught—knowing that Jackson would react with a hot head. Patrick Furnan might be much smarter than he looked, and Jackson Herveaux much stupider, at least in the way that mattered if you wanted to be packmaster. I tried to shake off these disturbing speculations. Alcide hadn’t said a word about Connie’s arrest, so I had to conclude that he considered it none of my business. Okay, maybe he thought I had enough to worry about, and he was right. I turned my mind back to the moment.
    “You think they’d notice if we left?” I asked Delia.
    “Oh, yeah,” Delia said confidently. “It might take Randall a minute, but he’d look around for me. He’d get lost if he couldn’t find me.”
    Here was a woman who knew her own worth. I sighed and thought about getting in my borrowed car and driving away. Alcide, catching sight of my face, broke off his discussion with my contractor and looked guilty. “Sorry,” he called. “Habit.”
    Randall came back to where I was standing quite a bit faster than he’d wandered away. “Sorry,” he apologized. “We were talking shop. What did you have in mind, Sookie?”
    “I want the same dimensions for the kitchen as before,” I said, having dropped visions of a larger room after seeing the estimate. “But I want the new back porch to be just as wide as the