Dead Ever After: A True Blood Novel

glee.
    Copley Carmichael’s eyes widened with fear.
    “Of course, he did try to have me killed,” I said thoughtfully. “And he didn’t care who got caught up in his vendetta against me. Hey, Mr. Carmichael, you see this big bandage on my shoulder? That’s courtesy of your man Tyrese. He almost got your daughter, too.” The man’s color wasn’t good, but it got worse. “And you know what happened to Tyrese? He got shot dead,” I said.
    But this wasn’t a pastime I could really call fun. Even though Carmichael deserved a lot of bad things, taunting him would not make me feel better about myself or anything else.
    “I wonder if he’s responsible for the voodoo doll, or whatever it was, in Alcee’s car,” I said.
    I watched his face carefully as I said this, and all I got was a blank stare. I did not believe Copley had put a hex or curse on the detective.
    Mr. Cataliades said, “Yes, I do have a message from Barry. Voice mail.” He held the phone to his ear.
    I waited impatiently.
    Finally, Mr. Cataliades lowered the phone. He looked serious. “Barry says he is following Johan Glassport,” he said. “That is not a safe thing to do.”
    “Barry knows Glassport killed Arlene,” I said. “He shouldn’t take the chance.”
    “He wants to identify Glassport’s companion.”
    “Where was he when he left the message?” I asked.
    “He doesn’t say. But he left the message at nine last night.”
    “That’s bad,” I said. “Really bad.” The problem was, I couldn’t think of anything to do about it, and I couldn’t imagine what to do with Copley Carmichael.
    A knock at my door startled us all. I was definitely distracted. I hadn’t even heard a car come up the driveway. My neighbor from up the road, Lorinda Prescott, was at the front door with her fabulous supper dish that was supposed to be scooped up with tortilla chips. And she’d brought Tostitos, too. “I just wanted to thank you for the delicious tomatoes,” she said. “I’ve never tasted any as good. What brand were they?”
    “I just bought ’em at the lawn and garden center,” I said. “Please come have a seat.” Lorinda said she wouldn’t stay long, but I had to introduce her to my company. While Lorinda was being charmed by Mr. Cataliades, I raised an eyebrow at Diantha, who slipped back down the hall to shut the door to the guest bedroom, where Copley Carmichael was still propped against the wall. After that, Diantha and Mr. Cataliades went upstairs, having said polite things to Lorinda, who seemed a bit stunned at Diantha’s ensemble.
    “I’m so glad you’ve got someone staying with you while you’re getting better,” she said. She paused, and her brow wrinkled. “My goodness, what’s that noise?”
    A dull thumping sound was issuing from the guest bedroom. Damn. “That’s probably . . . gosh, I guess they shut their dog in that room!” I said. I called up the stairs, “Mr. C! The dog’s acting up! Can you get Coco to calm down?”
    “I do beg your pardon,” Mr. Cataliades said, gliding down the stairs. “I will make the animal keep silent.”
    “Thanks,” I said, and tried not to notice that Lorinda was looking a little shocked to hear Mr. C call his dog “the animal.” He went down the hall, and I heard the door to the guest room open and close. The thumping ceased abruptly.
    Mr. Cataliades reappeared, bowing to Lorinda on his way through the living room to the stairs. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Prescott,” he said, and vanished into one of the upstairs rooms.
    “Gosh,” said Lorinda. “He’s mighty formal.”
    “Comes from an old New Orleans family,” I explained. A couple of minutes later, Lorinda decided she needed to get home to start supper, and I bowed her out of the house with lots of pleasantries.
    When she was gone, I breathed out a deep sigh of relief. I was hurrying to the guest bedroom . . . and the phone rang. It was Michele, checking up on me, which was a nice thing for her to do, but real bad timing.
    “Hi, Michele!” I said, trying to sound perky and healthy.
    “Hey, nearly-sister-in-law,” she said. “How are you today?”
    “So much better,” I said. That was only half a lie. I was better.
    “Can I come by and pick up your laundry? I’m doing mine tonight, so Jason and me can go line dancing tomorrow night.”
    “Oh, have a good time!” It had been ages since I’d been dancing. “I’m caught up on my laundry, thanks so much.”
    “Why don’t you come to