Dead Ever After: A True Blood Novel

around me carefully before I got out of my car, and I had my keys in my hand. Experience had taught me it’s better to be wary and feel ridiculous than to get conked on the head or abducted or whatever the enemy plan of the day might be.
    I flew up the steps, crossed the porch, and unlocked the back door quicker than you can say “Jack Robinson.”
    A little fearfully, I went to the answering machine in the living room and pressed the button to listen. Andy Bellefleur said, “Sookie, we traced the call. It came from a house in New Orleans owned by a Leslie Gelbman. That mean anything to you?”
    I caught Andy at work. “I know several people in New Orleans,” I said. “But that name means nothing to me.” I didn’t think any of them would be placing a hate call to me, either.
    “The Gelbman house is up for sale. Someone had broken into it through the back door. The phone was still hooked up, and that’s what the caller used to leave that message. Sorry we didn’t find out who said that stuff. Did you recall any incident that would make that message mean something to you?”
    He actually sounded sorry, which was nice. My opinion of Andy wavered back and forth. I think his opinion of me did, too. “Thanks, Andy. No, I haven’t thought of anything I’ve ever done that could be construed as taking away someone’s last chance.” I paused. “Did you give Alcee my message?”
    “Ahhhh . . . no, Sookie. Alcee and I aren’t on the best of terms right now. He still . . .” Andy’s voice died away. Alcee Beck still thought I was guilty and was in a snit because I’d been released on bail. I wondered if it was Alcee I’d seen out in the woods around Merlotte’s. I wondered how violently he felt about me being free.
    “Okay, Andy, I understand,” I said. “And thanks for checking on the phone call. Give Halleigh my best.”
    After I’d hung up, I thought of someone I should call about my present predicament. Jason had told me he hadn’t gotten an answer when he’d called the part-demon lawyer Desmond Cataliades. I got out my address book, found the number Mr. Cataliades had given me, and punched it in.
    “Yes?” said a small voice.
    “Diantha, it’s Sookie.”
    “Oh! Whathappenedtoyou?” This was said in Diantha’s rapid-fire delivery, the words blurring together in her haste. “Yournumberwason-Uncle’scallerID.”
    “How’d you know something happened? Can you slow down a little?”
    Diantha made an effort to enunciate. “Uncle’s packing to come to see you. He’s learned a couple of things that have him all worried. He had a twinge of fear. Uncle’s usually right on the money when he has a twinge. And he has solid business reasons to talk to you, he says. He would have gotten there sooner, but he had to consult with some people that are pretty hard to catch.” She exhaled. “Thatwhatyouwanted?”
    I was tempted to laugh but decided I would not. I couldn’t see her facial expression, and I didn’t want my amusement to be misconstrued. “His twinge was right on the money,” I said. “I got arrested for murder.”
    “Ofaredheadedwoman?”
    “Yeah. How’d you know? Another twinge?”
    “Thatwitchfriendofyourscalled.”
    After I chopped up that sentence into sound bites until I was sure I understood it, I said, “Amelia Broadway.”
    “Shehadavision.”
    Dang. Amelia was getting stronger and stronger.
    “Is Mr. Cataliades there?” I asked, taking care to say it correctly. Ca-TAHL-e-ah-des.
    There was empty air, and then a pleasant voice said, “Ms. Stackhouse. How nice to hear from you, even under the circumstances. I am setting off your way, shortly. Do you need my services as an attorney?”
    “I’m out on bail now,” I said. “I was kind of in a hurry to be represented, so I called Beth Osiecki, a local lawyer.” I sounded as apologetic as I could manage. “I did think of you, and if I’d had more time . . . I’m hoping you’ll join in with her?” I was pretty damn sure Mr. Cataliades had had more experience defending accused murderers than Beth Osiecki.
    “I’ll consult with her while I’m in Bon Temps,” said Mr. Cataliades. “If you’d like treats from New Orleans—beignets or the like—I can bring them with me.”
    “You were coming up to see me, anyway, Diantha says?” My voice faltered as I tried to imagine why. “Of course, I’m real glad you’re coming to see me, and you’re welcome to stay here at the house, but I may have to be at work