Dead Ever After

Dumpster, which had to be one of the world’s worst tasks—definitely worthy of Dirty Jobs . They were both sweating like pigs, and from time to time they’d vent their feelings verbally. Andy was moving slowly and wearily, and I could tell the heat was getting him down.
    “Arlene just got out less than a week ago, and she’s dead,” Andy said heavily. “Halleigh’s feeling poorly, and I’d rather be home with her than out here, for God’s sake.” He glared at us as if we’d planned this encounter. “Dammit, what was she doing here? Did you see her?”
    “I did. She came to ask for a job,” I said. “Yesterday afternoon. Of course, I told her no. She walked out. I didn’t see her after that, and I left for home about . . . seven, or a little later, I guess.”
    “She say where she was staying?”
    “Nope. Maybe in her trailer?” Arlene’s trailer was still parked in the little clearing where she’d been (a) shot and (b) arrested.
    Andy looked skeptical. “Would it even be still hooked up to electricity? And there must be twenty bullet holes in that thing.”
    “If you’ve got somewhere to go to, that’s where you go,” I said. “Most people have to do that, Andy. They don’t have a choice.”
    Andy was sure I was accusing him of being an elitist since he was a Bellefleur, but I wasn’t. I was just stating a fact.
    He eyed me resentfully and turned even redder. “Maybe she was staying with friends,” he plowed on.
    “I just wouldn’t know.” I privately doubted if Arlene had that many friends anymore, especially ones who would have wanted to host her. Even people who didn’t like vampires and didn’t think much of women who consorted with the undead might think twice about buddying up to a woman who’d been willing to lure her best friend to a crucifixion. “She did say when she was leaving the bar that she was going to go talk to her two new friends,” I added helpfully. I’d heard that in her thoughts, but I’d heard it. I didn’t have to spell it out. Andy got all freaked-out when he had to think about what I could do. “But I don’t know who she meant.”
    “You know where her kids are?” Andy asked.
    “I do know that.” I was pleased to be able to contribute more. “Arlene said they’d been staying with Chessie and Brock Johnson. You know them? They live next to where Tray Dawson had his repair shop.”
    Andy nodded. “Sure. Why the Johnsons, though?”
    “Chessie was a Fowler. She’s related to the kids’ dad, Rick Fowler. That’s why Arlene’s buddy Helen dumped the kids there.”
    “And Arlene didn’t pick ’em up when she got out?”
    “Again, I don’t know. She didn’t talk like they were with her. But we didn’t exactly have a cozy chitchat. I wasn’t happy to see her. She wasn’t happy to see me. She thought she’d be talking to Sam, I reckon.”
    “How many times was she married?” Andy finally plopped down in one of Sam’s folding aluminum chairs. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead.
    “Well. Hmm,” I said. “She was with John Morgan for about ten minutes, but she never counted that. Then Rene Lenier. Then Rick Fowler, then Doak Oakley, then back to Rick. Now you know everything I do, Andy.”
    Andy wasn’t satisfied with that, as I’d known he wouldn’t be. We went over the conversation I’d had with the dead woman, from soup to nuts.
    I gave Sam a despairing glance while Andy was looking down at his notes. My patience was wearing thin. Sam interjected, “Why was Arlene out, anyway, Andy? I thought she’d be in a cell for years!”
    Embarrassment turned Andy’s face even redder than the heat. “She got a good lawyer from somewhere. He filed an appeal and asked she be out on bail before the formal sentencing. He pointed out to the judge that she was a mother, practically a saint, who needed to be with her kids. He said, ‘Oh, no, she didn’t plan to take part in the killing, she didn’t even know it was going to happen.’ He practically cried. Of course Arlene didn’t realize her asshole buddies were planning on killing Sookie. Right.”
    “ My killing,” I said, straightening up. “The killing of me. Just because she didn’t plan on personally hammering in a nail . . .” I stopped and took a deep breath. “Okay, she’s dead. I hope that judge enjoys being all sympathetic now.”
    “You sound pretty angry, Sookie,” Andy said.
    “Of course I am angry,” I snapped. “You would be, too. But I