Dead Ever After

murder.
    The judge turned to the district attorney, Eddie Cammack, who never came to Merlotte’s, went to church at Tabernacle Baptist, and raised Maine coon cats. Eddie looked as horrified as if Judge Rosoff were being asked to release Charles Manson.
    “Your honor, Miss Stackhouse is accused of killing a woman who was a friend to her for many years, a woman who was a mother and . . .” Eddie ran out of good things to say about Arlene. “Detective Beck says Miss Stackhouse had solid reasons to want Arlene Fowler dead, and Fowler was found with Miss Stackhouse’s scarf around her neck, behind Miss Stackhouse’s workplace. We don’t believe she should be freed on bail.” I wondered where Alcee Beck was. Then I spotted him. He was glowering at the judge like someone had suggested whipping Barbara Beck on the courthouse lawn. The judge glanced at Alcee’s angry face and then dismissed him from her mind.
    “Has this scarf been proved to be Miss Stackhouse’s?” Judge Rosoff asked.
    “She admits the scarf looks like one she had.”
    “No one saw Miss Stackhouse wearing the scarf recently?”
    “We haven’t found anyone, but . . .”
    “No one saw Miss Stackhouse with the victim around the time of the murder. There’s no compelling physical evidence. I understand Miss Stackhouse has a witness to her whereabouts the night of the murder?”
    “Yes, but . . .”
    “Then bail is granted. In the amount of thirty thousand dollars.”
    Oh, yay! I had that much money, thanks to Claudine’s legacy. But there was that suspicious freeze on the check. Shit. As quickly as my mind ran through these ups and downs, the judge said, “Mr. Khan, you stand surety for this woman?”
    Mustapha Khan rose. Maybe because he resented having to be in a courtroom (he’d had some serious brushes with the law), Mustapha was in full “Blade” mode today: black leather vest and pants (how’d he stand that in the heat?), black T-shirt, dark glasses, shaved head. All he needed was a sword and multiple guns and blades, and since I knew him, I knew those would be somewhere near.
    “My boss does. I’m here to represent his interests, since he’s a vampire and can’t appear in the day.” Mustapha sounded bored.
    “My goodness,” Judge Rosoff said, sounding mildly entertained. “That’s a first. All right, your bail has been set at thirty thousand dollars, Miss Stackhouse. Since your family, home, and business are here and you’ve never lived anywhere else in your life, I think you’re a low flight risk. You seem to have plenty of community ties.” She glanced over the papers in front of her and nodded. All was right and tight with Judge Rosoff. “You are released on bail pending your trial. Jessie, return Miss Stackhouse to the jail and process her out.”
    Of course, I had to wait for everyone else, including the male prisoners, to have their moment in court. I wanted to leap up and run away from that bench where I sat with the other defendants. It was all I could do to refrain from sticking out my tongue at Alcee Beck, who looked like he was going to have a heart attack.
    Andy Bellefleur had come in to stand beside his cousin Terry. Terry whispered in his ear, and I knew he was telling Andy I’d made bail. Andy looked relieved. Terry punched Andy in the arm, and not in a “hey, buddy” kind of way. “I told you so, asshole,” he said audibly.
    “Not my doing,” Andy said, a little too loudly. Judge Rosoff looked pained.
    “Bellefleurs, please remember where you are,” she said, and they both stood at attention, absurdly. The judge had a twitch at the corners of her mouth.
    When all the prisoners had been arraigned, Judge Rosoff nodded and Jessie Schneider and Kenya herded us out into the van. A second later, the parish bus began loading the male prisoners. Finally, we were on our way back to the jail.
    An hour later I was dressed in my own clothes again, walking out into the sun, a free woman. My brother was waiting. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to pay you back when you stood by me when I was in jail,” he said, and I winced. I hadn’t ever pictured that happening myself. “But here I am, picking you up at the hoosegow. How’d you like those toilets?”
    “Oh, I’m thinking of having them put in at the house, to remind me of good times.” Since he was my brother, he ground it in for a couple more minutes. My nickname was now “Jailbird,” and my picture on Facebook had bars drawn over it. And on