Dead Ever After

the sun was mercilessly showing every line in her face and every deficiency in the cheap hair dye she’d applied in the jail bathroom.
    “Don’t you recognize me? We met at the hearing.” The medium man’s voice was almost gentle. He took off his dark glasses, and a chime of recognition sounded in her brain.
    “You’re the lawyer, the one that got me out,” she said, smiling. “I don’t know why you did that, but I owe you. I sure didn’t need to be in jail. I want to see my children.”
    “And you will,” he said. “Please, please.” He opened the rear door of the car and gestured for her to get in. “I’m sorry. I should have addressed you as Mrs. Fowler.”
    She was glad to climb inside, grateful to sink back onto the cushioned seat, delighted to revel in the cold air. This was the most physical comfort she’d had in many months. You didn’t appreciate soft seats and courtesy (or good mattresses and thick towels) until you didn’t have them.
    “I been Mrs. a few times. And I been Miss, too,” she said. “I don’t care what you call me. This is a great car.”
    “I’m glad you like it,” said the driver, a tall man with graying hair clipped very short. He turned to look over the seat at the red-haired woman, and he smiled at her. He took off his own dark glasses.
    “Oh my God,” she said, in an entirely different tone. “It’s you! Really! In the flesh. I thought you was in jail. But you’re here.” She was both awed and confused.
    “Yes, Sister,” he said. “I understand what a devoted follower you were and how you proved your worth. And now I’ve said thank you by getting you out of jail, where you in no way deserved to be.”
    She looked away. In her heart, she knew her sins and crimes. But it was balm to her self-regard to hear that such an esteemed man—someone she’d seen on television!—thought she was a good woman. “So that’s why you put up all that money for my bail? That was a hell of a lot of cash, mister. More money than I’d ever earn in my life.”
    “I want to be as staunch an advocate for you as you were for me,” the tall man said smoothly. “Besides, we know you’re not going to run.” He smiled at her, and Arlene thought about how fortunate she was. That someone would put up over a hundred thousand dollars for her bail seemed incredible. In fact, suspicious. But , Arlene figured, so far so good.
    “We’re taking you home to Bon Temps,” said the medium man. “You can see your children, little Lisa and little Coby.”
    The way he said her kids’ names made her feel uneasy. “They ain’t so little anymore,” she said, to drown out that flicker of doubt. “But I sure as he . . . sure want to lay eyes on them. I missed them every day I was inside.”
    “In return, there are a few little things we want you to do for us, if you will,” the medium man said. There was definitely a slight foreign cadence to his English.
    Arlene Fowler knew instinctively that those few things would not really be little, and definitely not optional. Looking at the two men, she didn’t sense they were interested in something she might not have minded giving up, like her body. They didn’t want her to iron their sheets or polish their silver, either. She felt more comfortable now that the cards were spread out on the table and about to be flipped over. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Like what?”
    “I really don’t think you’ll mind when you hear,” said the driver. “I truly don’t.”
    “All you have to do,” said the medium man, “is have a conversation with Sookie Stackhouse.”
    There was a long silence. Arlene Fowler looked back and forth at the two men, measuring and calculating. “You going to get me put back in jail if I won’t?” she said.
    “Since we got you out on bail pending your trial, I guess we could make that happen,” said the tall driver mildly. “But I would certainly hate to do that. Wouldn’t you?” he asked his companion.
    The medium man shook his head from side to side. “That would be a great pity. The little children would be so sad. Are you afraid of Miss Stackhouse?”
    There was silence while Arlene Fowler wrestled with the truth. “I’m the last person in the world Sookie’d want to see,” she hedged. “She blames me for that whole day, the day . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    “The day all those people got shot,” the medium man said pleasantly. “Including you. But I know her slightly, and I think she’ll