Dead in the Family

incident. Would Dermot think of me as kin? Were Jason and I fae enough to attract him? I had doubted Bill’s assertion that he felt better from my nearness because of my fairy blood.
    “Claude, can you tell I’m not entirely human? How do I register on the fairy meter?” Fae-dar.
    “If you were in a crowd of humans, I could pick you out blindfolded and say you are my kin,” Claude said without hesitation. “But if you were in the middle of the fae, I would call you human. It’s an elusive scent. Most vamps would think, ‘She smells good,’ and they’d enjoy being close to you. That would be the extent of it. Once they know you have fairy blood, they can attribute that enjoyment to it.”
    So Bill really could be comforted by my little streak of fae, at least now that he knew how to identify it. I got up to rinse off my plate and pour another mugful of coffee, and in passing I grabbed Claude’s empty plate, too. He didn’t thank me.
    “I appreciate your cooking,” I said. “We haven’t talked about how we’ll handle grocery expenses or household items.”
    Claude looked surprised. “I hadn’t thought about it,” he said.
    Well, at least that was honest. “I’ll tell you how Amelia and I did it,” I said, and in a few sentences I laid out the guidelines. Looking a little stunned, Claude agreed.
    I opened the refrigerator. “These two shelves are yours,” I said, “and the rest are mine.”
    “I get it,” he said.
    Somehow I doubted that. Claude sounded like he was simply trying to give the impression that he understood and agreed. There was a good chance we’d have to have this conversation again. When he’d left to go upstairs, I took care of the dishes—after all, he’d cooked—and after I got dressed, I thought I’d read for a while. But I was too restless to concentrate on my book.
    I heard cars coming down the driveway through the woods. I looked out the front window. Two police cars.
    I’d been sure this was coming. But my heart sank down to my toes. Sometimes I hated being right. Whoever had killed Basim had planted his body on my land to implicate me in his death. “Claude,” I called up the stairs. “Get decent, if you’re not. The police are here.”
    Claude, curious as ever, came down the stairs at a trot. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, like me. We went out on the front porch. Bud Dearborn, the sheriff (the regular human sheriff), was in the first car, and Andy Bellefleur and Alcee Beck were in the second. The sheriff and two detectives—I must be a dangerous criminal.
    Bud got out of his car slowly, the way he did most things these days. I knew from his thoughts that Bud was increasingly a victim to arthritis, and he had some doubts about his prostate, too. Bud’s mashed-in face didn’t give any hint about his physical discomfort as he came up to the porch, his heavy belt creaking with the weight of all the things hanging from it.
    “Bud, what’s up?” I asked. “Not that I’m not glad to see you-all.”
    “Sookie, we got an anonymous phone call,” Bud said. “As you know, law enforcement couldn’t solve much without anonymous tips, but I personally don’t respect a person who won’t tell you who they are.”
    I nodded.
    “Who’s your friend?” Andy asked. He looked worn. I’d heard his grandmother, who’d raised him, was on her deathbed. Poor Andy. He’d much rather be there than here. Alcee Beck, the other detective, really didn’t like me. He never had, and his dislike had found a good foundation to settle on—his wife had been attacked by a Were who was trying to get to me. Even though I’d taken the guy out, Alcee was down on me. Maybe he was one of the rare people repulsed by my trace of fairy blood, but more likely, he just didn’t care for me. There was no point in trying to win him over. I gave him a nod, which he did not return.
    “This here is my cousin Claude Crane from Monroe,” I said.
    “How’s he related?” Andy asked. All three of these men knew the skein of blood ties that bound together practically the whole parish.
    “It’s kind of embarrassing,” Claude said. (Nothing would embarrass Claude, but he gave a good imitation.) “I’m from what you call the wrong side of the blanket.”
    For once, I was grateful to Claude for taking that weight. I cast my eyes down as though I couldn’t bear to talk about the shame of it. “Claude and I are trying to get acquainted since we found out we were related,” I