Dead to the World

what I was seeing . . .”
    Though I couldn’t read Alcide’s thoughts clearly, I could understand that he was thinking that Adabelle had managed to take down one of her attackers. And when the rest of the group was getting away, they hadn’t taken all the appropriate bits with them.
    “And you’re from Bon Temps, Miss Stackhouse,” the detective said, almost idly.
    “Yes, sir,” I said, with a gasp. I was trying not to picture Adabelle Yancy’s last moments.
    “Where you work there?”
    “Merlotte’s Bar and Grill,” I said. “I wait tables.”
    While he registered the difference in social status between me and Alcide, I closed my eyes and laid my head against Alcide’s warm chest. Detective Coughlin was wondering if I was pregnant; if Alcide’s dad, a well-known and well-to-do figure in Shreveport, would approve of such a marriage. He could see why I’d want an expensive wedding dress, if I were marrying a Herveaux.
    “You don’t have an engagement ring, Miss Stackhouse?”
    “We don’t plan on a long engagement,” Alcide said. I could hear his voice rumbling in his chest. “She’ll get her diamond the day we marry.”
    “You’re so bad,” I said fondly, punching him in the ribs as hard as I could without being obvious.
    “Ouch,” he said in protest.
    Somehow this bit of byplay convinced Detective Coughlin that we were really engaged. He took down our phone numbers and addresses, then told us we could leave. Alcide was as relieved as I was.
    We drove to the nearest place where we could pull over in privacy—a little park that was largely deserted in the cold weather—and Alcide called Colonel Flood again. I waited in the truck while Alcide, pacing in the dead grass, gesticulated and raised his voice, venting some of his horror and anger. I’d been able to feel it building up in him. Alcide had trouble articulating emotions, like lots of guys. It made him seem more familiar and dear.
    Dear? I’d better stop thinking like that. The engagement had been drummed up strictly for Detective Coughlin’s benefit. If Alcide was anyone’s “dear,” it was the perfidious Debbie’s.
    When Alcide climbed back into the pickup, he was scowling.
    “I guess I better go back to the office and take you to your car,” he said. “I’m sorry about all this.”
    “I guess I should be saying that.”
    “This is a situation neither of us created,” he said firmly. “Neither of us would be involved if we could help it.”
    “That’s the God’s truth.” After a minute of thinking of the complicated supernatural world, I asked Alcide what Colonel Flood’s plan was.
    “We’ll take care of it,” Alcide said. “I’m sorry, Sook, I can’t tell you what we’re going to do.”
    “Are you going to be in danger?” I asked, because I just couldn’t help it.
    We’d gotten to the Herveaux building by then, and Alcide parked his truck by my old car. He turned a little to face me, and he reached over to take my hand. “I’m gonna be fine. Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I’ll call you.”
    “Don’t forget to do that,” I said. “And I have to tell you what the witches did about trying to find Eric.” I hadn’t told Alcide about the posted pictures, the reward. He frowned even harder when he thought about the cleverness of this ploy.
    “Debbie was supposed to drive over this afternoon, get here about six,” he said. He looked at his watch. “Too late to stop her coming.”
    “If you’re planning a big raid, she could help,” I said.
    He gave me a sharp look. Like a pointed stick he wanted to poke in my eye. “She’s a shifter, not a Were,” he reminded me defensively.
    Maybe she turned into a weasel or a rat.
    “Of course,” I said seriously. I literally bit my tongue so I wouldn’t make any of the remarks that waited just inside my mouth, dying to be spoken. “Alcide, do you think the other body was Adabelle’s girlfriend? Someone who just got caught at the shop with Adabelle when the witches came calling?”
    “Since a lot of the second body was missing, I hope that the body was one of the witches. I hope Adabelle went down fighting.”
    “I hope so, too.” I nodded, putting an end to that train of thought. “I’d better get back to Bon Temps. Eric will be waking up soon. Don’t forget to tell your dad that we’re engaged.”
    His expression provided the only fun I’d had all day.

Chapter  6
    I THOUGHT ALL THE WAY HOME ABOUT MY DAY IN Shreveport. I’d asked