Definitely Dead

smugness out of my voice.
    There was another silence. Then Pam snickered. “Oh, that’s rich,” she said, abruptly switching to American vernacular. “Oh, I’m going to love telling him that.”
    Her reaction made me begin to feel uneasy. “Um, Pam,” I began, wondering if I should backpedal, “listen . . .”
    “Oh, no,” she said, almost laughing out loud, which was very un-Pam-like.
    “You tell him I did say thanks for the calendar proofs,” I said. Eric, always thinking of ways to make Fangtasia more lucrative, had come up with a vampire calendar to sell in the little gift shop. Eric himself was Mr. January. He’d posed with a bed and a long white fur robe. Eric and the bed were set against a pale gray background hung with giant glittering snowflakes. He wasn’t wearing the robe: oh, no. He wasn’t wearing anything. He had one bent knee on the rumpled bed, and the other foot was on the floor, and he was looking directly at the camera, smoldering. (He could have taught Claude a few lessons.) Eric’s blond hair fell in a tousled mane around his shoulders, and his right hand gripped the robe tossed on the bed, so the white fur rose just high enough to cover his kit ’n’ kaboodle. His body was turned just slightly to flaunt the curve of his world-class butt. A light trail of dark blond hair pointed south of his navel. It practically screamed, “Carrying concealed!”
    I happened to know that Eric’s pistol was more of a .357 Magnum than a snub-nose.
    Somehow I’d never gotten past looking at January.
    “Oh, I’ll let him know,” Pam said. “Eric said many people wouldn’t like it if I were in the calendar made for women . . . so I’m in the one for men. Would you like me to send you a copy of my picture, as well?”
    “That surprises me,” I told her. “It really does. I mean, that you wouldn’t mind posing.” I had a hard time imagining her participation in a project that would pander to human tastes.
    “Eric tells me to pose, I pose,” she said matter-of-factly. Though Eric had considerable power over Pam since he was her maker, I have to say that I’d never known Eric to ask Pam to do anything she wasn’t ready to do. Either he knew her well (which, of course, he did) or Pam was willing to do just about anything.
    “I have a whip in my picture,” Pam said. “The photographer says it’ll sell a million.” Pam had wide-ranging tastes in the area of sex.
    After a long moment while I contemplated the mental image that raised, I said, “I’m sure it will, Pam. But I’ll give it a pass.”
    “We’ll all get a percentage, all of us who agreed to pose.”
    “But Eric will get a bigger percentage than the rest.”
    “Well, he’s the sheriff,” Pam said reasonably.
    “Right. Well, bye.” I started to hang up.
    “Wait, what am I to tell Eric?”
    “Just tell him the truth.”
    “You know he’ll be angry.” Pam didn’t sound at all scared. In fact, she sounded gleeful.
    “Well, that’s his problem,” I said, maybe a bit childishly, and this time I did hang up. An angry Eric would surely be my problem, too.
    I had a nasty feeling I’d taken a serious step in denying Eric. I had no idea what would happen now. When I’d first gotten to know the sheriff of Area Five, I’d been dating Bill. Eric had wanted to use my unusual talent. He’d simply held hurting Bill over my head to get me to comply. When I’d broken up with Bill, Eric had lacked any means of coercion until I’d needed a favor from him, and then I’d supplied Eric with the most potent ammunition of all—the knowledge that I’d shot Debbie Pelt. It didn’t matter that he’d hidden her body and her car and he couldn’t himself remember where; the accusation would be enough to ruin the rest of my life, even if it was never proved. Even if I could bring myself to deny it.
    As I carried out my duties in the bar the rest of that night, I found myself wondering if Eric really would reveal my secret. If Eric told the police what I’d done, he’d have to admit he’d had a part in it, wouldn’t he?
    I was waylaid by Detective Andy Bellefleur when I was on my way to the bar. I’ve known Andy and his sister Portia all my life. They’re a few years older than me, but we’d been through the same schools, grown up in the same town. Like me, they’d been largely raised by their grandmother. The detective and I have had our ups and downs. Andy had been dating a young schoolteacher, Halleigh Robinson, for