From Dead to Worse

I’m wiped out.
    “That’s what he’s been doing?” Copley did a good job of looking astonished. I wasn’t sure if it was genuine or not. “Well, how enterprising of Marley.”
    Amelia was smiling and trying not to let her dad notice it. “Okay, then we’re settled,” she said briskly. “Dad, can I fix you a sandwich or soup? We have some chips or some potato salad.”
    “Sounds good,” he said, since he was still trying to be just plain folks.
    “Marley and I have already eaten,” I said casually, and added, “I need to run to town, Amelia. You need anything?”
    “I could use some stamps,” she said. “You going by the post office?”
    I shrugged. “It’s on the way. Bye, Mr. Carmichael.”
    “Call me Cope, please, Sookie.”
    I’d just known he was going to say that. Next he was going to try being courtly. Sure enough, he smiled at me with exactly the right blend of admiration and respect.
    I got my purse and headed out the back door. Marley was still working on the woodpile in his shirtsleeves. I hoped that had been his very own idea. I hoped he got a raise.
    I didn’t really have anything to do in town. But I had wanted to dodge any further conversation with Amelia’s dad. I stopped by the store and got some more paper towels, bread, and tuna, and I stopped by the Sonic and got an Oreo Blast. Oh, I was a bad girl, no doubt about it. I was sitting in my car working on the Blast when I spied an interesting couple two cars away. They hadn’t noticed me, apparently, because Tanya and Arlene were talking steadily. The two were in Tanya’s Mustang. Arlene’s hair was newly colored, so it was flaming red to the roots, caught up at the back in a banana clip. My former friend was wearing a tiger-print knit top, all I could see of her ensemble. Tanya was wearing a pretty lime green blouse and a dark brown sweater. And she was listening intently.
    I tried to believe they were talking about something other than me. I mean, I try not to be too paranoid. But when you see your ex-buddy talking to your known enemy, you have to at least entertain the possibility that the topic of you has come up in an unflattering way.
    It wasn’t so much that they didn’t like me. I’ve known people all my life who didn’t like me. I’ve known exactly why and how much they didn’t like me. That’s really unpleasant, as you can well imagine. What bothered me was that I thought Arlene and Tanya were moving into the realm of actually doing something to me.
    I wondered what I could find out. If I moved closer, they’d definitely notice me, but I wasn’t sure I could “hear” them from where I was. I bent over like I was fiddling with my CD player, and I focused on them. I tried to mentally skip over or plow through the people in the intervening cars to reach them, which wasn’t an easy task.
    Finally, the familiar pattern of Arlene helped me to home in. The first impression I got was one of pleasure. Arlene was enjoying herself immensely, since she had the undivided attention of a fairly new audience and she was getting to talk about her new boyfriend’s convictions about the need to kill all vampires and maybe people who collaborated with them. Arlene had no hard convictions that she’d formed for herself, but she was great at adopting other people’s if they suited her emotionally.
    When Tanya had an especially strong surge of exasperation, I zoomed in on her thought pattern. I was in. I remained in my half-concealed position, my hand moving every now and then over the CDs in my little car folder, while I tried to pick out everything I could.
    Tanya was still in the pay of the Pelts: Sandra Pelt, specifically. And gradually I came to understand that Tanya had been sent here to do anything she could to make me miserable.
    Sandra Pelt was the sister of Debbie Pelt, whom I’d shot to death in my kitchen. (After she’d tried to kill me. Several times. Let me point that out.)
    Dammit. I was sick to death of the issue of Debbie Pelt. The woman had been a bane to me alive. She had been as malicious and vindictive as her little sister, Sandra. I’d suffered over her death, felt guilty, felt remorseful, felt like I had a huge C for “Cain” on my forehead. Killing a vampire is bad enough, but the corpse goes away and they’re sort of . . . erased. Killing another human being changes you forever.
    That’s how it ought to be.
    But it’s possible to grow sick of that feeling, tired of that albatross around