From Dead to Worse by Charlaine Harris Page B

dishes in relative peace. I wiped down the counters and whipped the tablecloth off the table and popped it into the washer on the enclosed back porch. I went into my room and read for a while, though I didn’t take in much of what was happening on the page. Finally, I laid the book aside and got a box out of my underwear drawer. This box contained everything I’d retrieved from Hadley’s lockbox. I checked the name on the marriage certificate. On impulse, I called information.
    “I need a listing for a Remy Savoy,” I said.
    “What city?”
    “New Orleans.”
    “That number’s been disconnected.”
    “Try Metairie.”
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Okay, thanks.”
    Of course, a lot of people had moved since Katrina, and a lot of those moves were permanent. People who had fled the hurricane had no reason to come back, in many cases. There was nowhere to live and no job to go to, in all too many cases.
    I wondered how to search for Hadley’s ex-husband.
    A very unwelcome solution crept into my head. Bill Compton was a computer whiz. Maybe he could track down this Remy Savoy, find out where he was now, discover if the child was with him.
    I rolled the idea around in my head like a mouthful of doubtful wine. Given our exchange of the night before at the wedding, I could not imagine myself approaching Bill to ask for a favor, though he’d be the right man for the job.
    A wave of longing for Quinn almost took me to my knees. Quinn was a smart and well-traveled man, and he would surely have a good piece of advice for me. If I ever saw him again.
    I shook myself. I could just hear a car pulling into the parking area by the sidewalk at the front of the house. Tyrese Marley was returning for Cope. I straightened my back and left my room, my smile fixed firmly on my face.
    The front door was open, and Tyrese was standing in it, pretty much filling it up from side to side. He was a big man. Cope was leaning over to give his daughter a peck on the cheek, which she accepted without a hint of a smile. Bob the cat came through the door and sat down beside her. The cat was looking up at Amelia’s father with his wide-eyed stare.
    “You have a cat, Amelia? I thought you hated cats.”
    Bob switched his gaze to Amelia. Nothing can stare like a cat.
    “Dad! That was years ago! This is Bob. He’s great.” Amelia picked up the black-and-white cat and held him to her chest. Bob looked smug and began purring.
    “Hmmm. Well, I’ll be calling you. Please take care. I hate to think about you being up here at the other end of the state.”
    “It’s just a few hours’ ride away,” Amelia said, sounding all of seventeen.
    “True,” he said, trying for rueful but charming. He missed by a foot or two. “Sookie, thanks for the evening,” he called over his daughter’s shoulder.
    Marley had gone to Merlotte’s to see if he could scope out any information on me, I heard clearly from his brain. He’d picked up quite a few odds and ends. He’d talked to Arlene, which was bad, and to our current cook and our busboy, which was good. Plus assorted bar patrons. He’d have a mixed report to convey.
    The moment the car pulled away, Amelia collapsed onto the sofa with relief. “Thank God he’s gone,” she said. “Now do you see what I mean?”
    “Yeah,” I said. I sat beside her. “He’s a mover and a shaker, isn’t he?”
    “Always has been,” she said. “He’s trying to maintain a relationship, but our ideas don’t match.”
    “Your dad loves you.”
    “He does. But he loves power and control, too.”
    That was putting it conservatively.
    “And he doesn’t know you have your own form of power.”
    “No, he doesn’t believe in it at all,” Amelia said. “He’ll tell you he’s a devout Catholic, but that’s not the truth.”
    “In a way, that’s good,” I said. “If he believed in your witch power, he’d try to make you do all kinds of things for him. You wouldn’t want to do some of them, I bet.” I could have