she was expecting to hear a delightful story.
“Through Amelia,” I said, smiling just as happily back at her.
“And you and Amelia met—?”
“In New Orleans,” Amelia said, firmly cutting off that line of questioning.
“Did you want some more iced tea?” Octavia asked Lattesta.
“No, thank you,” he said, almost shuddering. It had been Octavia’s turn to make the tea, and she did have a heavy hand with the sugar. “Ms. Stackhouse, you don’t have any idea how to contact this young man?” He indicated the picture.
I shrugged. “We both helped to look for bodies,” I said. “It was a terrible day. I don’t remember what name he gave.”
“That seems strange,” Lattesta said, and I thought,
Oh, shit
. “Since someone answering your description and a young man answering his description checked into a motel some distance from the explosion that night and shared a room.”
“Well, you don’t have to know someone’s name to spend the night with them,” Amelia said reasonably.
I shrugged and tried to look embarrassed, which wasn’t too hard. I’d rather they think me sexually easy than decide I was worthy of more attention. “We’d shared a horrible, stressful event. Afterward, we felt really close. That’s the way we reacted.” Actually, Barry had collapsed in sleep almost instantly, and I had followed soon afterward. Hanky-panky had been the furthest thing from our minds.
The two agents stared at me doubtfully. Weiss was thinking I was lying for sure, and Lattesta suspected it. He thought I knew Barry very well.
The phone rang, and Amelia hurried to the kitchen to answer it. She came back looking green.
“Sookie, that was Antoine on his cell phone. They need you at the bar,” she said. And then she turned to the FBI agents. “Probably you should go with her.”
“Why?” Weiss asked. “What’s up?” She was already on her feet. Lattesta was stuffing the picture back into his briefcase.
“A body,” Amelia said. “A woman’s been crucified behind the bar.”
Chapter 5
The agents followed me to Merlotte’s. There were five or six
cars parked across the spot where the front parking lot ended and the back parking began, effectively blocking access to the back. But I leaped out of my car and picked a path between them, and the FBI agents were right on my heels.
I had hardly been able to believe it, but it was true. There was a traditional cross erected in the employee parking lot, back by the trees where the gravel gave way to dirt. A body was nailed to it. My eyes scanned it, took in the distorted body, the streaks of dried blood, came back up to the face.
“Oh, no,” I said, and my knees folded.
Antoine, the cook, and D’Eriq, the busboy, were suddenly on either side of me, pulling me up. D’Eriq’s face was tearstained, and Antoine looked grim, but the cook had his head together. He’d been in Iraq and in New Orleans during Katrina. He’d seen things that were worse.
“I’m sorry, Sookie,” he said.
Andy Bellefleur was there, and Sheriff Dearborn. They walked over to me, looking bigger and bulkier in their waterproof quilted coats. Their faces were hard with suppressed shock.
“Sorry about your sister-in-law,” Bud Dearborn said, but I could barely pay attention to the words.
“She was pregnant,” I said. “She was pregnant.” That was all I could think about. I wasn’t amazed that someone would want to kill Crystal, but I was really horrified about the baby.
I took a deep breath and managed to look again. Crystal’s bloody hands were panther paws. The lower part of her legs had changed, too. The effect was even more shocking and grotesque than the crucifixion of a regular human woman and, if possible, more pitiful.
Thoughts raced through my head with no logical sequence. I thought of who needed to know that Crystal had died. Calvin, not only head of her clan but also her uncle. Crystal’s husband, my brother. Why was Crystal left here, of all
“Through Amelia,” I said, smiling just as happily back at her.
“And you and Amelia met—?”
“In New Orleans,” Amelia said, firmly cutting off that line of questioning.
“Did you want some more iced tea?” Octavia asked Lattesta.
“No, thank you,” he said, almost shuddering. It had been Octavia’s turn to make the tea, and she did have a heavy hand with the sugar. “Ms. Stackhouse, you don’t have any idea how to contact this young man?” He indicated the picture.
I shrugged. “We both helped to look for bodies,” I said. “It was a terrible day. I don’t remember what name he gave.”
“That seems strange,” Lattesta said, and I thought,
Oh, shit
. “Since someone answering your description and a young man answering his description checked into a motel some distance from the explosion that night and shared a room.”
“Well, you don’t have to know someone’s name to spend the night with them,” Amelia said reasonably.
I shrugged and tried to look embarrassed, which wasn’t too hard. I’d rather they think me sexually easy than decide I was worthy of more attention. “We’d shared a horrible, stressful event. Afterward, we felt really close. That’s the way we reacted.” Actually, Barry had collapsed in sleep almost instantly, and I had followed soon afterward. Hanky-panky had been the furthest thing from our minds.
The two agents stared at me doubtfully. Weiss was thinking I was lying for sure, and Lattesta suspected it. He thought I knew Barry very well.
The phone rang, and Amelia hurried to the kitchen to answer it. She came back looking green.
“Sookie, that was Antoine on his cell phone. They need you at the bar,” she said. And then she turned to the FBI agents. “Probably you should go with her.”
“Why?” Weiss asked. “What’s up?” She was already on her feet. Lattesta was stuffing the picture back into his briefcase.
“A body,” Amelia said. “A woman’s been crucified behind the bar.”
Chapter 5
The agents followed me to Merlotte’s. There were five or six
cars parked across the spot where the front parking lot ended and the back parking began, effectively blocking access to the back. But I leaped out of my car and picked a path between them, and the FBI agents were right on my heels.
I had hardly been able to believe it, but it was true. There was a traditional cross erected in the employee parking lot, back by the trees where the gravel gave way to dirt. A body was nailed to it. My eyes scanned it, took in the distorted body, the streaks of dried blood, came back up to the face.
“Oh, no,” I said, and my knees folded.
Antoine, the cook, and D’Eriq, the busboy, were suddenly on either side of me, pulling me up. D’Eriq’s face was tearstained, and Antoine looked grim, but the cook had his head together. He’d been in Iraq and in New Orleans during Katrina. He’d seen things that were worse.
“I’m sorry, Sookie,” he said.
Andy Bellefleur was there, and Sheriff Dearborn. They walked over to me, looking bigger and bulkier in their waterproof quilted coats. Their faces were hard with suppressed shock.
“Sorry about your sister-in-law,” Bud Dearborn said, but I could barely pay attention to the words.
“She was pregnant,” I said. “She was pregnant.” That was all I could think about. I wasn’t amazed that someone would want to kill Crystal, but I was really horrified about the baby.
I took a deep breath and managed to look again. Crystal’s bloody hands were panther paws. The lower part of her legs had changed, too. The effect was even more shocking and grotesque than the crucifixion of a regular human woman and, if possible, more pitiful.
Thoughts raced through my head with no logical sequence. I thought of who needed to know that Crystal had died. Calvin, not only head of her clan but also her uncle. Crystal’s husband, my brother. Why was Crystal left here, of all
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