Sookie 10 Dead in the Family (13 page)

None of this was reassuring. The old c-o-r-p-s-e, well, I’d expected that, and I knew who it was. (I spared a moment to wish Eric hadn’t buried Debbie on my property.) And if Bill was the vampire walking through the woods, that was all right. though it did make me worry that he was just roaming around brooding all night instead of trying to build a new life for himself.

The new corpse was a real problem. Basim hadn’t said anything about that. Had someone buried a body on my property in the last two nights, or had Basim simply left it off his list for some reason? I was staring at Heidi while I thought, and she finally raised her eyebrows. “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I appreciate your taking the time.”

“Take care of the little one,” she said, and then she was across the back porch and out the door. I didn’t hear her walk around the house to her car, but I didn’t expect to. Vampires can be mighty quiet. I did hear her engine start up, and she drove away.

Since I knew my thoughts might worry Hunter, I forced myself to think of other things, which was harder than it sounds. I wouldn’t have to do it long; I could tell my little visitor was getting tired. He put up the expected fuss about going to bed, but he didn’t protest as much when I told him he could take a long bath first in the fascinating claw-foot tub. While Hunter splashed and played and made noises, I stayed in the bathroom, looking through a magazine. I made sure he actually cleaned himself in between sinking boats and racing ducks.

I decided we’d skip washing his hair. I figured that would be an ordeal, and Remy hadn’t given me any instructions one way or another on hair washing. I pulled the plug. Hunter really enjoyed the gurgle of the water as it went down the drain. He rescued the ducks before they could drown, which made him a hero. “I am the king of the ducks, Aunt Sookie,” he crowed.

“They need a king,” I said. I knew how stupid ducks were. Gran had kept some for a while. I supervised Hunter’s towel usage and helped him get his pajamas on. I reminded him to use the toilet again, and then he brushed his teeth, not very thoroughly.

Forty-five minutes later, after a story or two, Hunter was in bed. At his request, I left the light in the hall on, and his door was ajar an inch or two.

I found I was exhausted and in no mood to puzzle over Heidi’s revelation. I wasn’t used to tending to a child, though Hunter had been easy to care for, especially for a little guy who was staying with a woman he didn’t know well. I hoped he’d enjoyed talking to me brain-to-brain. I also hoped Heidi hadn’t spooked him too much.

I hadn’t let myself focus on her macabre little biography, but now that Hunter was asleep, I found myself thinking about her story. It was an awful pity that she’d had to return to Nevada during her son’s lifetime. In fact, she now probably looked the same age as her son, Charlie. What had happened to the boy’s father? Why had her maker required her return? When she’d first been turned, vampires hadn’t yet shown themselves to America and the rest of the world. Secrecy had been paramount. I had to agree with Heidi. Coming out of the coffin hadn’t solved all the vamps’ problems, and it had created quite a few new ones.

I would almost rather not have known about the sadness Heidi carried around with her. Naturally, since I was my grandmother’s product, such a wish made me feel guilty. Shouldn’t we always be ready to listen to the sad stories of others? If they want to tell them, aren’t we obliged to listen? Now I felt I had a relationship with Heidi, based on her misery. Is that a real relationship? Was there something sympathetic about me that she liked, something that called this story forth? Or did she routinely tell new acquaintances about her son, Charlie? I could hardly believe that. I figured Hunter’s presence had triggered her confidences.

I knew (though I didn’t want to admit it to myself) that if Heidi remained so distracted by the issue of her junkie son, one night he’d get a visit from someone ruthless. After that, she’d be able to focus her whole attention on the wishes of her employer. I shivered.

Though I didn’t think Victor would hesitate a second to do such a thing, I wondered,
Would—or
could
—Eric?

If I could even ask myself that, I knew the answer was yes.

On the other hand, Charlie made a great hostage to ensure Heidi’s good behavior. As in: “If you don’t spy on Eric, we’ll pay Charlie a visit.” But if that ever changed.

All this Heidi meditation was by way of dodging the more immediate issue. Who was the fresh corpse in my woods, and who had planted it there?

If Hunter hadn’t been there, I would’ve picked up the phone to call Eric. I would’ve asked him to bring a shovel and come to help me dig a body up. That was what a boyfriend should do, right? But I couldn’t leave Hunter alone in the house, and I would’ve felt terrible if I’d asked Eric to go out in the woods by himself, even though I knew he wouldn’t think anything about it. In fact, probably he’d have sent Pam. I sighed. I couldn’t seem to get rid of one problem without acquiring another.

At six in the morning, Hunter climbed onto my bed. “Aunt Sookie!” he said, in what he probably thought was a whisper. Just this once, his using our mind-to-mind communication would have been better. But naturally, he decided to talk out loud.

“Uh-huh?” This had to be a bad dream.

“I had a funny dream last night,” Hunter told me.

“Uh?” Maybe a dream within a dream.

“This tall man came in my room.”

“Did?”

“He had long hair like a lady.”

I pushed up on my elbows and looked at Hunter, who didn’t seem frightened. “Yeah?” I said, which was at least borderline coherent. “What color?”

“Yellow,” Hunter said, after a little thought. I suddenly realized that most five-year-olds might be a little shaky on the identification of colors.

Uh-oh. “So what did he do?” I asked. I struggled to sit all the way up. The sky outside was just getting lighter.

“He just looked at me, and he smiled,” Hunter said. “Then he went in the closet.”

“Wow,” I said inadequately. I couldn’t be sure (until dark, that is), but it sounded very much as though Eric was in the secret hiding place in my closet and dead for the day.

“I gotta go pee,” Hunter said, and slid off my bed to scamper into my bathroom. I heard him flush a minute later, and then he washed his hands—or at least, he turned on the water for a second. I collapsed back onto my pillows, thinking sadly of the hours of sleep I was doomed to lose. By sheer force of will, I got out of bed in my blue nightgown and threw on a robe. I stepped into my slippers, and after Hunter exited my bathroom, I entered it.

A couple of minutes later we were in my kitchen with the lights on. I went directly to the coffeepot, and I found a note propped on it. I recognized the handwriting immediately, and the endorphins flooded my system. Instead of being incredulous that I was up and moving so ungodly early, I felt happy that I was sharing this time with my little cousin. The note, which had been written on one of the pads I keep around for grocery lists, said, “My lover, I came in too close to dawn to wake you, though I was tempted. Your house is full of strange men. A fairy upstairs and a little child downstairs—but as long as there’s not one in my lady’s chamber, I can stand it. I need to talk to you when I rise.” It was signed, in a large scrawl, “ERIC.”

I put the note aside, trying not to worry about Eric’s urgent need to talk to me. I started the coffee to perking, and then I pulled out the griddle and plugged it in. “I hope you like pancakes,” I told Hunter, and his face lit up. He put his orange juice cup down on the table with a happy bang, and juice slopped over the edge. Just as I was about to give him a long look, he jumped up and fetched a paper towel. He took care of the spill with more vigor than attention to detail, but I appreciated the gesture.

“I love pancakes,” he said. “You can make ’em? They don’t come out of the freezer?”

I hid a smile. “Nope. I can make ’em.” It took about five minutes to mix up a batch, and by then the griddle was hot. I put on some bacon first, and Hunter’s expression was ecstatic. “I don’t like it floppy,” he said, and I promised him it would be crisp. That was the way I liked it, too.

“That smells wonderful, Cousin,” said Claude. He was standing in the doorway, his arms spread wide, looking as good as anyone can look that early in the morning. He was wearing a maroon University of Louisiana at Monroe T-shirt and some black workout shorts.

“Who are you?” Hunter asked.

“I’m Sookie’s cousin Claude.”

He has long hair like a lady, too,
Hunter said.

He’s a man, though, just like the other man.
“Claude, this is another cousin of mine, Hunter,” I said. “Remember, I told you he was coming to visit?”

“His mother was—” Claude began, and I shook my head at him.

Claude might have been about to say any number of things. He might have said, “the bisexual” or “the one the albino, Waldo, killed in the cemetery in New Orleans.” These would both have been true, and Hunter needed to hear neither of them.

“So we’re all cousins,” I said. “Were you hinting around that you wanted to eat some breakfast with us, Claude?”

“Yes, I was,” he said gracefully, pouring himself some coffee from the pot without asking me. “If there’s enough for me, too. This young man looks like he could eat a lot of pancakes.”

Hunter was delighted with this idea, and he and Claude began topping each other on the number of pancakes they could consume. I was surprised that Claude was so at ease with Hunter, though the fact that he was charming the child effortlessly was no surprise to me. Claude was a professional at charming.

“Do you live here in Bon Temps, Hunter?” Claude was asking.

“No,” said Hunter, laughing at the absurdity of such an idea. “I live with my daddy.”

Okay, that was enough sharing. I didn’t want anyone supernatural knowing about Hunter, understanding what made him special.

“Claude, would you get out the syrup and the molasses?” I said. “It’s in the pantry over there.”

Claude located the pantry and brought out the Log Cabin and the Brer Rabbit. He even opened both bottles so Hunter could smell them and pick which one he wanted on his pancakes. I got the pancakes on the griddle and made some more coffee, pulling some plates out of the cabinets and showing Hunter where the forks and knives were so he could set the table.

We were a strange little family grouping: two telepaths and a fairy. During our breakfast conversation, I had to keep each male from knowing what the other was, and that was a real challenge. Hunter told me silently that Claude must be a vampire, because he couldn’t hear Claude’s thoughts, and I had to tell Hunter that there were some other people we couldn’t hear, too. I pointed out that Claude couldn’t be a vampire because it was daytime, and vampires couldn’t come out in the daytime.

“There’s a vampire in the closet,” Hunter told Claude. “He can’t come out in the daytime.”

“Which closet would that be?” Claude asked Hunter.

“The one in my room. You want to come see?”

“Hunter,” I said, “the last thing any vampire wants is to be disturbed in the daytime. I’d leave him alone.”

“Your Eric?” Claude asked. He was excited by the idea of Eric being in the house. Damn.

“Yes,” I said. “You know better than to go in there, right? I mean, I don’t have to get tough with you, right?”

He smiled at me. “You, tough with me?” he said, mockingly. “Ha. I’m fae. I am stronger than any human.”

I started to say, “So how come I survived the war between the fae and so many fairies didn’t?” Thank God I didn’t. The minute after, I knew how good it was that I’d choked on those words, because I could see by Claude’s face that he remembered who’d died all too well. I missed Claudine, too, and I told him so.

“You’re sad,” Hunter said accurately. And he was picking up on all this, which shouldn’t be thought of in his hearing.

“Yes, we’re remembering his sister,” I said. “She died and we miss her.”

“Like my mom,” he said. “What’s a fay?”

“Yes, like your mom.” Sort of. Only in the sense that they were both dead. “And a fae is a special person, but we’re not going to talk about that right now.”

It didn’t take a telepath to pick up on Claude’s interest and curiosity, and when he sauntered back down the hall to use the bathroom, I followed him. Sure enough, Claude’s steps slowed and stopped at the open door to the bedroom Hunter had used.

“Keep right on walking,” I said.

“I can’t take a peek? He’ll never know. I’ve heard how handsome he is. Just a peek?”

“No,” I said, knowing I’d better stay in sight of that door until Claude was out of the house. Just a peek, my round rosy ass.

“What about your ass, Aunt Sookie?”

“Oops! Sorry, Hunter. I said a bad word.” Didn’t want Claude to know I’d only thought it. I heard him laughing as he shut the bathroom door.

Claude stayed in the bathroom so long that I had to let Hunter brush his teeth in mine. After I heard the squeak of the stairs and the sound of the television overhead, I was able to relax. I helped Hunter get dressed, and then I got dressed myself and put on some makeup under Hunter’s unwavering attention to the process. Evidently, Kristen had never let Hunter watch what he considered to be a fascinating procedure.

“You should come to live with us, Aunt Sookie,” he said.

Thanks, Hunter, but I like to live here. I have a job.

You can get another one.

“It wouldn’t be the same. This is my house, and I love it here. I don’t want to leave.”

There was a knock on the front door. Could Remy be arriving this early to collect Hunter?

But it was another surprise altogether, an unpleasant one. Special Agent Tom Lattesta stood on the front porch.

Hunter, naturally, had run to the door as fast as he could. Don’t all kids? He hadn’t thought it was his dad, because he didn’t know exactly when Remy was supposed to show up. He just liked to find out who was visiting.

“Hunter,” I said, picking him up, “this is an FBI agent. His name is Tom Lattesta. Can you remember that?”

Hunter looked doubtful. He tried a couple of times to say the unfamiliar name and finally got it right.

“Good job, Hunter!” Lattesta said. He was trying to be friendly, but he wasn’t good with kids and he sounded fake. “Ms. Stackhouse, can I come in for a minute?” I looked behind him. No one else. I thought they always traveled in pairs.

“I guess so,” I said, without enthusiasm. I didn’t explain who Hunter was, because it was none of Lattesta’s business, though I could tell he was curious. He’d also noticed there was another car parked outside.

“Claude,” I called up the stairs. “The FBI is here.” It’s good to inform unexpected company that someone else is in the house with you.

The television fell silent, and Claude came gliding down the stairs. Now he was wearing a golden brown silk T-shirt and khakis, and he looked like a poster for a wet dream. Even Lattesta’s heterosexual orientation wasn’t proof against a surge of startled admiration. “Agent Lattesta, my cousin Claude Crane,” I said, trying not to smile.

Hunter and Claude and I sat on the couch while Lattesta took the La-Z-Boy. I didn’t offer him anything to drink.

“How’s Agent Weiss?” I asked. The New Orleans-based agent had brought Lattesta, based in Rhodes, out to my house last time, and in the course of many terrible events, she’d been shot.

“She’s back at work,” Lattesta said. “Still on a desk job. Mr. Crane, I don’t believe I’ve met you before?”

No one forgot Claude. Of course, my cousin knew that very well. “You haven’t had the pleasure,” he told the FBI man.

Lattesta spent a moment trying to figure that out before he smiled. “Right,” he said. “Listen, Ms. Stackhouse, I came up here today to tell you that you’re no longer a subject for investigation.”

I was stunned with the relief that swept over me. I exchanged glances with Claude. God bless my great-grandfather. I wondered how much he’d spent, how many strings he’d pulled, to make this come true.

“How come?” I asked. “Not that I’m going to miss it, you understand, but I have to wonder what’s changed.”

“You seem to know people who are powerful,” Lattesta said, with an unexpected depth of bitterness. “Someone in our government doesn’t want your name to come up in public.”

“And you flew all the way to Louisiana to tell me that,” I said, putting enough disbelief into my voice to let him know I thought that was bullshit.

“No, I flew all the way down here to go to a hearing about the shooting.”

Okay. That made more sense. “And you didn’t have my phone number? To call me? You had to come here to tell me you weren’t going to investigate me, in person?”

“There’s something wrong about you,” he said, and the façade was gone. It was a relief. Now his outside matched his inside. “Sara Weiss has undergone some kind of. spiritual upheaval since she met you. She goes to séances. She’s reading books about the paranormal. Her husband is worried about her. The bureau is worried about her. Her boss is having doubts about putting her back out in the field.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But I don’t see that there’s anything I can do about it.” I thought for a minute, while Tom Lattesta stared at me with angry eyes. He was thinking angry thoughts, too. “Even if I went to her and told her that I can’t do what she thinks I can do, it wouldn’t help. She believes what she believes. I am what I am.”

“So you admit it.”

Even though I didn’t want the FBI noticing me, that hurt, oddly enough. I wondered if Lattesta was taping our conversation.

“Admit
what
?” I asked. I was genuinely curious to hear what he’d say. The first time he’d been on my doorstep, he’d been a believer. He’d thought I was his key to a quick rise in the bureau.

“Admit you’re not even a human being.”

Aha. He really believed that. I disgusted and repelled him. I had more insight into what Sam was feeling.

“I’ve been watching you, Ms. Stackhouse. I’ve been called off, but if I can tie you in to any investigation that will lead back to you, I’ll do it. You’re
wrong
. I’m leaving now, and I hope you—” He didn’t get a chance to finish.

“Don’t think bad things about my aunt Sookie,” Hunter said furiously. “You’re a
bad man
.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself, but I wished for Hunter’s own sake that he had kept his mouth shut. Lattesta turned white as a sheet.

Claude laughed. “He’s scared of you,” he told Hunter. Claude thought it was a great joke, and I had a feeling he’d known what Hunter was all along.

I thought Lattesta’s grudge might constitute a real danger to me.

“Thanks for coming to give me the good news, Special Agent Lattesta,” I said, in as mild a voice as I could manage. “You have a safe drive back to Baton Rouge, or New Orleans, or wherever you flew in.”

Lattesta was on his feet and out the door before I could say another word, and I handed Hunter to Claude and followed him. Lattesta was down the steps and at his car, fumbling around in his pocket, before he realized I was behind him. He was turning off a pocket recording device. He wheeled around to give me an angry look.