Dead Ever After (Sookie Stackhouse #13)(65)
Author: Charlaine Harris

He had the unenviable job of opening the hole.

The tension got worse and worse as he figured out how to lift the floor of the closet. Then he swung it up and looked inside the hidey-hole.

"Well, shit," Sam said. "Sookie, come see."

I slowly made my way over to the open closet door. I looked down over Sam’s shoulder. Copley Carmichael was there, securely bound and gagged. He glared up at us.

"Close it up, please," I said, and walked out of the room slowly.

I’d imagined spending a day or two relaxing and recuperating, reading in bed with maybe a foray into the living room to watch television or to try to learn how to play computer games. There was plenty of food in the refrigerator since I’d so recently stocked up for my houseguests. I would not have anything more to worry about than getting well and who was working in my place at the bar.

"But no," I said out loud. "Unh-uh. Not gonna happen."

"Are you feeling sorry for yourself?" Sam asked. "Come on, Sook, if we’re not pulling him out, let me help you climb into bed."

But I sat down in the chair in the corner of my room. "Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself. And I may whine a little. What’s it to you?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, with a suspicion of a smile. "I’m all for a good sulk every now and then."

"I’m just supposing that Mr. Cataliades or Diantha thought this would be a good after-birthday present for me, if they’re responsible," I said. "I wonder what they’re doing for their follow-up. Maybe they’ll wash my car. I wish they’d call. I’m kind of worried about Barry." In case it wasn’t obvious, the pain pill was beginning to work.

"Have you checked your cell phone or your answering machine?" Sam asked.

"Well, no, kind of busy getting shot and going to the hospital," I said, my self-pity deflated by Sam’s practical suggestion. After a moment, I asked Sam if he’d bring me my purse from the kitchen.

I had all kinds of voice mail: Tara, India, Beth Osiecki, the bank, and, weirdly, Pam, who only said she needed to have a word with me. I subdued my curiosity and continued going down the list. Yes, here was a call from Mr. Cataliades.

"Sookie," he said in his rich voice. "When we returned and found you had been shot, we knew we had to search farther afield. Copley Carmichael has vanished, but we are on the trail of other game. I truly think you take the prize for having more people wanting to kill you than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m only trying to get to them first. But it’s fun, in a way."

"Right," I muttered. "I arranged all this so you’d have a good time. Sounds like Mr. C and Diantha didn’t know Copley was in my house all today."

"Text him and then move over," Sam said. "You’re in the middle of the bed. Pick a side."

"What?"

"I need to take a nap. Move over."

I blinked. "Presuming? Much?"

"If someone comes to get him out of the hole, wouldn’t you rather have me in here beside you?"

"I’d rather have you out on the porch with a rifle," I muttered, but I moved over a little.

"Doors are locked," Sam said. His eyes closed the second he lay down. And within two minutes, he was asleep. I could tell by his breathing and his brain waves.

Well, damn. I was in bed with Sam Merlotte, and we were both going to sleep.

When I woke up, it was daytime again. I heard someone moving around the house. I didn’t open my eyes. Instead, I reached out with my other sense, the sense that Mr. Cataliades had given me. Tara was here, but I couldn’t sense Amelia’s dad, so I assumed his soullessness was really acting as a mask. Apparently, not having a soul nullified you as a person.

Tara came in, wearing her new shorts. "Hey, sleepyhead," she said. "I was just going to come wake you up. Sam had to go do some paperwork, so he asked me if I could come over to stay for a few minutes. He said you’d started tossing and turning." She tried very hard not to stare significantly at the dent in the pillow beside me.

"Hey, sleeping was all that went on," I told her.

"With the vamp gone, the door’s wide open," she said innocently. "Nobody to say nothing about how you spend your time. You’re a free woman."

"I’m just saying, that’s premature." I gave her a no-nonsense look.

"All righty. If that’s the way you want to play it."

I gritted my teeth. "I’m not playing it. That’s the way it is. I’m still working through some stuff."

Tara looked at me blandly. "Sure, that’s real smart. You need to get up and have some sausage-and-egg biscuits. My mother-in-law says it’ll build your blood back up."

"Sounds good to me," I said. Suddenly, I was hungry.

While I ate, she showed me a few dozen pictures of the twins and talked about the babysitter she’d just hired, Quiana something. "She’s like me, she’s got a bad past," Tara said. "We’re going to get along fine. Listen, I know Sam’s handy, and since you and him are so tight, maybe you can help us? We’re going to plan how to make the baby’s room bigger. We sure can’t afford to move."

"Sure, after my shoulder gets better. Just name the day," I said. It was nice to think about the future. A home-improvement project sounded both wholesome and normal.

Tara got restless after ten minutes, and I could tell she was thinking about getting back to the twins. There was a suspicious damp spot on the front of her blouse. I hurried her off with sincere thanks for the meal, and after she was gone, I got dressed, which took time and a surprising amount of energy. I also put my phone on its charger and began returning calls. I tried very hard to forget there was a bound man in my closet, and I tried not to imagine how many hours he’d been there without access to a bathroom. I had no sympathy for Copley Carmichael, and more practically, I couldn’t even imagine how I could get him to a toilet without endangering myself.

Calling Andy Bellefleur flitted across my mind for maybe half a second. I could just see myself trying to explain that I really hadn’t known my friend’s dad was tied up and a prisoner in my home. Even I could hardly believe it, and I knew it was true. I would not go back to jail for anything. Anything.

So, for the time being, there Copley Carmichael would have to stay, even if he peed all over himself.

Chapter 19

A HOUSE IN A BON TEMPS SUBURB

the same day

"You’re friends of Sookie Stackhouse’s?" Alcee Beck stood in his doorway, eyeing his visitors with deep suspicion. He’d heard about the girl; everyone in Bon Temps who’d been in Merlotte’s had talked about the girl. Platinum hair, bizarre ensemble, talked in a foreign language. Her companion was not as weird to the eyes, but something about him set off an alarm in Alcee Beck’s head, and Alcee was never one to ignore such an alarm. It was how he’d stayed alive in the air force. It was how he’d stayed alive when he’d come home.