Dead But Not Forgotten (31 page)

“Hi, Daddy,” Em said, as stiff and cold as any corpse.

He blinked. “God, I thought you were your mother.”

“You're not going where she is,” Em snapped.

Alcide looked around the room. There were delivery boxes with canned goods and a box of fresh kitty litter. Beside the bed, the litter box was clean and there was dry cat food in a clean white porcelain dish and a matching bowl of water. Someone had been doing for him, or had been up until very recently. Maybe he'd been able to order things on a computer, take in the deliveries himself. All Alcide knew was that folks were talking in town that he was dying. He didn't know how they knew. But the gossip had put him in mind of Em.

And that had sent him to Dale's bar three nights in a row.

“Someone got you,” Em said, and Alcide heard the hurt and the fury. “Blackmailed you or cheated you. Beat you at your own game and took you down.”

“You look like hell,” he replied, looking her up and down with a strange, clouded smirk. “No one took me down. I went there on my own accord.”

Then he cocked his head at Alcide and said, “It was me in the woods that night, Herveaux. Me and a packmate of yours. Jeraud.” He crooked a smile. “Told me he'd tell Boyd Lescaux all about you and my Em unless I paid. And paid. And paid. Left me enough to get by on, but in this country, you get sick, you may as well shoot yourself as find the money for the medical bills.”

Em's eyes were enormous, her brows raised, mouth slack. She stared at her father without moving a muscle, as if she had been turned to stone merely by looking at him.

“So, it's all gone, and I did it for you.” He regarded her, and his expression did not soften. “I saw you run out of that fire. I knew you'd made it.”

Alcide blinked.
“And you never told me?”

The old man choked out a rheumy laugh and fell to coughing. “I never did,” he said evilly. “I let you twist in the wind, you goddamned freak.”

Em swayed and Alcide put his arm around her to keep her from falling down. The night he'd shifted had been a life-changing shock for her. Here were two more, one for each of them.

If I had known,
he thought. But would he have followed her? He'd been afraid to tell his father about the confession. Such a coward. Would he have risked everything to go after Em?

I would have.

“I'm a bad man,” her father said. “A wife beater and a murderer. I know I lost my temper around you, Em, and you deserved better than me. And I let you go too easy. But . . .” He coughed again. “I let you go.”

Alcide watched years of torment move across her face. They didn't leave. When you went through life the way she had, you kept all your belongings that you could manage to hold on to. Here was more weight for her to carry: more terrible secrets. Misguided love.

Maybe. Maybe it was love.

He thought about the bloody pieces of the confession. He wondered what she would do now.

The kitten hopped off Zachary's recliner and cautiously approached. It looked up at Alcide and fell over its own feet as it zigzagged to the cat food and began to nibble.

I would have gone to her,
Alcide thought again.
Left my pack, everything.
He closed his eyes tightly. He was shaking.

“Will you come to see me before I die?” Em's daddy asked. His voice was papery; he wouldn't last long.

Alcide waited for her answer. He saw the pretty girl in the rosebud-pink dress, curly blond hair running all down her shoulders like a waterfall. He clenched his hands, waiting for that girl to show herself again, after all these years of hiding inside another skin.

“Come to see you?” she repeated. Then she smiled bitterly. “I just did.”

He spared you,
Alcide thought.

But for the first time since she had walked into that bar, Emmaline Ravel walked straight and proud, right out of her father's life.

Into something better,
chère, he thought, as he caught up with her.

Into your
own
life.

They drove back to the motel, and this time, she stopped him at the door. She rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, reached up on tiptoe, and kissed him softly.

“Thank you, Alcide,” she said as she opened the door. When he swallowed hard, she cupped his chin. “I won't be back.”

He moved her hand and pressed it over his heart.
You never left,
he thought, but did not say.
Never, Em.

As if he had spoken aloud, she said, “I know.”

Then she smiled, and she was
there
, he saw her, he did, really, and life was about to unfold before her. When you're eighteen, there's a magic carpet that flies you to the moon on the first night of the rest of your undiscovered life.

He smiled back. For a moment, she hovered. And then very gently, very gracefully, she shut the door.

MIRANDA JAMES

My friend Miranda James has always admired Claude Crane, fairy and stripper, first introduced in the story “Fairy Dust.” Miranda's story takes place a couple of weeks after the events in “Fairy Dust.” On a rainy night in Monroe, Louisiana, Claude's cousin Seamus O'Flaherty disappears not long before he's due onstage at Hooligans. Claude and Claudine have to work fast to uncover the truth about his disappearance—and possible murder.

—

Only the killer heard the fairy scream in agony when he died.

Rain pounded the roof at Hooligans while the sparse crowd at the front of the house whooped it up. Thanks to the threat of widespread flooding, only six women had straggled in for Ladies' Night. Claude Crane focused on finishing his routine. The lustful gazes of half a dozen rowdy women were better than no attention at all, though he was used to hearing the roar of a frenzied crowd.

Claude paused at the edge of the stage to allow groping hands to stuff money in his thong. He graced the woman who brandished a twenty with a slow smile that promised hours of wicked pleasures. When she tucked the bill into the thong, he wiggled his ass and she screamed ecstatically. He smiled and moved lithely backward, bowed, and slipped quickly from the stage.

Barry Barber was up next, and then Seamus O'Flaherty would join Claude for one final number. Barry's music started, and he strutted onstage in his cop gear. The women were already chanting, “Take it off.”

Claude padded off to the men's dressing room to change. He was glad to find the space empty. His cousin Seamus usually lingered there, admiring himself in the mirror and waiting to chat. He was considering having his ears surgically altered the way Claude had done, but he couldn't seem to make a decision. Instead he kept pestering Claude at every opportunity with one question after another.

Relieved to be spared yet another inquisition, Claude put away his cowboy outfit and pulled out the pirate gear he wore in the finale. He dressed quickly and brushed his long, dark hair before wrapping a brightly colored scarf around his head. He stopped to admire his ears. No one looking at them would ever suspect he was a fairy and not human. He clipped a large gold hoop to his left ear and watched it dangle. He stared at his reflection in approval. He was far better-looking than the blond Seamus, even though Seamus was taller and slightly better built.

He passed by the office on his way back to the stage. Claudine sat behind the desk, staring at a computer screen as she prepared for a meeting. The club's female strippers were there to discuss some grievance, and that was Claudine's responsibility. When they took over the club from its previous owner, Rita Child, they'd decided Claudine would handle personnel matters, and Claude would oversee the artistic side of things. If necessary Claudine could use a little magic to settle any problems and keep the women happy and eager to continue working at Hooligans.

Thoughts of Rita irritated him. She hadn't surrendered the club willingly, but that was part of the bargain they had made with her. The other part of the bargain—well, they still had plenty of time to track her down and settle unfinished business.

Claude paused just offstage and glanced around, trying to locate Seamus while Barry strutted one more time around the stage. He spotted Jeff Puckett, his former boyfriend and the club's bouncer, near the front of the house. Jeff stood chatting with a big bear of a guy named Marlon Eccles, who was dating Velva Gillon, one of the female strippers. The trio of dancers occupied a table nearby, sipping at drinks while they watched Barry perform. Claude supposed they wanted to see the show before they tackled Claudine.

He felt another presence near him. He made a quarter turn to his right. Seamus stood there, his expression a sorrowful smile.

“Why aren't you in costume?” Claude snapped. “Barry's almost done, and we have to go on next.” Sometimes, he thought, Seamus didn't take his job seriously. He seemed to think the twins, as his closest relatives, should overlook his lack of dedication.

“I will not dance tonight,” Seamus said. “I came to bid you farewell,
mo chol ceathrair
, for I am now dead.
Slán.
”

The image faded.

Stunned, Claude wondered when it had happened. He had seen Seamus about an hour before when he first arrived at Hooligans but not since. Fairies rarely died of natural causes, except extreme old age. Surely if Seamus had been ill he would have told them.

Claude realized with a start that Barry was coming offstage. The music for his number with Seamus would start in a few seconds.

Barry glanced around. “Where's Seamus? Aren't you two doing the finale together?”

“Not tonight.” Claude had to think fast. He had to do this number, or the audience would get restless, but he also needed to speak to Claudine as quickly as possible. “Go tell Claudine I have to talk to her the moment I finish onstage.”

Barry started to protest, but one look at Claude's expression warned him to shut up and do as he was told. He scurried off.

The music started, and Claude began to dance. The women might wonder why he was alone onstage, but they would be satisfied with a solo once he used his magic to charm them into forgetting that there was supposed to be another man with him. Instead he convinced them he was the only man they wanted to see as he moved seductively through the routine. Their eyes never left him, and the noise rolled around him.

At the end he collected multiple bills from each of the six, including another twenty from the woman who had given him one earlier. He made his bows as the lights dimmed, and he slipped off the stage when the bartender switched the sound system to automated music.

Claudine was waiting for him in the hallway door. “What do you need me for so urgently?”

“Seamus is dead.” Claude clutched his costume to his chest. “He appeared to me while Barry was dancing.”

“I spoke to him about an hour ago.” Claudine frowned. “He was not ill that I could tell. He would have complained and wanted special attention like a child does. What could have happened to him?”

“Perhaps someone killed him.” Claude was thinking of their sister Claudette's murder only a few weeks before. He motioned for his twin to accompany him. “Perhaps we should retrieve Sookie and have her read minds again to discover who is responsible.”

Claudine followed him into the dressing room. “I doubt we can. The water is rising all over Monroe, and everyone is going to be stuck here overnight as it is.”

“She was useful when we had to find out who murdered Claudette.” Claude quickly dressed in his regular clothes. “But we are every bit as intelligent as a human, even if we cannot read their minds. We can handle this ourselves.” He thought of all those television cop shows Jeff liked and that he had watched to please his boyfriend. Surely he could recall enough of the cops' techniques to finger the perp in this case. He felt pleased that he recalled the jargon.

“I suppose.” Claudine regarded him pensively. “Where should we start?”

“With Jeff,” Claude said after a moment's thought. “You get him, and I'll wait in the office.”

A couple of minutes later Jeff entered the office, with Claudine on his heels. Jeff smiled tentatively at Claude but sat obediently when Claude pointed to a chair. Once again, Claude thought about restarting his relationship with the tall, muscular bouncer. His late sister had interfered when they dated before—she'd insisted that Claude should find a more worthy lover.

“What's up?” Jeff glanced back and forth between the twins who now stood before him. His narrow hazel eyes focused on Claude, who easily read the yearning in them. Jeff had frequently told Claude how gorgeous he was. Maybe Claudette had been wrong. He would have to think about that later.

Claudine spoke first, her tone sharp. “Have you seen Seamus tonight?”

Jeff stared at her blankly for a moment. “Yeah, sure. He was out in the bar earlier, talking to Marlon and flirting with the ladies before the show started. You know how he is.”

The twins exchanged glances. Seamus couldn't keep his pants zipped, as the humans would say, and he bedded any attractive female, customer or employee, that he could. Then he moved on to his next conquest. Claudine had warned him about messing around with women at Hooligans, but Seamus had laughed in derision.

“They're not going to cause any trouble,” he had told her smugly. “If they start to, I'll make them forget I ever fucked them. End of story.”

What if one of them hadn't forgotten, and she was angry enough to kill when he brushed her off?

“How long ago was this?” Claude asked.

Jeff looked at his watch. “Maybe thirty, forty minutes ago.”

“And that was the last time you saw him?” Claudine picked up a pad and pen from the desk and jotted something down.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “I went back to the door to see if anybody else was coming in, but it was raining so bad by then, I figured that was it for the night. I hung around, though, until about ten minutes ago when I came back into the bar and started talking to Marlon and the ladies.”

While Claudine made notes, Claude asked, “What did you think of Seamus?”

Jeff shrugged. “He's okay, I guess. Doesn't have much time for me.” He glanced away.

Claude knew that gesture meant Jeff wasn't telling the complete truth. They had been together long enough that Claude could read his ex-lover's body language. “Did he do anything to bother you? Say something nasty?” Seamus had a sharp tongue and used it indiscriminately.

“He ragged on me because he found out you and me used to be together.” Jeff's expression betrayed his hurt, mixed with anger. “Kept going on about how I was too ugly to make a hot guy like you happy and that's why you dumped me.”

Claude didn't like seeing Jeff upset. He loved Jeff in his way. He approached his former lover and laid a hand on his shoulder. Jeff twitched slightly, as if the touch hurt him. “Jeff, look at me.” Claude waited until Jeff's gaze fixed on his. Then he used a bit of magic to erase the hurt from Jeff's memory. Jeff smiled vaguely, and Claude stepped back, ignoring Claudine's glare.

“Why all these questions about Seamus?” Jeff said after a moment. “Are you going to fire him?”

“He's dead,” Claudine told him, and Jeff's head jerked back.

“Dead? What do you mean?” He stared at Claude, his eyes suddenly wild. “He didn't look sick to me. And if somebody offed the jerk, it wasn't me.”

Beside him, Claude heard his sister mumbling, which was her way of using her power to cloud human minds. Jeff's expression smoothed out, and he stood. “Guess I'd better go keep an eye on the door.” He ambled out of the office.

“He didn't do it.” Claude was convinced of that. Jeff hadn't cared for Seamus, and Claude hadn't much, either, when it came right down to it. But Jeff wasn't a killer.

“No, he probably didn't.” Claudine looked at her pad in her hands. “What should we do now?”

“Check the men's dressing room,” Claude said after a brief reflection. “Perhaps we can find a clue of some kind to what really happened to Seamus.” He strode from the office, and Claudine followed.

The twins spent several minutes searching the small room. Claude found Seamus's costumes on their hangers in the closet but not his street clothes. Seamus was never messy and had always hung up his garments when he changed. Claudine searched the small chest of drawers the men shared but found only spare thongs and underwear, along with a few toiletries.

Claude sorted through the contents of the wastebasket but found only discarded tissues and the small cotton balls they used when removing makeup. He set the wastebasket down and glanced around the room. Where else should he look?

He eyed the small sofa bed that occupied a corner. He took the cushions off and set them aside. Claudine grasped the nylon cord to pull out the mattress, and as the mattress unfolded, they saw a sparkly substance.

Claude stared at the scattering of fairy dust. “The killer probably didn't know that Seamus would appear to us after death, nor that he would leave something behind.”

“And since he died on the bed, that probably means he was having sex when he died.” Claudine frowned.

“Having sex wouldn't kill him, or else he'd have died long ago,” Claude said.

“Of course not,” Claudine snapped. “You know what it had to be.” There was only one thing that could kill a fairy that quickly—lemon juice, one of the few weaknesses a fairy had. “With the storm and the flooding, the killer couldn't get far.”

“Nobody left the building after Seamus was last seen, so the killer must still be here, and it must be a woman because Seamus never had sex with men. Since none of the customers would have been able to come backstage without being seen, the killer is either Velva, Lula Ann, or Artemisia.” Claude nodded, pleased with his logic. “Let's get them into the office and question them, and I'll ask Jeff to search their dressing room while they're with us.”