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“Dick, they’re not going to just let me walk out of here. They think I tried to kill you. It’s apparently one of the big no-nos.”
“And obviously, I’m not dead. No harm, no foul,” Dick said.
“That doesn’t change the fact that someone tried to kill you and I’m still a prime suspect. I’m actually the only suspect, which I find insulting and surprising.”
“Look, I vouched for you, OK? I said there was no way you could have done this. It took some convincing, but Ophelia has agreed to release you into my custody. They figure if you really did try to kill me and somehow you end up mysteriously disappearing, it’s a wash.”
“I don’t want to know what you did to convince Ophelia, do I?”
Dick smirked.
Ophelia, Sophie, and Mr. Marchand were waiting in the hall, ready to offer me an apology on behalf of the council. Well, Sophie and Mr. Marchand were apologizing. I didn’t need telepathy to know Ophelia would not bother with a “trial/no trial” vote the next time I got into trouble.
Dick managed to speed the process along and practically launched me through the entrance to the council office—which was actually a Kinko’s. I felt silly walking through a weeknight crowd of people copying their tax records in hospital scrubs and bare feet. But the patrons seemed used to this sort of thing.
Dick threw me into the front seat of his car, an old beat -up El Camino, and pulled out of town as quickly as our two stoplights would allow.
I crossed my arms and spoke with overly sweet clarity. “OK, I’m getting tired of being thrown in and out of shitty situations because people withhold information from me. What were you calling to tell me about? And why couldn ’t you talk about it at the council gulag?”
“I couldn’t talk about it before because I didn’t know who was listening,” he said, turning toward my house. “Look, Missy has it out for you. I found these papers in her briefcase. I was looking for a light while she was in the shower. She ’s got these sketches for a planned community thing out near your place. She’s got a clubhouse smack in the middle of your backyard.”
My head swam. “Use smaller sentences, please?”
“She wants to get her hands on River Oaks.”
I grabbed the door handle, not sure if I could manage a Charlie’s Angels roll on gravel. “Stop the car.”
“Why?”
“Stop the car!” I yelled. “It took me a while, but I finally caught on. You call me over to your trailer to give me mysterious information. The trailer blows up. I’m framed for your murder. Missy challenges me to a duel and stands to inherit my property. Do the math, Dick.”
He stared at me and nearly ran the car off the road. Somewhere in Dick’s brain, ten thousand chimpanzees had just typed the opening act of Hamlet. “Missy set fire to my trailer?”
“There you go.” I resisted the urge to pat his head.
He huffed. “Missy’s determined, but she’s not crazy.”
“She matches her cell-phone case to her shoes!” I yelled. “That’s one stop short of Hannibal Lecter territory in my book.”
And as I realized the true depth of my stupidity, I sputtered, “Oh, for God’s sake, there’s no such thing as the new-arrivals welcoming committee, is there?”
“No, actually, there is,” Dick said. “I think she just does this other stuff as a side project.”
“OK, say Missy is the big bad blond evil force behind the shooting and the fires and the really hurtful rumors. How do I know that you’re not in on all of this?” I yelled. “You could be luring me into some sort of trap. You could be her little henchman.
Or you could be under her thrall. Stop the car, Dick!”
“Let go of the door now,” he said in a soothing “talking down the crazy lady” tone. “I’m not a little anything. I haven’t been under anyone’s thrall since an unfortunate incident in 1923 involving a succubus from Baton Rouge without a sense of humor. The gravel would take a chunk of your hide and your pride. Just let me drive you home. And then you can call Gabriel, and we can all talk about this and decide what you should do.”
“I’m not calling Gabriel,” I said, far too shrilly. “I just want you to drop me off here, and I’ll walk home. Then I’m getting a gun and a much smarter dog.”
Dick reached out for my hand. “Oh, come on, don’t you trust me, Stretch?”
I stared at him for a long pause. “No!”
20
Dueling is a time-honored tradition among vampires and is closely monitored by the council. Do not enter into a battle without first consulting a Council representative.
