to let them keep me away from my coffeepot. “Do you want a cup?” I asked them, but they both shook
their heads.
“Sookie,” Andy said, his face serious, “we’re here about Crystal.”
“Sure.” I bit off some biscuit, chewed, and swallowed. I wondered if Lattesta was on a diet or
something. He followed my every move. I dipped into his brain. He wasn’t happy that I wasn’t wearing
a bra, because my boobs distracted him. He was thinking I was a bit too curvy for his taste. He was
thinking he’d better not think about me that way anymore. He was missing his wife. “I figured that
would take priority over the other thing,” I said, forcing my attention back to Andy.
I couldn’t tell how much Andy knew—how much Lattesta had shared—about what had happened in
Rhodes, but Andy nodded. “We think,” he said, after glancing from me to Lattesta, “that Crystal died
three nights ago, sometime between one a.m. and three or four a.m.”
“Sure,” I said again.
“You knew that?” Lattesta went practically on point, like a bird dog.
“It stands to reason. There’s always someone around the bar until one or two, and then normally Terry
comes in to clean the floors sometime between six and eight a.m. Terry wasn’t coming so early that day
because he’d been tending bar and needed to sleep late, but most people wouldn’t think of that, right?”
“Right,” Andy said after an appreciable pause.
“So,” I said, my point made, and poured myself some more coffee.
“How well do you know Tray Dawson?” Andy asked.
That was a loaded question. The accurate answer was, “Not as well as you think.” I’d once been caught
in an alley with Tray Dawson and he’d been naked, but it wasn’t what people thought. (I’d been aware
they’d thought quite a bit.) “He’s been dating Amelia,” I said, which was pretty safe to say. “She’s my
roommate,” I reminded Lattesta, who was looking a little blank. “You met her two days ago. She’s at
work right now. And of course, Tray’s a werewolf.”
Lattesta blinked. It would take a while for him to get used to people saying that with straight faces.
Andy’s own expression didn’t change.
“Right,” Andy said. “Was Amelia out with Tray the night Crystal died?”
“I don’t remember. Ask her.”
“We will. Has Tray ever said anything to you about your sister-in-law?”
“I don’t recall anything. Of course, they knew each other, at least a little bit, since they were both
wereanimals.”
“How long have you known about . . . werewolves? And the other wereanimals?” Andy asked, as though
he just couldn’t help himself.
“Oh, for a while,” I said. “Sam first, and then others.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Andy asked incredulously.
“Of course not,” I said. “People think I’m weird enough as it is. Besides, it wasn’t my secret to tell.” It
was my turn to give him a look. “Andy, you knew, too.” After that night in the alley when we’d been
attacked by a were-hater, Andy had at least heard Tray in his animal form and then seen him as a naked
human. Any basic connect-the-dots would draw a picture of a werewolf.
Andy looked down at the notepad he’d taken out of his pocket. He didn’t write anything down. He took
a deep breath. “So that time I saw Tray in the alley, he had just changed back? I’m kind of glad. I never
figured you for the kind of woman who’d have sex in public places with someone she scarcely
knew.” (That surprised me; I’d always thought Andy believed just about anything bad about me.) “What
about that blood-hound that was with you?”
“That was Sam,” I said, rising to rinse out my coffee cup.
“But at the bar he changed into a collie.”
“Collies are cute,” I said. “He figured more people would relate. It’s his usual form.”
Lattesta’s eyes were bugging out. He was one tightly wound guy. “Let’s get back on topic,” he said.
“Your brother’s alibi seems to be true,” Andy said. “We’ve talked to Jason two or three times, and
we’ve talked to Michele twice, and she’s adamant that she was with him the whole time. She told us
