I wasn't exactly worried about the deaths of the three Arkansas vampires, and it seemed like a really good idea to take Mr. Cataliades's advice to heart. I'd had the odd moment to think about the murders, and I'd decided that the simplest answer was often the best.
Who'd thought she had a good chance of skipping a trial altogether, if Jennifer Cater was silenced?
Who'd prepared the way to be admitted to Jennifer's room, by the simple means of a phone call?
Who'd had a good long moment of telepathic communication with her underlings before she began the artificial flurry of primping for the impromptu visit?
Whose bodyguard had been coming out of the stairway door just as we were exiting the suite?
I knew, just as Mr. Cataliades knew, that Sophie-Anne had ensured Sigebert would be admitted to Jennifer Cater's room by calling down ahead and telling Jennifer she herself was on her way. Jennifer would look out the peephole, recognize Sigebert, and assume the queen was right behind him. Once inside, Sigebert would unsheath his sword and kill everyone in the place.
Then he would hurry back up the stairs to appear in time to escort the queen right back down to the seventh floor. He'd enter the room again so there'd be a reason for his scent to be on the air.
And at the time I'd suspected absolutely nothing.
What a shock it must have been to Sophie-Anne when Henrik Feith had popped up alive; but then the problem had been solved when he accepted her protection.
The problem reasserted itself when someone talked him into accusing her anyway.
And then, amazingly, problem solved again: the nervous little vampire had been assassinated in front of the court.
"I do wonder how Kyle Perkins was hired," I said. "He must have known he was on a suicide mission."
"Perhaps," Mr. Cataliades said carefully, "he had decided to meet the sun anyway. Perhaps he was looking for a spectacular and interesting way to go, earning a monetary legacy for his human descendants."
"It seems strange that I was sent looking for information about him by a member of our very own party," I said, my voice neutral.
"Ah, not everyone needs to know everything," Mr. Cataliades said, his voice just as neutral.
Barry could hear my thoughts, of course, but he wasn't getting what Mr. Cataliades was saying, which was just as well. It was stupid that it made me feel better, Eric and Bill not knowing the queen's deep game. Not that they weren't capable of playing deep games themselves, but I didn't think Eric would have sent me on the wild goose chase for the archery range where Kyle Perkins had trained if Eric had known the queen herself had hired Perkins.
The poor woman behind the counter had died because the queen hadn't told her left hand what her right hand was doing. And I wondered what had happened to the human, the one who'd thrown up on the murder scene, the one who'd been hired to drive Sigebert or Andre to the range...after I'd so thoughtfully left a message to tell them when Barry and I were going back to collect the evidence. I'd sealed the woman's fate myself by leaving that phone message.
Mr. Cataliades took his departure, shaking our hands with his beaming smile, almost normal. He urged us once again to get to the airport.
"Sookie?" said Barry.
"Yeah."
"I really want to be on that plane."
"I know."
"What about you?"
"I don't think I can do it. Sit on the same plane with them."
"They all got hurt," Barry said.
"Yeah, but that isn't payback."
"You took care of that, didn't you?"
I didn't ask him what he meant. I knew what he could pick up out of my head.
"As much as I could," I said.
"Maybe I don't want to be on the same plane with you," Barry said.
Of course it hurt, but I guess I deserved it.
I shrugged. "You gotta decide that on your own. All of us have different things we can live with."
Barry considered that. "Yeah," he said. "I know. But for right now, it's better that we go our separate ways, here. I'm leaving for the airport to hang around until I can leave. Are you going to the hospital?"
I was too wary now to tell him. "I don't know," I said. "But I'm finding a car or a bus to take me home."
He hugged me, no matter how upset he was about the choices I'd made. I could feel the affection and regret in his heart. I hugged him back. He'd made his own choices.
I left the maid ten dollars when I departed on foot about five minutes after Barry got in a cab. I waited until I got two blocks from the hotel, and then I asked a passerby how to get to St. Cosmas. It was a long ten-block hike, but the day was beautiful, cool and crisp with a bright sun. It felt good to be by myself. I might be wearing rubber-soled slippers, but I was dressed nicely enough, and I was clean. I ate a hot dog on my way to the hospital, a hot dog I'd bought from a street vendor, and that was something else I'd never done before. I bought a shapeless hat from a street vender, too, and stuffed all my hair up under it. The same guy had some dark glasses for sale. With the sky being so bright and the wind blowing in off the lake, the combination didn't look too odd.
St. Cosmas was an old edifice, with lots of ornate architectural embellishment on the outside. It was huge, too. I asked about Quinn's condition, and one of the women stationed at the busy visitors' desk said she couldn't give out that information. But to see if he was registered at the hospital, she'd had to look up his records, and I plucked his room number from her thoughts. I waited until all three of the women were occupied with other queries, and I slipped into the elevator and rode up.
Quinn was on the tenth floor. I'd never seen a hospital so large, and I'd never seen one so bustling. It was easy to stride around like I had a purpose and knew where I was going.
There was no one on guard outside his room.
I knocked lightly, and there wasn't a sound from inside. I pushed open the door very gently and stepped inside. Quinn was asleep in the bed, and he was attached to machines and tubes. And he was a fast-healing shifter, so his injuries must have been grievous. His sister was by his side. Her bandaged head, which had been propped on her hand, jerked up as she became aware of my presence. I pulled off the sunglasses and the hat.
"You," she said.
"Yeah, me, Sookie. What's Frannie short for, anyway?"
"It's really Francine, but everyone calls me Frannie." She looked younger as she said it.
Though I was pleased at the decreased hostility, I decided I'd better stay on my side of the room. "How is he?" I asked, jerking my chin at the sleeping man.