Free Dead as a Doornail by Charlaine Harris Page B

detectives,” he said, and I described the couple and told him what they’d said.
    “Debbie’s family didn’t say anything to me about it,” Alcide said. He turned it over in his head for a minute. I could follow his thinking. “I think that means they’re sure I made her vanish.”
    “Maybe not. Maybe they just think you’re so grieved they don’t want to bring it up.”
    “Grieved.” Alcide mulled that over for a minute. “No. I spent all the . . .” He paused, grappling for words. “I used up all the energy I had to spare for her,” he said finally. “Iwas so blind, I almost think she used some kind of magic on me. Her mother’s a spellcaster and half shifter. Her dad’s a full-blooded shifter.”
    “You think that’s possible? Magic?” I wasn’t questioning that magic existed, but that Debbie had used it.
    “Why else would I stick with her for so long? Ever since she’s gone missing, it’s been like someone took a pair of dark glasses off my eyes. I was willing to forgive her so much, like when she pushed you into the trunk.”
    Debbie had taken an opportunity to push me in a car trunk with my vampire boyfriend, Bill, who’d been starved for blood for days. And she’d walked off and left me in the trunk with Bill, who was about to awake.
    I looked down at my feet, pushing away the recollection of the desperation, the pain.
    “She let you get raped,” Alcide said harshly.
    Him saying it like that, flat out, shocked me. “Hey, Bill didn’t know it was me,” I said. “He hadn’t had anything to eat for days and days, and the impulses are so closely related. I mean, he stopped, you know? He stopped, when he knew it was me.” I couldn’t put it like that to myself; I couldn’t say that word. I knew beyond a doubt that Bill would rather have chewed off his own hand than done that to me if he’d been in his right mind. At that time, he’d been the only sex partner I’d ever had. My feelings about the incident were so confused that I couldn’t even bear to try to pick through them. When I’d thought of rape before, when other girls had told me what had happened to them or I’d read it in their brains, I hadn’t had the ambiguity I felt over my own short, awful time in the trunk.
    “He did something you didn’t want him to do,” Alcide said simply.
    “He wasn’t himself,” I said.
    “But he did it.”
    “Yes, he did, and I was awful scared.” My voice began to shake. “But he came to his senses, and he stopped, and I was okay, and he was really, really sorry. He’s never laid a finger on me since then, never asked me if we could have sex, never . . .” My voice trailed off. I stared down at my hands. “Yes, Debbie was responsible for that.” Somehow, saying that out loud made me feel better. “She knew what would happen, or at least she didn’t care what would happen.”
    “And even then,” Alcide said, returning to his main point, “she kept coming back and I kept trying to rationalize her behavior. I can’t believe I would do that if I wasn’t under some kind of magical influence.”
    I wasn’t about to try to make Alcide feel guiltier. I had my own load of guilt to carry. “Hey, it’s over.”
    “You sound sure.”
    I looked Alcide directly in the eyes. His were narrow and green. “Do you think there’s the slightest chance that Debbie’s alive?” I asked.
    “Her family . . .” Alcide stopped. “No, I don’t.”
    I couldn’t get rid of Debbie Pelt, dead or alive.
    “Why’d you need to talk to me in the first place?” I asked. “You said over the phone you needed to tell me something.”
    “Colonel Flood died yesterday.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”
    “He was driving to the store when another driver hit him broadside.”
    “That’s awful. Was anyone in the car with him?”
    “No, he was by himself. His kids are coming back to Shreveport for the funeral, of course. I wondered if you’d come to the funeral with