“I guess so,” I said, without enthusiasm. I didn’t explain who Hunter was, because it was none of Lattesta’s business, though I could tell he was curious. He’d also noticed there was another car parked outside.

“Claude,” I called up the stairs. “The FBI is here.” It’s good to inform unexpected company that someone else is in the house with you.

The television fell silent, and Claude came gliding down the stairs. Now he was wearing a golden brown silk T-shirt and khakis, and he looked like a poster for a wet dream. Even Lattesta’s heterosexual orientation wasn’t proof against a surge of startled admiration. “Agent Lattesta, my cousin Claude Crane,” I said, trying not to smile.

Hunter and Claude and I sat on the couch while Lattesta took the La-Z-Boy. I didn’t offer him anything to drink.

“How’s Agent Weiss?” I asked. The New Orleans-based agent had brought Lattesta, based in Rhodes, out to my house last time, and in the course of many terrible events, she’d been shot.

“She’s back at work,” Lattesta said. “Still on a desk job. Mr. Crane, I don’t believe I’ve met you before?”

No one forgot Claude. Of course, my cousin knew that very well. “You haven’t had the pleasure,” he told the FBI man.

Lattesta spent a moment trying to figure that out before he smiled. “Right,” he said. “Listen, Ms. Stackhouse, I came up here today to tell you that you’re no longer a subject for investigation.”

I was stunned with the relief that swept over me. I exchanged glances with Claude. God bless my great-grandfather. I wondered how much he’d spent, how many strings he’d pulled, to make this come true.

“How come?” I asked. “Not that I’m going to miss it, you understand, but I have to wonder what’s changed.”

“You seem to know people who are powerful,” Lattesta said, with an unexpected depth of bitterness. “Someone in our government doesn’t want your name to come up in public.”

“And you flew all the way to Louisiana to tell me that,” I said, putting enough disbelief into my voice to let him know I thought that was bullshit.

“No, I flew all the way down here to go to a hearing about the shooting.”

Okay. That made more sense. “And you didn’t have my phone number? To call me? You had to come here to tell me you weren’t going to investigate me, in person?”

“There’s something wrong about you,” he said, and the façade was gone. It was a relief. Now his outside matched his inside. “Sara Weiss has undergone some kind of. spiritual upheaval since she met you. She goes to séances. She’s reading books about the paranormal. Her husband is worried about her. The bureau is worried about her. Her boss is having doubts about putting her back out in the field.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But I don’t see that there’s anything I can do about it.” I thought for a minute, while Tom Lattesta stared at me with angry eyes. He was thinking angry thoughts, too. “Even if I went to her and told her that I can’t do what she thinks I can do, it wouldn’t help. She believes what she believes. I am what I am.”

“So you admit it.”

Even though I didn’t want the FBI noticing me, that hurt, oddly enough. I wondered if Lattesta was taping our conversation.

“Admit what?” I asked. I was genuinely curious to hear what he’d say. The first time he’d been on my doorstep, he’d been a believer. He’d thought I was his key to a quick rise in the bureau.

“Admit you’re not even a human being.”

Aha. He really believed that. I disgusted and repelled him. I had more insight into what Sam was feeling.

“I’ve been watching you, Ms. Stackhouse. I’ve been called off, but if I can tie you in to any investigation that will lead back to you, I’ll do it. You’re wrong. I’m leaving now, and I hope you—” He didn’t get a chance to finish.

“Don’t think bad things about my aunt Sookie,” Hunter said furiously. “You’re a bad man.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself, but I wished for Hunter’s own sake that he had kept his mouth shut. Lattesta turned white as a sheet.

Claude laughed. “He’s scared of you,” he told Hunter. Claude thought it was a great joke, and I had a feeling he’d known what Hunter was all along.

I thought Lattesta’s grudge might constitute a real danger to me.

“Thanks for coming to give me the good news, Special Agent Lattesta,” I said, in as mild a voice as I could manage. “You have a safe drive back to Baton Rouge, or New Orleans, or wherever you flew in.”

Lattesta was on his feet and out the door before I could say another word, and I handed Hunter to Claude and followed him. Lattesta was down the steps and at his car, fumbling around in his pocket, before he realized I was behind him. He was turning off a pocket recording device. He wheeled around to give me an angry look.

“You’d use a kid,” he said. “That’s low.”

I looked at him sharply for a minute. Then I said, “You’re worried that your little boy, who’s Hunter’s age, has autism. You’re scared this hearing you came to attend will go badly for you and maybe for Agent Weiss. You’re scared because you reacted to Claude. You’re thinking of asking to transfer into the BVA in Louisiana. You’re mad that I know people who can make you back off.”

If Lattesta could have pressed himself into the metal of the car, he would’ve. I’d been a fool because I’d been proud. I should have let him go without a word.

“I wish I could tell you who it was who put me off-limits to the FBI,” I said. “It would scare your pants off.” In for a penny, in for a pound, right? I turned and went back up the front steps and into the house. A moment later, I heard his car tear down my driveway, probably scattering my beautiful gravel as it went.

Hunter and Claude were laughing in the kitchen, and I found them blowing with straws into the dishwashing water in the sink, which still had some soap bubbles. Hunter was standing on a stool I used to reach the top shelves of the cabinets. It was an unexpectedly happy picture.

“So, Cousin, he’s gone?” Claude asked. “Good job, Hunter. I think there’s a lake monster under that water!”

Hunter blew even harder, and water drops spattered the curtains. He laughed a little too wildly.

“Okay, kids, enough,” I said. This was getting out of hand. Leave a fairy alone with a child for a few minutes, and this was what happened. I glanced at the clock. Thanks to Hunter’s early wake-up call, it was only nine. I didn’t expect Remy to come to collect Hunter until late afternoon.

“Let’s go to the park, Hunter.”

Claude looked disappointed that I’d stopped their fun, but Hunter was game to go somewhere. I grabbed my softball mitt and a ball and retied Hunter’s sneakers.

“Am I invited, too?” Claude said, sounding a little miffed.

I was taken by surprise. “Sure, you can come,” I said. “That would be great. Maybe you should take your own car, since I don’t know what we’ll be doing afterward.” My self-absorbed cousin genuinely enjoyed being with Hunter. I would never have anticipated this reaction—and truthfully, I don’t think he had anticipated it, either. Claude followed me in his Impala as I drove to the park.

I went to Magnolia Creek Park, which stretched on either side of the creek. It was prettier than the little park close to the elementary school. The park wasn’t much, of course, since Bon Temps is not exactly a wealthy little town, but it had the standard playground equipment, a quarter-mile walking track, and plenty of open area, picnic tables, and trees. Hunter attacked the jungle gym as if he’d never seen one before, and maybe he hadn’t. Red Ditch is smaller and poorer than Bon Temps.

I found that Hunter could climb like a monkey. Claude was ready to steady him at every move. Hunter would’ve found that annoying if I’d done it. I wasn’t sure why that should be, but I knew it to be true.

A car pulled up as I enticed Hunter down from the jungle gym to play ball. Tara got out and came over to see what we were doing.