“Wow,” I said, which was the only possible response. “You’re looking great.” She put my red skirt and red and white blouse to shame.

“Yes,” she said with considerable satisfaction. “I am. Ah . . .” She became utterly still. “Do I smell fairy?”

“You do, but there’s not one here now, so just rein it in. My cousin Claude was here today. He’s going to be bunking with me for a while.”

“Claude, the mouthwateringly beautiful asshole?”

Claude’s fame preceded him. “Yes, that Claude.”

“Why? Why is he staying with you?”

“He’s lonely,” I said.

“Do you really believe that?” Pam’s pale brows were arched incredulously.

“Well . . . yes, I do.” Why else would Claude want to stay at my house, which was not convenient to his job? He certainly didn’t want to get in my pants, and he hadn’t asked to borrow money.

“This is some fairy intrigue,” Pam said. “You were a fool to be taken in.”

Nobody likes being called a fool. Pam had stepped over the line, but then “tact” was not her middle name. “Pam, that’s enough,” I said. I must have sounded serious, because she stared at me for all of fifteen seconds.

“I’ve offended you,” she said, though not as if the idea gave her pain.

“Yeah, you have. Claude’s missing his sisters. There aren’t any fairies left for him to intrigue with since Niall closed the portal, or doors, or whatever the heck he closed. I’m the closest Claude’s got to his kind—which is pretty pitiful, since I just have a dab of fairy in me.”

“Let’s go,” Pam said. “Eric will be waiting.”

Changing the subject when she had nothing left to say was another of Pam’s characteristics. I had to smile and shake my head. “How’d the meeting with Victor go?” I asked.

“It would be a good thing if Victor met with an unfortunate accident.”

“You really mean that?”

“No. I really wish someone would kill him.”

“Me, too.” Our eyes met, and she gave me a brisk nod. We were in synch on the Victor issue.

“I suspect his every statement,” she said. “I question his every decision. I think he’s out to take Eric’s position. He doesn’t want to be the king’s emissary any longer. He wants to carve out his own territory.”

I pictured a fur-clad Victor paddling a canoe down the Red River with an Indian maiden sitting stoically behind him. I laughed. As we got into Pam’s car, she looked at me darkly.

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “I really don’t.” We went out to Hummingbird Road and turned north.

“Why would being a sheriff in Louisiana be a step above being the emissary of Felipe, who has a rich kingdom?” I asked very seriously, to make up my lost ground.