"I don't know."
"And there was a card in his wallet?"
"Yes, a Fellowship of the Sun membership card," I told her.
"But he had nothing particular against vampires," Jay protested. "We're twins. I would have known if he'd had some big grudge. This just doesn't make any sense."
"He did give a woman in the bar a fake name and hometown," I said, as gently as I could.
"Well, he was just passing through," Jay said. "I'm a married man, but Jeff's divorced. I don't like to say this in front of my mother, but it's not unknown for men to give a false name and history when they meet a woman in a bar."
This was true. Though Merlotte's was primarily a neighborhood bar, I'd listenedto many a tale from out-of-towners who'd dropped in; and I'd known for sure they were lying.
"Where was the wallet?" Justine asked. She looked up at me like an old beaten dog, and it made my heart sick.
"In his jacket pocket," I said.
Jay stood up abruptly. He began to move, pacing in the small space he had at his disposal. "There again," he said, his voice more animated, "that's just not like Jeff. He kept his billfold in his jeans, same as me. We never put our wallets in our jacket."
"What are you saying?" Sam asked.
"I'm saying that I don't think Jeff did this," his twin said. "Even those people at the Fina station, they could be mistaken."
"Someone at the Fina says he bought a can of gas there?" Sam asked.
Justine flinched again, the soft skin of her chin shaking.
I'd been wondering if there might be something to the Marriots' suspicions, but that idea was extinguished now. The phone rang, and all of us jumped. Sam picked it up and said, "Merlotte's," in a calm voice. He listened, said, "Um-hum," and "That right?" and finally, "I'll tell her." He hung up.
"Your brother's car's been found," he told Jay Marriot. "It's on a little road almost directly across from Sookie's driveway."
The light went out completely on the little family's ray of hope, and I could only feel sorry for them. Justine seemed ten years older than she had when she'd come into the bar, and Jay looked like he'd gone days without sleep or food. They left without another word to me, which was a mercy. From the few sentences they exchanged with each other, I gathered they were going to see Jeff's car and ask if they could remove any of his belongings from it. I thought they would meet another blank wall there.
Eric had told me that that little road, a dirt track leading back to a deer camp, was where Debbie Pelt had hidden her car when she'd come to kill me.Might as well put up a sign: PARKING FOR SOOKIE STACKHOUSE NIGHTTIME ATTACKS .
Sam came swinging back into the room. He'd been seeing the Marriots out. He stood by me propped against his desk and set his crutches aside. He put his arm around me. I turned to him and slid my arms around his waist. He held me to him, and I felt peaceful for a wonderful minute. The heat of his body warmed me, and the knowledge of his affection comforted me.
"Does your leg hurt?" I asked when he moved restlessly.
"Not my leg," he said.
I looked up, puzzled, to meet his eyes. He looked rueful. Suddenly, I became aware of exactly what was hurting Sam, and I flushed red. But I didn't let go of him. I was reluctant to end the comfort of being close to someone—no, of being close to Sam. When I didn't move away, he slowly put his lips to mine, giving me every chance to step out of reach. His mouth brushed mine once, twice. Then he settled in to kissing me, and the heat of his tongue filled my mouth, stroking.
That felt incredibly good. With the visit of the Marriot family, I'd been browsing the Mystery section. Now I'd definitely wandered over to the Romances.
His height was close enough to mine that I didn't have to strain upward to meet his mouth. His kiss became more urgent. His lips strayed down my neck, to the vulnerable and sensitive place just at the base, and his teeth nipped very gently.
I gasped. I just couldn't help it. If I'd had the gift of teleportation, I would've had us somewhere more private in an instant. Remotely, I felt there was something kind of tacky at feeling this lustful in a messy office in a bar. But the heat surged as he kissed me again. We'd always had something between us, and the smoldering ember had just burst into flame.
I struggled to hold on to some sense. Was this survivor lust? What about his leg? Did he really need the buttons on his shirt?
"Not good enough for you here," he said, doing a little gasping of his own. He pulled away and reached for his crutches, but then he hauled me back and kissed me again. "Sookie, I'm going to—"
"What are you going to do?" asked a cold voice from the doorway.
If I was shocked senseless, Sam was enraged. In a split second I was pushed to one side, and he launched himself at the intruder, broken leg and all.
My heart was thumping like a scared rabbit's, and I put one hand over it to make sure it stayed in my chest. Sam's sudden attack had knocked Bill to the floor. Sam pulled back his fist to get in a punch, but Bill used his greater weight and strength to roll Sam until he was on the bottom. Bill's fangs were out and his eyes were glowing.
"Stop!"I yelled at a reduced volume, scared the patrons would come running. In a little fast action of my own, I gripped Bill's smooth dark hair with both hands and used it to yank his head back. In the excitement of the moment, Bill reached behind him to catch my wrists in his hands, and he began twisting. I choked with pain. Both my arms were about to break when Sam took the opportunity to sock Bill in the jaw with all his power. Shifters are not as powerful as Weres and vampires, but they can pack quite a punch, and Bill was rocked sideways. He also came to his senses. Releasing my arms, he rose and turned to me in one graceful movement.
My eyes welled full of tears from the pain, and I opened them wide, determined not to let the drops roll down my cheeks. But I'm sure I looked exactly like someone who was trying hard not to cry. I was holding my arms out in front of me, wondering when they'd stop hurting.
"Since your car was burned, I came to get you because it was time for you to get off work," Bill said, his fingers gently evaluating the marks on my forearms. "I swear I just intended to do you a favor. I swear I wasn't spying on you. I swear I never intended you any harm."
That was a pretty good apology, and I was glad he'd spoken first. Not only was I in pain, I was totally embarrassed. Naturally, Bill had no way of knowing that Tara had loaned me a car. I should have left him a note or left a message on his answering machine, but I'd driven straight to work from the burned house, and it simply hadn't crossed my mind. Something else did occur to me, as it should have right away.
"Oh, Sam, did your leg get hurt worse?" I brushed past Bill to help Sam to his feet. I took as much of his weight as I could, knowing he'd rather lie on the floor forever than accept any assistance from Bill. Finally, with some difficulty, I maneuvered Sam upright, and I saw he was careful to keep his weight on his good leg. I couldn't even imagine how Sam must be feeling.
He was feeling pretty pissed off, I discovered directly. He glared past me at Bill. "You come in without calling out, without knocking? I'm sure you don't expect me to say I'm sorry for jumping you." I'd never seen Sam so angry. I could tell that he was embarrassed that he hadn't "protected" me more effectively, that he was humiliated that Bill had gained the upper hand and furthermore had hurt me. Last but not least, Sam was coping with the backwash from all those hormones that had been exploding when we'd been interrupted.
"Oh, no.I don't expect that." Bill's voice dropped in temperature when he spoke to Sam. I expected to see icicles form on the walls.
I wished I were a thousand miles away. I longed for the ability to walk out, get into my own car, and drive to my own home. Of course, I couldn't. At least I had the use of a car, and I explained that to Bill.
"Then I needn't have gone to the trouble of coming to get you, and you two could have continued uninterrupted," he said in an absolutely lethal tone. "Where are you going to spend the night, if I may ask? I was going to go to
the store to buy food for you."
Since Bill hated grocery shopping, that would have been a major effort, and he wanted to be sure I knew about it. (Of course, it was also possible that he was making this up on the spot to be sure I felt as guilty as possible.)
I reviewed my options. Though I never knew what I'd walk into over at my brother's, that seemed my safest choice. "I'm going to run by my house to get some makeup out of the bathroom, and then I'm going to Jason's," I said. "Thank you for putting me up last night, Bill. I guess you brought Charles to work? Tell him if he wants to spend the night at my house, I guess the, ah, hole is okay."
"Tell him yourself. He's right outside," Bill said in a voice I can only characterize as grumpy. Bill's imagination had evidently spun a whole different scenario for the evening. The way events were unfolding was making him mighty unhappy.
Sam was in so much pain (I could see it hovering like a red glow around him) that the most merciful thing I could do was clear out of there before he gave into it. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sam," I said, and kissed him on the cheek.
He tried to smile at me. I didn't dare offer to help him over to his trailer while the vampires were there, because I knew Sam's pride would suffer. At the moment, that was more important to him than the state of his injured leg.
Charles was behind the bar and already busy. When Bill offered accommodations again for a second day, Charles accepted rather than opting for my untested hidey hole. "We have to check your hiding place, Sookie, for cracks that may have occurred during the fire," Charles said seriously.
I could understand the necessity, and without saying a word to Bill, I got into the loaner car and drove to my house. We'd left the windows open all day, and the smell had largely dissipated. That was a welcome development. Thanks to the strategy of the firefighters and the inexpert way the fire had been set, the bulk of my house would be livable in short order. I'd called a contractor, Randall Shurtliff, that evening from the bar, and he'd agreed to stop by the next day atnoon . Terry Bellefleur had promised to start removing the remains of the kitchen early the next day. I would have to be there to set aside anything I could salvage. I felt like I had two jobs now.
I was suddenly and completely exhausted, and my arms ached. I would have huge bruises the next day. It was almost too warm to justify long sleeves, but I'd have to wear them. Armed with a flashlight from the glove compartment of Tara's car, I got my makeup and some more clothes from my bedroom, throwing them all into a sport duffle I'd won at the Relay for Life. I tossed in a couple of paperbacks I hadn't read yet—books I'd traded for at the library swap rack. That prompted another line of thought. Did I have any movies that needed to go back to the rental place? No.Library books? Yes, had to return some, and I needed to air them out first.Anything else that belonged to another person? Thank goodness I'd dropped Tara's suit at the cleaner's.
There was no point in closing and locking the windows, which I'd left open to dissipate the odor, as the house was easily accessible through the burned kitchen. But when I went out my front door, I locked it behind me. I'd gotten toHummingbird Road before I realized how silly that had been, and as I drove to Jason's, I found myself smiling for the first time in many, many hours.
10
MY MELANCHOLY BROTHER was glad to see me. The fact that his new "family" didn't trust him had been eating away at Jason all day. Even his panther girlfriend,Crystal , was nervous about seeing him while the cloud of suspicion hung around him. She'd sent him packing when he'd shown up on her front doorstep this evening. When I found out he'd actually driven out to Hotshot, I exploded. I told my brother in no uncertain terms that he apparently had a death wish and I was not responsible for whatever happened to him. He responded that I'd never been responsible for anything that he did, anyway, so why would I start now?
It went on like that for a while.
After he'd grudgingly agreed to stay away from his fellow shifters, I carried my bag down the short hall to the guest bedroom. This was where he kept his computer, his old high school trophies from the baseball team and the football team, and an ancient foldout couch on hand primarily for visitors who drank too much and couldn't drive home. I didn't even bother to unfold it but spread out an ancient quilt over the glossy Naugahyde. I pulled another one over me.
After I said my prayers, I reviewed my day. It had been so full of incident that I got tired trying to remember everything. In about three minutes, I was out like a light. I dreamed about growling animals that night: they were all around me in the fog, and I was scared. I could hear Jason screaming somewhere in the mist, though I couldn't find him to defend him.
Sometimes you don't need a psychiatrist to interpret a dream, right?
I woke up just a bit when Jason left for work in the morning, mostly because he slammed the door behind him. I dozed off again for another hour, but then I woke up decisively. Terry would be coming to my house to begin tearing down the ruined part, and I needed to see if any of my kitchen things could be saved.
Since this was liable to be a dirty job, I borrowed Jason's blue jumpsuit, the one he put on when he worked on his car. I looked in his closet and pulled out an old leather jacket Jason wore for rough work. I also appropriated a box of garbage bags. As I started Tara's car, I wondered how on earth I could repay her for its use. I reminded myself to pick up her suit. Since it was on my mind, I made a slight detour to retrieve it from the dry cleaner's.
Terry was in a stable mood today, to my relief. He was smiling as he smacked away at the charred boards of the back porch with a sledgehammer. Though the day was very cool, Terry wore only a sleeveless T-shirt tucked in his jeans. It covered most of the dreadful scars. After greeting him and registering that he didn't want to talk, I went in through the front door. I was drawn down the hall to the kitchen to look again at the damage.
The firefighters had said the floor was safe. It made me nervous to step out onto the scorched linoleum, but after a moment or two, I felt easier. I pulled on gloves and began to work, going through cabinets and cupboards and drawers. Some things had melted or twisted with the heat. A few things, like my plastic colander, were so warped it took me a second or two to identify what I was holding.
I tossed the ruined things directly out the south kitchen window, away from Terry.
I didn't trust any of the food that had been in the cabinets that were on the outer wall. The flour, the rice, the sugar—they'd all been in Tupperware containers, and though the seals had held, I just didn't want to use the contents. The same held true of the canned goods; for some reason, I felt uneasy about using food from cans that had gotten so hot.
Fortunately, my everyday stoneware and the good china that had belonged to my great-great-grandmother had survived, since they were in the cabinet farthest from the flames. Her sterling silver was in fine shape, too. My far more useful stainless tableware, much closer to the fire, was warped and twisted. Some of the pots and pans were usable.
I worked for two or three hours, consigning things to the growing pile outside the window or bagging them in Jason's garbage bags for future use in a new kitchen. Terry worked hard, too, taking a break every now and then to drink bottled water while he perched on the tailgate of his pickup. The temperature rose to the upper sixties. We might have a few more hard frosts, and there was always the chance of an ice storm, but it was possible to count on spring coming soon.
It wasn't a bad morning. I felt like I was taking a step toward regaining my home. Terry was an undemanding companion, since he didn't like to talk, and he was exorcising his demons with hard work. Terry was in his late fifties now. Some of the chest hair I could see above his T-shirt neck was gray. The hair on his head, once auburn, was fading as he aged. But he was a strong man, and he swung his sledgehammer with vigor and loaded boards onto the flatbed of his truck with no sign of strain.
Terry left to take a load to the parish dump. While he was gone, I went into my bedroom and made my bed—a strange and foolish thing to do, I know. I
would have to take the sheets off and wash them; in fact, I'd have to wash almost every piece of fabric in the house to completely rid it of the smell of burning. I'd even have to wash the walls and repaint the hall, though the paint in the rest of the house seemed clean enough.
I was taking a break out in the yard when I heard a truck approaching a moment before it appeared, coming out of the trees that surrounded the driveway. To my astonishment, I recognized it as Alcide's truck, and I felt a pang of dismay. I'd told him to stay away.
He seemed miffed about something when he leaped out of the cab. I'd been sitting in the sunshine on one of my aluminum lawn chairs, wondering what time it was and wondering when the contractor would get here. After the all-round discomfort of my night at Jason's, I was also planning on finding somewhere else to stay while the kitchen was being rebuilt. I couldn't imagine the rest of my house being habitable until the work was complete, and that might be months from now. Jason wouldn't want me around that long, I was sure. He'd have to put up with me if I wanted to stay—he was my brother, after all—but I didn't want to strain his fraternal spirit. There wasn'tanyone I wanted to stay with for a couple of months, when I came to consider the matter.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Alcide bellowed as his feet touched the ground.
I sighed.Another angry man.
"We aren't big buddies right now," I reminded him. "But I would have gotten around to it. It's only been a couple of days."
"You should have called me first thing," he told me, striding around the house to survey the damage. He stopped right in front of me. "You could have died," he said, as if it was big news.
"Yes," I said. "I know that."
"A vampire had to save you." There was disgust in his voice. Vamps and Weres just didn't get along.
"Yes," I agreed, though actually my savior had been Claudine. But Charles had killed the arsonist. "Oh, would you rather I'd burned?"
"No, of course not!"He turned away, looked at the mostly dismantled porch. "Someone's working on tearing down the damaged part already?"
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