Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set

by Charlaine Harris

  Bill looked from Eric to me. Now he knew that Eric knew what I knew. . . . I giggled again. Then the giddiness just poofed out of me. I was a deflated balloon, for sure. “Good night, both of you,” I said. “Thanks, Eric, for taking that rock in the head, and for sticking to your phone throughout the evening. Thanks, Bill, for turning out so late with window-repair supplies. I appreciate it, even if you got volunteered by Eric.” Under ordinary circumstances—if there were such things as ordinary circumstances with vampires around—I would’ve given them each a hug, but that just seemed too weird. “Shoo,” I said. “I have to go to bed. I’m all worn out.”

  “Shouldn’t one of us stay here with you tonight?” Bill asked.

  If I’d had to say yes to that, had to pick one of them to stay with me that night, it would have been Bill—if I could have counted on him to be as undemanding and gentle as he’d been the night before. When you’re down and hurting, the most wonderful thing in the world is to feel cherished. But that was too big a bunch of if ’s for tonight.

  “I think I’ll be fine,” I said. “Eric assures me that Salome will scoop up Mickey in no time, and I need sleep more than anything. I appreciate both of you coming out tonight.”

  For a long moment I thought they might just say “No” and try to outwait each other. But Eric kissed me on the forehead and left, and Bill, not to be outdone, brushed my lips with his and took his leave. When the two vampires had departed, I was delighted to be by myself.

  Of course, I wasn’t exactly alone. Tara was passed out on the couch. I made sure she was comfortable—took off her shoes, got the blanket off my bed to cover her—and then I fell into my own bed.

  14

  I SLEPT FOR HOURS.

  When I woke up, Tara was gone.

  I felt a stab of panic, until I realized she’d folded the blanket, washed her face in the bathroom (wet washcloth), and put her shoes on. She had left me a little note, too, on an old envelope that already held the beginnings of my shopping list. It said, “I’ll call you later. T”—a terse note, and not exactly redolent of sisterly love.

  I felt a little sad. I figured I wouldn’t be Tara’s favorite person for a while. She’d had to look more closely at herself than she wanted to look.

  There are times to think, and times to lie fallow. Today was a fallow day. My shoulder felt much better, and I decided I would drive to the Wal-Mart Supercenter in Clarice and get all my shopping over with in one trip. Also, there I wouldn’t see as many people I knew, and I wouldn’t have to discuss getting shot.

  It was very peaceful, being anonymous in the big store. I moved slowly and read labels, and I even selected a shower curtain for the duplex bathroom. I took my time completing my list. When I transferred the bags from the buggy into the car, I tried to do all the lifting with my right arm. I was practically reeking with virtue when I got back to the house on Berry Street.

  The Bon Temps Florist van was in the driveway. Every woman has a little lift in her heart when the florist’s van pulls up, and I was no exception.

  “I have a multiple delivery here,” said Bud Dearborn’s wife, Greta. Greta was flat-faced like the sheriff and squatty like the sheriff, but her nature was happy and unsuspicious. “You’re one lucky girl, Sookie.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am,” I agreed, with only a tincture of irony. After Greta had helped me carry in my bags, she began carrying in flowers.

  Tara had sent me a little vase of daisies and carnations. I am very fond of daisies, and the yellow and white looked pretty in my little kitchen. The card just read “From Tara.”

  Calvin had sent a very small gardenia bush wrapped up in tissue and a big bow. It was ready to pop out of the plastic tub and be planted as soon as the danger of a frost was over. I was impressed with the thoughtfulness of the gift, since the gardenia bush would perfume my yard for years. Because he’d had to call in the order, the card bore the conventional sentiment “Thinking of you—Calvin.”

  Pam had sent a mixed bouquet, and the card read, “Don’t get shot anymore. From the gang at Fangtasia.” That made me laugh a little. I automatically thought of writing thank-you notes, but of course I didn’t have my stationery with me. I’d stop by the pharmacy and get some. The downtown pharmacy had a corner that was a card shop, and also it accepted packages for UPS pickup. You had to be diverse in Bon Temps.

  I put away my purchases, awkwardly hung the shower curtain, and got cleaned up for work.

  Sweetie Des Arts was the first person I saw when I came through the employees’ entrance. She had an armful of kitchen towels, and she’d tied on her apron. “You’re a hard woman to kill,” she remarked. “How you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I said. I felt like Sweetie had been waiting for me, and I appreciated the gesture.

  “I hear you ducked just in time,” she said. “How come? Did you hear something?”

  “Not exactly,” I said. Sam limped out of his office then, using his cane. He was scowling. I sure didn’t want to explain my little quirk to Sweetie on Sam’s time. I said, “I just had a feeling,” and shrugged, which was unexpetedly painful.

  Sweetie shook her head at my close call and turned to go through the bar and back to the kitchen.

  Sam jerked his head toward his office, and with a sinking heart I followed him in. He shut the door behind us. “What were you doing when you got shot?” he asked. His eyes were bright with anger.

  I wasn’t going to get blamed for what had happened to me. I stood right up to Sam, got in his face. “I was just checking out library books,” I said through my teeth.

  “So why would he think you’re a shifter?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Who had you been around?”

  “I’d been to see Calvin, and I’d . . .” My voice trailed off as I caught at the tail end of a thought.

  “So, who can tell you smell like a shifter?” I asked slowly. “No one but another shifter, right? Or someone with shifter blood. Or a vampire. Some supernatural thing.”

  “But we haven’t had any strange shifters around here lately.”

  “Have you gone to where the shooter must have been, to smell?”

  “No, the only time I was on the spot at a shooting, I was too busy screaming on the ground with blood running out of my leg.”

  “But maybe now you could pick up something.”

  Sam looked down at his leg doubtfully. “It’s rained, but I guess it’s worth a try,” he conceded. “I should have thought of it myself. Okay, tonight, after work.”

  “It’s a date,” I said flippantly as Sam sank down in his squeaky chair. I put my purse in the drawer Sam kept empty and went out to check my tables.

  Charles was hard at work, and he gave me a nod and a smile before he concentrated on the level of beer in the pitcher he was holding to the tap. One of our consistent drunks, Jane Bodehouse, was seated at the bar with Charles fixed in her sights. It didn’t seem to make the vampire uncomfortable. I saw that the rhythm of the bar was back to normal; the new bartender had been absorbed into the background.

  After I’d worked about an hour, Jason came in. He had Crystal cuddled up in the curve of his arm. He was as happy as I’d ever seen him. He was excited by his new life and very pleased with Crystal’s company. I wondered how long that would last. But Crystal herself seemed of much the same mind.

  She told me that Calvin would be getting out of the hospital the next day and going home to Hotshot. I made sure to mention the flowers he’d sent and told her I’d be fixing Calvin some dish to mark his homecoming.

  Crystal was pretty sure she was pregnant. Even through the tangle of shifter brain, I could read that thought as clear as a bell. It wasn’t the first time I’d learned that some girl “dating” Jason was sure he was going to be a dad, and I hoped that this time was as false as the last time. It wasn’t that I had anything against Crystal . . . Well, that was a lie I was telling myself. I did have something against Crystal. Crystal was part of Hotshot, and she’d
never leave it. I didn’t want any niece or nephew of mine to be brought up in that strange little community, within the pulsing magic influence of the crossroads that formed its center.

  Crystal was keeping her late period a secret from Jason right now, determined to stay quiet until she was sure what it meant. I approved. She nursed one beer while Jason downed two, and then they were off to the movies in Clarice. Jason gave me a hug on the way out while I was distributing drinks to a cluster of law enforcement people. Alcee Beck, Bud Dearborn, Andy Bellefleur, Kevin Pryor, and Kenya Jones, plus Arlene’s new crush, arson investigator Dennis Pettibone, were all huddled around two tables pushed together in a corner. There were two strangers with them, but I picked up easily enough that the two men were cops, too, part of some task force.

  Arlene might have liked to wait on them, but they were clearly in my territory, and they clearly were talking about something heap big. When I was taking drink orders, they all hushed up, and when I was walking away, they’d start their conversation back up. Of course, what they said with their mouths didn’t make any difference to me, since I knew what each and every one of them was thinking.

  And they all knew this good and well; and they all forgot it. Alcee Beck, in particular, was scared to death of me, but even he was quite oblivious to my ability, though I’d demonstrated it for him before. The same could be said of Andy Bellefleur.

  “What’s the law enforcement convention in the corner cooking up?” asked Charles. Jane had tottered off to the ladies’, and he was temporarily by himself at the bar.

  “Let me see,” I said, closing my eyes so I could concentrate better. “Well, they’re thinking of moving the stakeout for the shooter to another parking lot tonight, and they’re convinced that the arson is connected to the shootings and that Jeff Marriot’s death is tied in with everything, somehow. They’re even wondering if the disappearance of Debbie Pelt is included in this clutch of crimes, since she was last seen getting gas on the interstate at the filling station closest to Bon Temps. And my brother, Jason, disappeared for a while a couple of weeks ago; maybe that’s part of the picture, too.” I shook my head and opened my eyes to find that Charles was disconcertingly close. His one good eye, his right, stared hard into my left.

  “You have very unusual gifts, young woman,” he said after a moment. “My last employer collected the unusual.”

  “Who’d you work for before you came into Eric’s territory?” I asked. He turned away to get the Jack Daniel’s.

  “The King of Mississippi,” he said.

  I felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under my feet. “Why’d you leave Mississippi and come here?” I asked, ignoring the hoots from the table five feet away.

  The King of Mississippi, Russell Edgington, knew me as Alcide’s girlfriend, but he didn’t know me as a telepath occasionally employed by vampires. It was quite possible Edgington might have a grudge against me. Bill had been held in the former stables behind Edgington’s mansion and tortured by Lorena, the creature who’d turned Bill into a vampire over a hundred and forty years before. Bill had escaped. Lorena had died. Russell Edgington didn’t necessarily know I was the agent of these events. But then again, he might.

  “I got tired of Russell’s ways,” Sir Charles said. “I’m not of his sexual persuasion, and being surrounded by perversity became tiresome.”

  Edgington enjoyed the company of men, it was true. He had a house full of them, as well as a steady human companion, Talbot.

  It was possible Charles had been there while I was visiting, though I hadn’t noticed him. I’d been severely injured the night I was brought to the mansion. I hadn’t seen all its inhabitants, and I didn’t necessarily remember the ones I’d seen.

  I became aware that the pirate and I were maintaining our eye contact. If they’ve survived for any length of time, vampires read human emotions very well, and I wondered what Charles Twining was gleaning from my face and demeanor. This was one of the few times I wished I could read a vampire’s mind. I wondered, very much, if Eric was aware of Charles’s background. Surely Eric wouldn’t have taken him on without a background check? Eric was a cautious vampire. He’d seen history I couldn’t imagine, and he’d lived through it because he was careful.

  Finally I turned to answer the summons of the impatient roofers who’d been trying to get me to refill their beer pitchers for several minutes.

  I avoided speaking to our new bartender for the rest of the evening. I wondered why he’d told me as much as he had. Either Charles wanted me to know he was watching me, or he really had no idea I’d been in Mississippi recently.

  I had a lot to think about.

  The working part of the night finally came to an end. We had to call Jane’s son to come get his soused relative, but that was nothing new. The pirate bartender had been working at a good clip, never making mistakes, being sure to give every patron a good word as he filled the orders. His tip jar looked healthy.

  Bill arrived to pick up his boarder as we were closing up for the night. I wanted to have a quiet word with him, but Charles was by Bill’s side in a flash, so I didn’t have an opportunity. Bill gave me an odd look, but they were gone without my making an opportunity to talk to him. I wasn’t sure what I would say, anyway. I was reassured when I realized that of course Bill had seen the worst employees of Russell Edgington, because those employees had tortured him. If Charles Twining was unknown to Bill, he might be okay.

  Sam was ready to go on our sniffing mission. It was cold and brilliant outside, the stars glittering in the night sky. Sam was bundled up, and I pulled on my pretty red coat. I had a matching set of gloves and a hat, and I would need them now. Though spring was coming closer every day, winter hadn’t finished with us yet.

  No one was at the bar but us. The entire parking lot was empty, except for Jane’s car. The glare of the security lights made the shadows deeper. I heard a dog bark way off in the distance. Sam was moving carefully on his crutches, trying to negotiate the uneven parking lot.

  Sam said, “I’m going to change.” He didn’t mean his clothes.

  “What’ll happen to your leg if you do?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Sam was full-blood shifter on both sides. He could change when it wasn’t the full moon, though the experiences were very different, he’d said. Sam could change into more than one animal, though dogs were his preference, and a collie was his choice among dogs.

  Sam retired behind the hedge in front of his trailer to doff his clothes. Even in the night, I saw the air disturbance that signaled magic was working all around him. He fell to his knees and gasped, and then I couldn’t see him anymore through the dense bushes. After a minute, a bloodhound trotted out, a red one, his ears swinging from side to side. I wasn’t used to seeing Sam this way, and it took me a second to be sure it was him. When the dog looked up at me, I knew my boss was inside.

  “Come on, Dean,” I said. I’d named Sam that in his animal guise before I’d realized the man and the dog were the same being. The bloodhound trotted ahead of me across the parking lot and into the woods where the shooter had waited for Sam to come out of the club. I watched the way the dog was moving. It was favoring its right rear leg, but not drastically.

  In the cold night woods, the sky was partially blocked. I had a flashlight, and I turned it on, but somehow that just made the trees creepier. The bloodhound—Sam—had already reached the place the police had decided marked the shooter’s vantage point. The dog, jowls jouncing, bent its head to the ground and moved around, sorting through all the scent information he was receiving. I stayed out of the way, feeling useless. Then Dean looked up at me and said, “Rowf.” He began making his way back to the parking lot. I guessed he’d gathered all he could.

  As we’d arranged, I loaded Dean in the Malibu to take him to another shooting site, the place behind some old buildings opposite the Sonic where the shooter had hidden on the night poor Heather Kinman had been killed. I turned into the service
alley behind the old stores and parked behind Patsy’s Cleaners, which had moved to a new and more convenient location fifteen years ago. Between the cleaners and the dilapidated and long-empty Louisiana Feed and Seed, a narrow gap afforded a great view of the Sonic. The drive-in restaurant was closed for the night but still bright with light. Since the Sonic was on the town’s main drag, there were lights up and down the street, and I could actually see pretty well in the areas where the structures allowed light to go; unfortunately, that made the shadows impenetrable.

  Again, the bloodhound worked the area, paying particular interest to the weedy strip of ground between the two old stores, a strip so narrow it was no more than a gap wide enough for one person. He seemed pretty excited at some particular scent he found. I was excited, too, hoping that he’d found something we could translate into evidence for the police.

  Suddenly Dean let out a “Whoof!” and raised his head to look past me. He was certainly focusing on something, or someone. Almost unwillingly, I turned to see. Andy Bellefleur stood at the point where the service alley crossed the gap between the buildings. Only his face and upper torso were in the light.

  “Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea! Andy, you scared the hell out of me!” If I hadn’t been watching the dog so intently, I would’ve sensed him coming. The stakeout, dammit. I should have remembered.

  “What are you doing here, Sookie? Where’d you get the dog?”

  I couldn’t think of a single answer that would sound plausible. “It seemed worth a try to see if a trained dog could pick up a single scent from the places where the shooter stood,” I said. Dean leaned against my legs, panting and slobbering.

  “So when did you get on the parish payroll?” Andy asked conversationally. “I didn’t realize you’d been hired as an investigator.”