Dead and Gone (Sookie Stackhouse #9)(54)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"I’m sorry about that," Mel said. His gaze returned from the pond and the trees and focused on my brother. "I thought the blow had killed her – I really did. I would never have left her to go in the house if I’d thought she was still alive. I would never have let someone else get her. What I did was bad enough, because I intended for her to die. But I didn’t crucify her. Please believe me. No matter what you think of me for hurting her, I would never have done that. I thought if I took her somewhere else, no one would think you did it. I knew you were going out that night, and I figured if I put her somewhere else, you’d have an alibi. I figured you’d end up spending the night with Michele." Mel smiled at Jason, and it was such a tender look that my heart ached. "So I left her in the back of the truck, and I came in the house to have a drink. And when I came back out, she was gone. I couldn’t believe it. I thought she’d gotten up and walked away. But there wasn’t any blood, and the wood was gone, too."

"Why Merlotte’s?" Calvin said, and his voice came out like a growl.

"I don’t know, Calvin," Mel said. His face was almost sublime with his relief from the load of his guilt, with the release of confessing his crime and his love for my brother. "Calvin, I know I’m about to die, and I swear to you that I have no idea what happened to Crystal after I went into the house. I did not do that horrible thing to her."

"I don’t know what to make of that," Calvin said. "But we have your confession, and we’ll have to proceed."

"I accept that," Mel said. "Jason, I love you."

Dawn turned her head just a fraction so her eyes could meet mine. "You better go," she said. "We got things to do."

I walked off with the rifle, and I didn’t turn to look even when the other panthers began to tear Mel apart. I could hear it, though.

He didn’t scream after a second.

I left Jason’s rifle on his back porch, and I drove to work. Somehow having a bodyguard didn’t seem important anymore.

Chapter 16

As I served beers and daiquiris and vodka collinses to the people stopping by on their way home from work, I stood back and eyed myself in amazement. I’d worked for hours, serving and smiling and hustling, and I’d never broken down at all. Sure, I’d had to ask four people to repeat their orders. And I’d walked past Sam twice, and he’d said something to me to which I hadn’t responded – I knew this because he’d stopped me to tell me so. But I’d gotten the right plates and drinks to the right tables, and my tips were running about average, which meant I’d been agreeable and hadn’t forgotten anything crucial.

You’re doing so good,I told myself. I’m so proud of you. You just have to get through this. You can go home in fifteen minutes .

I wondered how many women had given themselves the same lecture: the girl who’d held her head up at a dance where her date was paying attention to another classmate; the woman who’d been passed by for promotion at her job; the woman who had listened to a dire diagnosis and yet kept her face together. I knew men must have days like this, too.

Well, maybe not too many people had days exactly like this.

Naturally, I’d been turning over in my head Mel’s strange insistence that he was not responsible for Crystal’s crucifixion, during which she’d actually died. His thoughts had had the ring of truth. And really, there was no reason why he would’ve balked at confessing everything when he’d already confessed so much, found peace doing so. Why would someone steal the half-dead Crystal and the wood, and do a deed so disgusting? It would’ve had to have been someone who’d hated Crystal an awful lot, or maybe someone who had hated Mel or Jason. It was an inhuman act, yet I found myself believing in Mel’s dying assertion that he had not done it.

I was so glad to leave work that I began driving home on automatic pilot. When I’d gotten almost to the turn off into my driveway, I remembered that I’d told Amelia hours before that I’d meet her at Tray’s house.

I’d completely forgotten.

I could forgive myself, considering the day I’d had – if Amelia was okay. But when I remembered Tray’s mean state and his ingestion of vampire blood, I felt a jolt of panic.

I looked at my watch and saw I was more than forty-five minutes late. Turning around in the next driveway, I drove back to town like a bat out of hell. I was trying to pretend to myself I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t doing a very good job.

There weren’t any cars in front of the small house. Its windows were dark. I could see the bumper of Tray’s truck peering out from the carport behind the house.

I drove right by and turned around on a county road about half a mile farther out. Confused and worried, I returned to park outside Tray’s. His house and the adjacent workshop were outside the Bon Temps city limits but not isolated. Tray had maybe a half-acre lot; his little home and the large metal building housing his repair business were right next to a similar setup owned by Brock and Chessie Johnson, who had an upholstery shop. Obviously, Brock and Chessie had retreated to their house for the night. The living room lights were on; as I watched, Chessie pulled the curtains shut, which most people out here didn’t bother to do.

The night was dark and quiet; the Johnsons’ dog was barking, but that was the only sound. It was too cold for the chorus of bugs that often made the night come alive.

I thought of several scenarios that could explain the dead look of the house.

One. The vampire blood still had hold over Tray, and he’d killed Amelia. Right now, he was in his house, in the dark, thinking of ways to kill himself. Or maybe he was waiting for me to come, so he could kill me, too.

Two. Tray had recovered from his ingestion of vamp blood, and when Amelia had appeared on his doorstep, they’d decided to treat their free afternoon as a honeymoon. They wouldn’t be at all happy if I interrupted them.

Three. Amelia had come by, found no one at home, and was now back at the house cooking supper for herself and me, because she expected me to drive up at any moment. At least that explanation accounted for the absence of Amelia’s car.

I tried to think of an even better series of events, but I couldn’t. I pulled out my cell phone and tried my home number. I heard my own voice on the answering machine. Next, I tried Amelia’s cell. It went to voice mail after three rings. I was running out of happy options. Figuring that a phone call would be less intrusive than a knock at the door, I tried Tray’s number next. I could hear the faint ring of the phone inside … but no one answered it.

I called Bill. I didn’t think about it for more than a second. I just did it.

"Bill Compton," said the familiar cool voice.

"Bill," I said, and then couldn’t finish.

"Where are you?"