Dead in the Family (Sookie Stackhouse #10)(27)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"I like children," Claude told me. "I’ll behave. And I’m sorry to have upset you." He gave a stab at sounding contrite.

"Funny, you don’t look sorry. At all."

"I’m crying inside," he said, smiling a wicked smile.

"Oh, for goodness’ sake," I said, turning away to complete my bathroom routine alone and unobserved.

I’d calmed down by the time I got to work. After all, I thought, Claude has probably seen a gazillion people naked in his time. Most supes didn’t think nudity was any big deal. The fact that Claude and I were distantly related – my great-grandfather was his grandfather – wouldn’t make any difference to him; in fact, it wouldn’t make any difference to most of the supes. So, I told myself stoutly, no big deal. When I hit a slow time at work, I called Eric’s cell and left a message to tell him I was expecting to babysit a child that night. "If you can come over, great, but I wanted you to know ahead of time that someone else will be here," I told the voice mail. Hunter would make a pretty effective chaperone. Then I thought about my new upstairs roomer. "Plus, I kind of forgot to tell you something the other night, and probably you aren’t going to like it much. Also, I miss you." There was a beep. My message time was up. Well … good. There was no telling what I would’ve said next.

The tracker, Heidi, was supposed to arrive in Bon Temps tonight. It seemed like a year since Eric had decided to send her over to check my land. I felt a little concerned when I thought of her arrival. Would Remy think Hunter attending the funeral was so bad, if he knew who else was dropping by my house? Was I being irresponsible? Was I putting the child at risk?

No, it was paranoid to think so. Heidi was coming to scout around in my woods.

I had thrown off my niggling worry by the time I was preparing to leave Merlotte’s. Kennedy had arrived to work for Sam again because he’d made plans to take the Were girl, Jannalynn, to the casinos in Shreveport and out to dinner. I hoped she was real good to Sam, because he deserved it.

Kennedy was contorting herself in front of the mirror behind the bar, trying to discern a weight loss. I looked down at my own thighs. Jannalynn was really, really slim. In fact, I’d call her skinny. God had been generous with me in the bosom department, but Jannalynn was the possessor of little apricotlike boobs she showed off by wearing bustiers and tank tops with no bra. She gave herself some attitude (and altitude) by wearing fantastic footwear. I was wearing Keds. I sighed.

"Have a nice night!" Kennedy told me brightly, and I straightened my shoulders, smiled, and wiggled my fingers good-bye. Most people thought Kennedy’s big smile and good manners had to be put on. But I knew Kennedy was sincere. She’d been trained by her pageant-queen mom to keep a smile on her face and a good word on her lips. I had to hand it to her; Danny Prideaux didn’t faze Kennedy at all, and I felt like he’d make most girls pretty nervous. Danny, who’d been brought up to expect the world to beat him down so he better throw the first punch, lifted a finger to me to second Kennedy’s farewell. He had a Coke in front of him, because Danny didn’t drink on duty. He seemed content to play Mario Kart on his Nintendo DS, or to simply sit at the bar and watch Kennedy work.

On the other hand, lots of men would be nervous about working with Kennedy since she’d served time for manslaughter. Some women would be, too. But I had no problem with her. I was glad Sam had stepped up for her. It’s not that I approve of murder – but some people just beg to be killed, don’t they? After all I’d been through, I was forced to simply admit to myself that I felt that way.

I got home about five minutes before Remy arrived with Hunter. I’d had just enough time to pull off my work clothes, toss them in the hamper, and put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before Remy knocked at the front door.

I looked through the peephole before I opened the door, on the theory that it’s better to be safe than sorry.

"Hey, Remy!" I said. He was in his early thirties, a quietly good-looking man with thick light brown hair. He was wearing clothes suitable for an evening visitation at a funeral home: khakis, a white-and-brown-striped broadcloth shirt, polished loafers. He’d looked more comfortable in the flannel and jeans he’d been wearing the first time I’d met him. I looked down at his son. Hunter had grown since I’d seen him last. He had dark hair and eyes like his mother, Hadley, but it was too early to say who he’d favor when he grew up.

I squatted down and said, Hi, Hunter. I didn’t say anything out loud, but I smiled at him.

He’d almost forgotten. His face lit up. Aunt Sookie! he said. Pleasure ran through his head, pleasure and excitement. "I have a new truck," he said out loud, and I laughed.

"You gonna show it to me? Come on in, you two, and let’s get you settled."

"Thanks, Sookie," Remy said.

"Do I look like my mama, Dad?" Hunter asked.

"Why?" Remy was startled.

"That’s what Aunt Sookie says."

Remy was used to little shocks like this by now, and he knew it would only get worse. "Yes, you look like your mom, and she was good-looking," Remy told him. "You’re a lucky young man, Son."

"I don’t want to look like a girl," Hunter said doubtfully.

You don’t. "Not a bit," I said. "Hunter, your room is right here." I indicated the open doorway. "I used to sleep in this room when I was a kid," I said.

Hunter looked around, alert and cautious. But the low twin bed with its white bedspread and the old furniture and the worn rug by the bed were all homey and unthreatening. "Where will you be?" he asked.

"Right here, across the hall," I told him, opening the door to my room. "You just call out, and I’ll come a-running. Or you can come climb in the bed with me, if you get scared in the night."

Remy stood, watching his son absorb all this. I didn’t know how often the little boy had spent the night away from his dad; not too often, from the thoughts I was picking up from the boy’s head.

"The bathroom’s the next door down from your room, see?" I pointed in. He looked into the old-fashioned room with his mouth hanging open.

"I know it looks different from your bathroom at home," I said, answering his thoughts. "This is an old house, Hunter." The claw-foot tub and the black-and-white tiles were not what you saw in the rental houses and apartments Remy and Hunter had lived in since Katrina.

"What’s upstairs?" Hunter asked.

"Well, a cousin of mine is staying up there. He’s not home right now, and he comes in so late you may not even see him. His name is Claude."

Can I go up there and look around?