Dead in the Family (Sookie Stackhouse #10)(64)
Author: Charlaine Harris

I tried not to worry about Eric or anything else the rest of the day. I’d had a text message inviting me to have lunch with Tara and JB, and I was glad to have their company. Tara had gotten Dr. Dinwiddie to check very carefully, and sure enough, he’d found another heartbeat. She and JB were stunned, in a happy way. Tara had fi xed creamed chicken to spoon over biscuits, and she’d made a spinach casserole and a fruit salad. I had a great time at their little house, and JB checked my wrists and said they were almost back to normal. Tara was all excited about the baby shower JB’s aunt was planning on giving them in Clarice, and she assured me I’d get an invitation. We picked a date for her shower in Bon Temps, and she promised she’d register online.

By the time I got home, I figured I’d better put a load of wash in, and I washed my bath mat, too, and hung it out on the line to dry. While I was outside, I made sure I had my little plastic squirt gun, full of lemon juice, tucked in my pocket. I didn’t want to get caught by surprise again. I just couldn’t figure out what I’d done to deserve having an apparently (judging by Claude’s reaction) hostile fairy tromping around my property.

My cell phone rang as I trailed gloomily back to the house. "Hey, Sis," Jason said. He was cooking on the grill. I could hear the sizzle. "Michele and me are cooking out. You want to come? I got plenty of steak."

"Thanks, but I ate at JB and Tara’s. Give me a rain check on that."

"Sure thing. I got your message. Tomorrow at eight, right?"

"Yeah. Let’s ride over to Shreveport together."

"Sure. I’ll pick you up at seven at your place."

"See you then."

"Gotta go!"

Jason did not like long phone conversations. He’d broken up with girls who wanted to chat while they shaved their legs and painted their nails.

It was not a great commentary on my life that the prospect of meeting with a bunch of unhappy Weres seemed like a good time – or at least an interesting time.

Kennedy was bartending when I got to work the next day. She told me that Sam had a final, take-the-checkbook appointment with his accountant, who’d gotten an extension since Sam had been so late turning all the paperwork over.

Kennedy looked as pretty as she always did. She refused to wear the shorts most of the rest of us wore in warm weather, instead opting for tailored khakis and a fancy belt with her Merlotte’s T-shirt. Kennedy’s makeup and hair were pageant quality. I glanced automatically at Danny Prideaux’s usual barstool. Empty.

"Where’s Danny?" I asked when I went to the bar to get a beer for Catfish Hennessy. He was Jason’s boss, and I half expected to see Jason come in to join him, but Hoyt and a couple of the other roadwork guys sat at Catfish’s table.

"He had to work at his other job today," Kennedy said, trying to sound offhand. "I appreciate Sam making sure I’ve got protection while I’m working, Sookie, but I really don’t think there’s going to be any trouble."

The bar door slammed. "I’m here to protest!" yelled a woman who looked like anyone’s grandmother. She had a sign, and she hoisted it up. NO COHABITATION WITH ANIMALS, it read, and you could see that she’d written "cohabitation" while she looked at a dictionary; each letter was written with such care.

"Call the police first," I told Kennedy. "And then Sam. Tell him to get back here no matter what he’s talking about." Kennedy nodded and turned to the wall phone.

Our protester was wearing a blue and white blouse and red pants she’d probably gotten at Bealls or Stage. She had short permed hair dyed a reasonable brown and wore wire-rimmed glasses and a modest wedding ring on her arthritic fingers. Despite this completely average exterior, I could feel her thoughts burning with the fire of a zealot.

"Ma’am, you need to take yourself outside. This building is privately owned," I said, having no idea if this was a good line to take or not. We’d never had anyone protesting before.

"But it’s a public business. Anyone can come inside," she said, as if she were the authority.

Not any more than I was. "No, not if Sam doesn’t want them in here, and as his representative, I’m telling you to leave."

"You’re not Sam Merlotte, or his wife. You’re that girl who dates a vampire," she said venomously.

"I am Sam’s right-hand person at this bar," I lied, "and I’m telling you to get out, or I’ll put you out."

"You lay one finger on me, and I’ll call the law on you," she said, jerking her head.

Rage flared up in me. I really, really don’t like threats.

"Kennedy," I said, and in a second she was standing by me. "I’d say between us we’re strong enough to pick up this lady and take her out of the bar. What do you say?"

"I’m all for it." Kennedy stared down at the woman as if she were only waiting for the starting gun to go off. "And you’re that girl who shot her boyfriend," the woman said, beginning to look properly frightened.

"I am. I was really mad at him, and at the moment I’m pretty pissed off at you," Kennedy said. "You get your butt out of here and take your little sign with you, and you do it right now."

The older woman’s courage broke, and she scuttled out, remembering at the last moment to keep her head up and her back straight since she was one of God’s soldiers. I got that direct from her head.

Catfish clapped for Kennedy, and a few others joined in, but mostly the bar patrons sat in stunned silence. Then we heard the chanting from the parking lot, and we all surged to the windows.

"Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea," I breathed. There were at least thirty protesters in the parking lot. Most of them were middle-aged, but I spotted a few teenagers who should have been in school, and I recognized a couple of guys who I knew to be in their early twenties. I sort of recognized most of the crowd. They attended a "charismatic" church in Clarice, a church that was growing by leaps and bounds (if construction was any indicator). The last time I’d driven by when I was going to have physical therapy with JB, a new activities building had been going up.

I wished they were being active there, where they belonged, rather than here. Just as I was about to do something idiotic (like going out in the parking lot), two Bon Temps police cars pulled up, lights flashing. Kevin and Kenya got out. Kevin was skinny and white, and Kenya was round and black. They were both good police officers, and they loved each other dearly … but unofficially.

Kevin approached the chanting group with apparent confidence. I couldn’t hear what he said, but they all turned to face him and began talking all at once. He held up his hands to pat the air in a "back off and get quiet" gesture, and Kenya circled around to come up behind the group.