Deadlocked (Sookie Stackhouse #12)(44)
Author: Charlaine Harris

I tried to think of another good thing to anticipate. Tara would be coming home from the hospital today, and I should cook a meal for her. I tried to summon the energy to plan that, but I came up with nothing. Okay, save that for later. I cast around for other pleasant ideas, but nothing took a grip on my black mood to loosen its hold on me.

When I’d exhausted my fund of self-pity by brooding on my untenable situation with Eric, I thought I should focus on the death that had precipitated the current crisis, at least in part. I checked the news on the computer, but no arrest had been made in Kym Rowe’s murder. Detective Ambroselli said, "The police are not close to an arrest, but we’re pursuing several leads. Meanwhile, if anyone saw anything in the Clearwater Cove area that night, please call our hotline." So, it would be interesting to hear if Bill and Heidi had found out anything, and it would be interesting-maybe-to ask the writer, Harp Powell, why he was going around with the Rowes. I’d had the feeling he was a cut or two above what he seemed to be doing-making a quick buck off the murder of a young, self-destructive stripper.

It felt good to have a couple of projects in mind, and I clutched them to me as I went through my morning ritual. The lockers for the employee area were supposed to come today on the truck. That would be fun. If you had a very limited idea of fun.

I goaded and prodded myself into preparation and went in the back door of Merlotte’s full of grim determination. As I tied on my apron, I felt my mouth curve up in my worst smile, the one that sent out "I’m crazy" signals all over the place. It had been a long time since I’d worn that particular smile.

I made a round of my tables and realized Sam wasn’t behind the bar, again. Another man who wasn’t there when I needed him. Maybe he and Jannalynn the Terrible had gone to Arkansas to get a marriage license. I stopped dead in my tracks, the smile turning into a scowl. Pivoting on my heel, I shot out the back door of Merlotte’s. Sam’s truck wasn’t at his trailer. In the middle of the employee parking lot I clapped my cell phone to my ear after punching my speed dial.

After two rings, Sam answered.

"Where are you?" I snarled. If I was here being unhappy, Sam should be here, too. Weren’t we sort-of partners?

"I took another day off," he said, now clued in about my mood. He was only pretending to be casual.

"Seriously, Sam, where are you?"

"Yeah, you sound pretty damn serious," he said, now borderline angry himself.

"Did you get married?" The thought of Sam being on his honeymoon with Jannalynn-having fun while Eric made me miserable-was simply intolerable. I’ve had moments when I recognized that my reactions to current events were out of the stratosphere (most often when I was in the grip of my monthly woes), and usually that realization was enough for me to rein in the inappropriateness.

But not today.

"Sookie, why would you think that?" Sam sounded genuinely bewildered.

"She told Alcide she was going to ask you. She told him she wanted me to help her surprise you … but I wouldn’t do it."

Sam was silent for a moment, perhaps struggling through all those pronouns.

"I’m standing outside her house," he said finally. "Jannalynn volunteered us to help Brenda get Splendide back in order after the break-in. I did think I’d get back to Bon Temps sooner than I am. But I’m not married. And I don’t have any plans to get that way."

I started crying. I put my hand over the phone so he couldn’t hear me.

"Sookie, what’s really wrong?" Sam’s voice said.

"I can’t tell you standing out here in the parking lot, and anyway, it makes me sound like the most pitiful person." I couldn’t manage to get myself under control. When I thought of Freyda’s cool surface, I was disgusted with my own irrational display. "I’m sorry, Sam. Sorry I called you. I’ll see you when you get home. Forget this whole conversation, okay?"

"Sookie? Listen, just shut up for a minute."

I did.

"Look, my friend, we’re gonna be all right," he said. "We’ll talk, and everything will look better."

"Maybe not," I said. But even to my own ears, I sounded reasonable and much more like my better self.

"Then we’ll deal with that," he said.

"Okay."

"Sookie, is there any reason you can think of that someone might want to tear apart the pieces of furniture you sold to Brenda? I mean, her partner, Donald, said he’d found a secret drawer, but all that was in it was an old pattern and he’d handed that to you. Did you know anything about that furniture that might give any kind of hint why anyone would break it up?"

"No," I lied. "It was just an old Butterick pattern, I think. I bet Jason or I stuck it in there when we were little ’cause we thought that would be funny. I don’t even remember Gran showing it to us. You’ll have to tell me all about the break-in when you come back. Drive careful."

We hung up. I shook myself, feeling my personality settling back into place on my shoulders. It was like an emotional tornado had subsided into a dust devil. I wiped my face with my apron before marching back into the bar, my cell phone in my pocket like a talisman. Everyone was eyeing me sideways. I must have startled the customers with my abrupt exit. I did a little courtesy tour around to all my tables, just to let people know I had returned to my right mind. I worked through the rest of my shift without descending to the previous level of Hell I’d inhabited.

Kennedy was singing behind the bar, still happy since Danny had revealed his big secret job hunt to her. I didn’t feel like talking about vampire stuff at all, so I just rolled with her good mood.

By the time the delivery truck pulled up to the back door, I was borderline normal myself. The lockers fit right in the space I’d cleared for them, I’d already bought padlocks for everyone on the staff, and since Sam wasn’t there, I got the pleasure of allotting everyone a locker and explaining that though Sam and I wouldn’t go in the lockers unless there was a crisis, we would be keeping a key to each one. Since the ladies had trusted Sam all these years with their purses, they shouldn’t have any problem trusting him with a change of clothes or a hairbrush. Everyone was pleased and even a little excited, because a change in the workplace can mean a lot.

Sam’s truck was parked in front of his trailer when my shift was over, so I felt free to take off. Sam and I needed to talk, but not this evening.

I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to buy the ingredients for Tara’s homecoming meal. I’d left a message on JB’s cell phone to tell him I was bringing something over, and just as insurance I’d left a message on their landline, too.