Club Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #3)(26)
Author: Charlaine Harris

There was a note propped up on the coffeepot. I had a slight headache since I am not used to alcohol and I’d had two drinks the night before – the headache was not quite a hangover, but I wasn’t my normal cheerful self, either. I squinted at the tiny printing.

"Running errands. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in the afternoon."

For a minute I felt disappointed and deflated. Then I got a hold of myself. It wasn’t like he’d called me up and scheduled this as a romantic weekend, or like we really knew each other. Alcide had had my company foisted on him. I shrugged, and poured myself a cup of coffee. I made some toast and turned on the news. After I’d watched one cycle of CNN headlines, I decided to shower. I took my time. What else was there to do?

I was in danger of experiencing an almost unknown state – boredom.

At home, there was always something to do, though it might not be something I particularly enjoyed. If you have a house, there’s always some little job waiting for your attention. And when I was in Bon Temps, there was the library to go to, or the dollar store, or the grocery. Since I’d taken up with Bill, I’d also been running errands for him that could only be done in the daytime when offices were open.

As Bill crossed my mind, I was plucking a stray hair from my eyebrow line, leaning over the sink to peer in the bathroom mirror. I had to lay down the tweezers and sit on the edge of the tub. My feelings for Bill were so confused and conflicting, I had no hope of sorting them out anytime soon. But knowing he was in pain, in trouble, and I didn’t know how to find him – that was a lot to bear. I had never supposed that our romance would go smoothly. It was an interspecies relationship, after all. And Bill was a lot older than me. But this aching chasm I felt now that he was gone – that, I hadn’t ever imagined.

I pulled on some jeans and a sweater and made my bed. I lined up all my makeup in the bathroom I was using, and hung the towel just so. I would have straightened up Alcide’s room if I hadn’t felt it would be sort of impertinent to handle his things. So I read a few chapters of my book, and then decided I simply could not sit in the apartment any longer.

I left a note for Alcide telling him I was taking a walk, and then I rode down in the elevator with a man in casual clothes, lugging a golf bag. I refrained from saying, "Going to play golf?" and confined myself to mentioning that it was a good day to be outside. It was bright and sunny, clear as a bell, and probably in the fifties. It was a happy day, with all the Christmas decorations looking bright in the sun, and lots of shopping traffic.

I wondered if Bill would be home for Christmas. I wondered if Bill could go to church with me on Christmas Eve, or if he would. I thought of the new Skil saw I’d gotten Jason; I’d had it on layaway at Sears in Monroe for months, and just picked it up a week ago. I had gotten a toy for each of Arlene’s kids, and a sweater for Arlene. I really didn’t have anyone else to buy a gift for, and that was pathetic. I decided I’d get Sam a CD this year. The idea cheered me. I love to give presents. This would have been my first Christmas with a boyfriend …

Oh, hell, I’d come full cycle, just like Headline News.

"Sookie!" called a voice.

Startled out of my dreary round of thoughts, I looked around to see that Janice was waving at me out of the door of her shop, on the other side of the street. I’d unconsciously walked the direction I knew. I waved back at her.

"Come on over!" she said.

I went down to the corner and crossed with the light. The shop was busy, and Jarvis and Corinne had their hands full with customers.

"Christmas parties tonight," Janice explained, while her hands were busy rolling up a young matron’s black shoulder-length hair. "We’re not usually open after noon on Saturdays." The young woman, whose hands were decorated with an impressive set of diamond rings, kept riffling through a copy of Southern Living while Janice worked on her head.

"Does this sound good?" she asked Janice. "Ginger meatballs?" One glowing fingernail pointed to the recipe.

"Kind of oriental?" Janice asked.

"Um, sort of." She read the recipe intently. "No one else would be serving them," she muttered. "You could stick toothpicks in ’em."

"Sookie, what are you doing today?" Janice asked, when she was sure her customer was thinking about ground beef.

"Just hanging out," I said. I shrugged. "Your brother’s out running errands, his note said."

"He left you a note to tell you what he was doing? Girl, you should be proud. That man hasn’t set pen to paper since high school." She gave me a sideways look and grinned. "You all have a good time last night?"

I thought it over. "Ah, it was okay," I said hesitantly. The dancing had been fun, anyway.

Janice burst out laughing. "If you have to think about it that hard, it must not have been a perfect evening."

"Well, no," I admitted. "There was like a little fight in the bar, and a man had to be evicted. And then, Debbie was there."

"How did her engagement party go?"

"There was quite a crowd at her table," I said. "But she came over after a while and asked a lot of questions." I smiled reminiscently. "She sure didn’t like seeing Alcide with someone else!"

Janice laughed again.

"Who got engaged?" asked her customer, having decided against the recipe.

"Oh, Debbie Pelt? Used to go with my brother?" Janice said.

"I know her," said the black-haired woman, pleasure in her voice. "She used to date your brother, Alcide? And now she’s marrying someone else?"

"Marrying Charles Clausen," Janice said, nodding gravely. "You know him?"

"Sure I do! We went to high school together. He’s marrying Debbie Pelt? Well, better him than your brother," Black Hair said confidentially.

"I’d already figured that out," Janice said. "You know something I don’t know, though?"

"That Debbie, she’s into some weird stuff," Black Hair said, raising her eyebrows to mark deep significance.

"Like what?" I asked, hardly breathing as I waited to hear what would come out. Could it be that this woman actually knew about shape-shifting, about werewolves? My eyes met Janice’s and I saw the same apprehension in them.

Janice knew about her brother. She knew about his world.

And she knew I did, too.

"Devil worship, they say," Black Hair said. "Witchcraft."

We both gaped at her reflection in the mirror. She had gotten the reaction she’d been looking for. She gave a satisfied nod. Devil worship and witchcraft weren’t synonymous, but I wasn’t going to argue with this woman; this was the wrong time and place.