Club Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #3)(50)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"Tell them," he said, "to just let him go, and he will take himself home. Tell them that we apologize for letting him stray."

I relayed that message from my "abductors."

Betty Jo was quick to dismiss the directions. "Would you ask if he could stay and sing to us a little? He’s in pretty good shape," she said.

So I relayed that. Eric rolled his eyes. "She can ask him, but if he says no, she must take it to heart and not ask him anymore," he said. "It just upsets him, if he’s not in the mood. And sometimes when he does sing, it brings back memories, and he gets, ah, obstreperous."

"All right," she said, after I’d explained. "We’ll do our best. If he doesn’t want to sing, we’ll let him go right away." From the sound of it, she turned to someone by her. "He can sing, if he’ll consent," she said, and the someone said, "Yippee!" Two big nights in a row for the crowd at the king of Mississippi’s mansion, I guess.

Betty Joe said into the telephone, "I hope you get out of your difficulties. I don’t know how whoever’s got you got lucky enough to have the care of the greatest star in the world. Would he consider negotiating?"

She didn’t know yet about the troubles that entailed. "Bubba" had an unfortunate predilection for cat blood, and he was addlepated, and he could only follow the simplest directions; though every now and then, he exhibited a streak of shrewdness. He followed directions quite literally.

"She wants permission to keep him," I told Eric. I was tired of being the go-between. But Betty Joe couldn’t meet with Eric, or she’d know he was the supposed friend of Alcide’s who’d helped me get to the mansion the night before.

This was all too complicated for me.

"Yes?" Eric said into the telephone. Suddenly he had an English accent. Mr. Master of Disguise. Soon he was saying things like, "He’s a sacred trust," and, "You don’t know what you’re biting off," into the phone. (If I’d had any sense of humor that night, I would have thought the last statement was pretty funny.) After a little more conversation, he hung up, with a pleased air.

I was thinking how strange it was that Betty Joe hadn’t indicated that anything else was amiss at the compound. She hadn’t accused Bubba of taking their prisoner, and she hadn’t commented on finding the body of Lorena. Not that she’d necessarily mention these things in a phone conversation with a human stranger; and, for that matter, not that there’d be much to find; vampires disintegrate pretty quickly. But the silver chains would still be in the pool, and maybe enough sludge to identify as the corpse of a vampire. Of course, why would anyone look under the pool cover? But surely someone had noticed their star prisoner was gone?

Maybe they were assuming Bubba had freed Bill while he was roaming the compound. We’d told him not to say anything, and he would follow that directive to the letter.

Maybe I was off the hook. Maybe Lorena would be completely dissolved by the time they started to clean the pool in the spring.

The topic of corpses reminded me of the body we’d found stuffed in the closet of this apartment. Someone sure knew where we were, and someone sure didn’t like us. Leaving the body there was an attempt to tie us to the crime of murder, which, actually, I had committed. I just hadn’t done that particular murder. I wondered if the body of Jerry Falcon had been discovered yet. The chance seemed remote. I opened my mouth to ask Alcide if it had been on the news, and then I closed it again. I lacked the energy to frame the sentence.

My life was spinning out of control. In the space of two days I’d hidden one corpse and created another one. And all because I’d fallen in love with a vampire. I gave Bill an unloving glance. I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I hardly heard the telephone. Alcide, who had gone into the kitchen, must have answered it on the first ring.

Alcide appeared in the door of the bedroom. "Move," he said, "you all have to move next door into the empty apartment. Quick, quick!"

Bill scooped me up, blanket and all. We were out the door and Eric was breaking the lock on the apartment next to Alcide’s before you could say "Jack Daniels." I heard the slow grumble of the elevator arriving on the fifth floor as Bill closed the door behind us.

We stood stock-still in the empty cold living room of the barren apartment. The vampires were listening intently to what was going on next door. I began to shiver in Bill’s arms.

To tell the truth, it felt great to be held by him, no matter how angry I had been at him, no matter how many issues we had to settle. To tell the truth, I had a dismayingly wonderful sense of homecoming. To tell the truth, no matter how battered my body was – and battered at his hands, or rather, his fangs – that body could hardly wait to meet up with his body again, buck naked, despite the terrible incident in the trunk. I sighed. I was disappointed in myself. I would have to stand up for my psyche, because my body was ready to betray me, big time. It seemed to be blacking out Bill’s mindless attack.

Bill laid me on the floor in the smaller guest bedroom of this apartment as carefully as if I’d cost him a million dollars, and he swaddled me securely in the blanket. He and Eric listened at the wall, which was shared with Alcide’s bedroom.

"What a bitch," Eric murmured. Oh. Debbie was back.

I closed my eyes. Eric made a little noise of surprise and I opened them again. He was looking at me, and there was that disconcerting amusement in his face again.

"Debbie stopped by his sister’s house last night to grill her about you. Alcide’s sister likes you very much," Eric said in a tiny whisper. "This angers the shape-shifter Debbie. She is insulting his sister in front of him."

Bill’s face showed he was not so thrilled.

Suddenly every line in Bill’s body became tense, as if someone had jammed Bill’s finger in an electric socket. Eric’s jaw dropped and he looked at me with an unreadable expression.

There was the unmistakable sound of a slap – even I could hear it – from the next room.

"Leave us for a moment," Bill said to Eric. I didn’t like the sound of his voice.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t think I was up to whatever would come next. I didn’t want to argue with Bill, or upbraid him for his unfaithfulness. I didn’t want to listen to explanations and excuses.

I heard the whisper of movement as Bill knelt beside me on the carpet. Bill stretched out beside me, turned on his side, and laid his arm across me.

"He just told this woman how good you are in bed," Bill murmured gently.

I came up from my prone position so fast that it tore my healing neck and gave me a twinge in my nearly healed side.

I clapped my hand to my neck and gritted my teeth so I wouldn’t moan. When I could talk, I could only say, "He what? He what?" I was almost incoherent with anger. Bill gave me a piercing look, put his finger over his lips to remind me to be quiet.