Dead Ever After (Sookie Stackhouse #13)(37)
Author: Charlaine Harris

Kennedy started talking about the bikini wax she’d gotten in Shreveport, and Danny’s new employer was banished in favor of this more interesting topic, but the next idle moment I had I caught myself wondering if Bill’s security system meant that he’d had some trigger event to suggest he really needed one. Since he was my nearest neighbor, I ought to know if someone had tried to break into his house. It would be all too easy to get so wrapped up in my own multilevel troubles that I forgot other folks had troubles, too.

Also, I was curious as hell. And it was a relief to think about something besides being an accused murderer and breaking up with my boyfriend.

Kennedy said, "What’s your vampire got to say about this murder charge, Sookie?"

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

"Apparently, he put up my bail, but I think that was just for old times’ sake," I said. I looked at her directly, so she’d get the message.

"Sorry," she said, after a moment’s absorption of my message and the depth of my pit o’ breakup misery. "Oh, wow."

I shrugged. And I could hear Kennedy wondering if I’d go back to Bill Compton now that I’d lost my second vampire lover.

Bless her heart. Kennedy just thought like that. I patted her hand and moved on to another customer.

I grew tired, really tired, by about seven o’clock. I’d outstayed the first shift and was well into the second, and on this Tuesday night the crowd was thin. I went behind the bar to talk to Sam, who was fidgeting around in a very un-Sam way.

"I’m gonna go, Sam, because I’m dead on my feet," I said. "That okay?"

I could see the tension in his body language. But he wasn’t angry with me.

"I don’t know who pissed you off, Sam, but you can tell me," I said. I met his eyes.

"Sook, I . . ." And he stopped dead. "You know I’m here if you need me. I’ve got your back, Sook."

"I got a real nasty message on my answering machine, Sam. It kind of scared me." I made a wry face to show him I hated being such a chicken. "I didn’t recognize the number it came from. Andy Bellefleur said he’d look into it. I’m just saying that what with one thing and another, I’m grateful that you said that. It means a lot. You’ve always been there for me."

"No," he said. "Not always. But I am, now."

"Okay," I said doubtfully. Something was really eating at my friend, and I had no way to pry it out of him, which normally wouldn’t be a problem for me.

"You go home and get some rest," he said, and he put his hand on my shoulder.

I scraped up a smile and offered it to him. "Thanks, Sam."

It was still broiling hot when I left Merlotte’s, and I had to stand by my car for a good five minutes with both the front doors open before I could bear to get inside. I had that icky sensation of sweat trickling down between my butt cheeks. My feet could hardly wait to be out of the socks and sneakers I wore to work. While I waited for the car to cool – well, to become less hot – I caught a flash of movement from the trees around the employee lot.

At first I thought it was a trick of the sunlight bouncing off the chrome trim on my car, but then I was sure I’d seen a person in the woods.

There was no good reason for anyone to be out there. To the rear of Merlotte’s and facing onto another street lay the little Catholic church and three businesses: a gift shop, a credit union, and Liberty South Insurance. None of them were likely to have customers who would opt to wander in the fringe of woods, especially on a hot weekday evening. I wondered what to do. I could retreat to Merlotte’s, or I could get in the car and pretend I hadn’t seen anything, or I could dash into the woods and beat up whoever was watching me. I considered for maybe fifteen seconds. I didn’t think I had enough energy to dash, though I had plenty of anger to fuel a beating. I didn’t want to ask Sam for anything; I’d asked him for so much, and he was acting so odd today.

So, option two. But just to make sure someone knew what was happening . . . and I didn’t get any more specific than that . . . I called Kenya. She answered on the first ring, and since she knew it was me calling, I saw that as a good thing.

"Kenya, I’m leaving work now, and there’s someone out back skulking in the trees," I said. "I got no idea what anyone would want to do back there – there’s nothing besides Sam’s trailer – but I’m not going to try to handle that on my own."

"Good idea, Sookie, since you ain’t armed and you ain’t a cop," Kenya said tartly. "Oh . . . you aren’t armed, are you?"

Lots of people had personal handguns in our neck of the woods, and just about everyone had a "critter rifle." (You never knew when a rabid skunk would come up in your yard.) I myself had a shotgun and my dad’s old critter rifle at home. So Kenya’s question wasn’t out of left field.

"I don’t carry a gun with me," I said.

"We’ll come check it out," she said. "You were smart to call."

That was nice to hear. A police officer thought I’d done something smart. I was glad to reach the turnoff into my driveway without any occurrence.

I picked up my mail, then went to the house. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. I was still excited about the prospect of eating my very own food, after the indescribable slop we’d gotten in jail. (I knew the parish didn’t have a big budget to feed prisoners, but damn.)

Despite my eagerness, I looked around me carefully before I got out of my car, and I had my keys in my hand. Experience had taught me it’s better to be wary and feel ridiculous than to get conked on the head or abducted or whatever the enemy plan of the day might be.

I flew up the steps, crossed the porch, and unlocked the back door quicker than you can say "Jack Robinson."

A little fearfully, I went to the answering machine in the living room and pressed the button to listen. Andy Bellefleur said, "Sookie, we traced the call. It came from a house in New Orleans owned by a Leslie Gelbman. That mean anything to you?"

I caught Andy at work. "I know several people in New Orleans," I said. "But that name means nothing to me." I didn’t think any of them would be placing a hate call to me, either.

"The Gelbman house is up for sale. Someone had broken into it through the back door. The phone was still hooked up, and that’s what the caller used to leave that message. Sorry we didn’t find out who said that stuff. Did you recall any incident that would make that message mean something to you?"

He actually sounded sorry, which was nice. My opinion of Andy wavered back and forth. I think his opinion of me did, too. "Thanks, Andy. No, I haven’t thought of anything I’ve ever done that could be construed as taking away someone’s last chance." I paused. "Did you give Alcee my message?"