Definitely Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #6)(6)
Author: Charlaine Harris

That had been put politely enough. Arlene and Danielle were trying hard not to stare – well, they were trying hard to stare when Quinn wouldn’t catch them – but Sam had turned his back to fiddle around with something behind the bar, ignoring the other shifter. He was behaving very badly.

Quickly I processed Quinn’s request. If he came out to my house, I’d be at his mercy. I live in a remote place. My nearest neighbor is my ex, Bill, and he lives clear across the cemetery. On the other hand, if Quinn had been a regular date of mine, I’d let him take me home without a second thought. From what I could catch from his thoughts, he meant me no harm.

"All right," I said, finally. He relaxed, and smiled his big smile at me again.

I whisked his empty glass away and became aware that three pairs of eyes were watching me disapprovingly. Sam was disgruntled, and Danielle and Arlene couldn’t understand why anyone would prefer me to them, though Quinn gave even those two experienced barmaids pause. Quinn gave off a whiff of otherness that must be perceptible to even the most prosaic human. "I’ll be through in just a minute," I said.

"Take your time."

I finished filling the little china rectangle on each table with packages of sugar and sweetener. I made sure the napkin holders were full and checked the salt and pepper shakers. I was soon through. I gathered my purse from Sam’s office and called good-bye to him.

Quinn pulled out to follow me in a dark green pickup truck. Under the parking lot lights, the truck looked brand spanking new, with gleaming tires and hubcaps, an extended cab, and a covered bed. I’d bet good money it was loaded with options. Quinn’s truck was the fanciest vehicle I’d seen in a long time. My brother, Jason, would have drooled, and he’s got pink and aqua swirls painted on the side of his truck.

I drove south on Hummingbird Road and turned left into my driveway. After following the drive through two acres of woods, I reached the clearing where our old family home stood. I’d turned the outside lights on before I left, and there was a security light on the electric pole that was automatic, so the clearing was well lit. I pulled around back to park behind the house, and Quinn parked right beside me.

He got out of his truck and looked around him. The security light showed him a tidy yard. The driveway was in excellent repair, and I’d recently repainted the tool shed in the back. There was a propane tank, which no amount of landscaping could disguise, but my grandmother had planted plenty of flower beds to add to the ones my family had established over the hundred-and-fifty-odd years the family had lived here. I’d lived on this land, in this house, from age seven, and I loved it.

There’s nothing grand about my home. It started out as a family farmhouse and it’s been enlarged and remodeled over the years. I keep it clean, and I try to keep the yard in good trim. Big repairs are beyond my skills, but Jason sometimes helps me out. He hadn’t been happy when Gran left me the house and land, but he’d moved to our parents’ house when he’d turned twenty-one, and I’d never made him pay me for my half of that property. Gran’s will had seemed fair to me. It had taken Jason a while to admit that had been the right thing for her to do.

We’d become closer in the past few months.

I unlocked the back door and led Quinn into the kitchen. He looked around him curiously as I hung my jacket on one of the chairs pushed under the table in the middle of the kitchen where I ate all my meals.

"This isn’t finished," Quinn said.

The cabinets were resting on the floor, ready to be mounted. After that, the whole room would have to be painted and the countertops installed. Then I’d be able to rest easy.

"My old kitchen got burned down a few weeks ago."

I said. "The builder had a cancellation and got this done in record time, but then when the cabinets didn’t arrive on time, he put his crew on another job. By the time the cabinets got here, they were almost through there. I guess they’ll come back eventually." In the meantime, at least I could enjoy being back in my own home. Sam had been tremendously kind in letting me live in one of his rent houses (and gosh, I’d enjoyed the level floors and the new plumbing and the neighbors), but there was nothing like being home.

The new stove was in, so I could cook, and I’d laid a sheet of plywood over the top of the cabinets so I could use it as a work station while I was cooking. The new refrigerator gleamed and hummed quietly, quite unlike the one Gran had had for thirty years. The newness of the kitchen struck me every time I crossed the back porch – now larger and enclosed – to unlock the new, heavier back door, with its peephole and deadbolt.

"This is where the old house begins," I said, going from the kitchen into the hall. Only a few boards had had to be replaced in the floor in the rest of the house, and everything was freshly cleaned and painted. Not only had the walls and ceilings been smoke-stained, but I’d had to eradicate the burned smell. I’d replaced some curtains, tossed out a throw rug or two, and cleaned, cleaned, cleaned. This project had occupied every extra waking moment I’d had for quite a while.

"A good job," Quinn commented, studying how the two parts had been united.

"Come into the living room," I said, pleased. I enjoyed showing someone the house now that I knew the upholstery was clean, there were no dust bunnies, and the glass over the pictures was simply gleaming. The living room curtains had been replaced, something I’d wanted to do for at least a year.

God bless insurance, and God bless the money I’d earned hiding Eric from an enemy. I’d gouged a hole in my savings account, but I’d had it when I needed it, and that was something for which I could be grateful.

The fireplace was laid ready for a fire, but it was just too warm to justify lighting one. Quinn sat in an armchair, and I sat across from him. "Can I get you a drink – a beer, or some coffee or iced tea?" I asked, conscious of my role as hostess.

"No, thanks," he said. He smiled at me. "I’ve wanted to see you again since I met you in Shreveport."

I tried to keep my eyes on him. The impulse to look down at my feet or my hands was almost overwhelming. His eyes really were the deep, deep purple I remembered. "That was a tough day for the Herveauxes," I said.

"You dated Alcide for a while," he observed, in a neutral kind of voice.

I thought of a couple of possible answers. I settled for, "I haven’t seen him since the packmaster contest."

He smiled widely. "So he’s not your steady?"

I shook my head.

"Then you’re unattached?"

"Yes."

"No toes I’d be stepping on?"

I tried to smile, but my effort was not a happy one. "I didn’t say that." There were toes. Those toes wouldn’t be happy piggies. But they didn’t have any right to be in the way.