Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set (11 page)

As I went on my unwelcome errand, I thought about how hard it must have been for Gran to raise two more children after she’d already raised her own. My father, her son, had died when I was seven and Jason ten. When I’d been twenty-three, Gran’s daughter, my Aunt Linda, had died of uterine cancer. Aunt Linda’s girl, Hadley, had vanished into the same subculture that had spawned the Rattrays even before Aunt Linda had passed away, and to this day we didn’t know if Hadley realizes her mother is dead. That was a lot of grief to get through, yet Gran had always been strong for us.

I peered through my windshield at the three small duplexes on one side of Berry Street, a run-down block or two that ran behind the oldest part of downtown Bon Temps. Dawn lived in one of them. I spotted her car, a green compact, in the driveway of one of the better-kept houses, and pulled in behind it. Dawn had already put a hanging basket of begonias by her front door, but they looked dry. I knocked.

I waited for a minute or two. I knocked again.

“Sookie, you need some help?” The voice sounded familiar. I turned around and shielded my eyes from the morning sun. Rene Lenier was standing by his pickup, parked across the street at one of the small frame houses that populated the rest of the neighborhood.

“Well,” I began, not sure if I needed help or not, or if I did that Rene could supply it. “Have you seen Dawn? She didn’t come to work today, and she never called in yesterday. Sam asked me to stop by.”

“Sam should come do his own dirty work,” Rene said, which perversely made me defend my boss.

“Truck came in, had to be unloaded.” I turned and knocked again. “Dawn,” I yelled. “Come let me in.” I looked down at the concrete porch. The pine pollen had begun falling two days ago. Dawn’s porch was solid yellow. Mine were the only footprints. My scalp began to prickle.

I barely registered the fact that Rene stood awkwardly by the door to his pickup, unsure whether to stay or go.

Dawn’s duplex was a one-story, quite small, and the door to the other half was just feet away from Dawn’s. Its little driveway was empty, and there were no curtains at the windows. It looked as though Dawn was temporarily out of a neighbor. Dawn had been proud enough to hang curtains, white with dark gold flowers. They were drawn, but the fabric was thin and unlined, and Dawn hadn’t shut the cheap one-inch aluminum blinds. I peered in and discovered the living room held only some flea-market furniture. A coffee mug sat on the table by a lumpy recliner and an old couch covered with a hand-crocheted afghan was pushed against the wall.

“I think I’ll go around back,” I called to Rene. He started across the street as though I’d given him a signal, and I stepped off the front porch. My feet brushed the dusty grass, yellow with pine pollen, and I knew I’d have to dust off my shoes and maybe change my socks before work. During pine pollen season, everything turns yellow. Cars, plants, roofs, windows, all are powdered with a golden haze. The ponds and pools of rainwater have yellow scum around the edges.

Dawn’s bathroom window was so discreetly high that I couldn’t see in. She’d lowered the blinds in the bedroom, but hadn’t closed them tightly. I could see a little through the slats. Dawn was in bed on her back. The bedclothes were tossed around wildly. Her legs were spraddled. Her face was swollen and discolored, and her tongue protruded from her mouth. There were flies crawling on it.

I could hear Rene coming up behind me.

“Go call the police,” I said.

“What you say, Sookie? You see her?”

“Go
call the police!
”

“Okay, okay!” Rene beat a hasty retreat.

Some female solidarity had made me not want Rene to see Dawn like that, without Dawn’s consent. And my fellow waitress was far beyond consenting.

I stood with my back to the window, horribly tempted to look again in the futile hope I’d made a mistake the first time. Staring at the duplex next door to Dawn’s, maybe a scant six feet away, I wondered how its tenants could have avoided hearing Dawn’s death, which had been violent.

Here came Rene again. His weatherbeaten face was puckered into an expression of deep concern, and his bright brown eyes looked suspiciously shiney.

“Would you call Sam, too?” I asked. Without a word, he turned and trudged back to his place. He was being mighty good. Despite his tendency to gossip, Rene had always been one to help where he saw a need. I remembered him coming out to the house to help Jason hang Gran’s porch swing, a random memory of a day far different from this.

The duplex next door was just like Dawn’s, so I was looking directly at its bedroom window. Now a face appeared, and the window was raised. A tousled head poked out. “What you doing, Sookie Stackhouse?” asked a slow, deep, male voice. I peered at him for a minute, finally placing the face, while trying not to look too closely at the fine, bare chest underneath.

“JB?”

“Sure thing.”

I’d gone to high school with JB du Rone. In fact, some of my few dates had been with JB, who was lovely but so simple that he didn’t care if I read his mind or not. Even under today’s circumstances, I could appreciate JB’s beauty. When your hormones have been held in check as long as mine, it doesn’t take much to set them off. I heaved a sigh at the sight of JB’s muscular arms and pectorals.

“What you doing out here?” he asked again.

“Something bad seems to have happened to Dawn,” I said, not knowing if I should tell him or not. “My boss sent me here to look for her when she didn’t come to work.”

“She in there?” JB simply scrambled out of the window. He had some shorts on, cut-offs.

“Please don’t look,” I asked, holding up my hand and without warning I began crying. I was doing that a lot lately, too. “She looks so awful, JB.”

“Aw, honey,” he said, and bless his country heart, he put an arm around me and patted me on the shoulder. If there was a female around who needed comforting, by God, that was a priority to JB du Rone.

“Dawn liked ’em rough,” he said consolingly, as if that would explain everything.

It might to some people, but not to unworldly me.

“What, rough?” I asked, hoping I had a tissue in my shorts pocket.

I looked up at JB to see him turn a little red.

“Honey, she liked . . . aw, Sookie, you don’t need to hear this.”

I had a widespread reputation for virtue, which I found somewhat ironic. At the moment, it was inconvenient.

“You can tell me, I worked with her,” I said, and JB nodded solemnly, as if that made sense.

“Well, honey, she liked men to—like, bite and hit her.” JB looked weirded out by this preference of Dawn’s. I must have made a face because he said, “I know, I can’t understand why some people like that, either.” JB, never one to ignore an opportunity to make hay, put both arms around me and kept up the patting, but it seemed to concentrate on the middle of my back (checking to see if I was wearing a bra) and then quite a bit lower (JB liked firm rear ends, I remembered.)

A lot of questions hovered on the edge of my tongue, but they remained shut inside my mouth. The police got there, in the persons of Kenya Jones and Kevin Prior. When the town police chief had partnered Kenya and Kevin, he’d been indulging his sense of humor, the town figured, for Kenya was at least five foot eleven, the color of bitter chocolate, and built to weather hurricanes. Kevin possibly made it up to five foot eight, had freckles over every visible inch of his pale body, and had the narrow, fatless build of a runner. Oddly enough, the two K’s got along very well, though they’d had some memorable quarrels.

Now they both looked like cops.

“What’s this about, Miss Stackhouse?” Kenya asked. “Rene says something happened to Dawn Green?” She’d scanned JB while she talked, and Kevin was looking at the ground all around us. I had no idea why, but I was sure there was a good police reason.

“My boss sent me here to find out why Dawn missed work yesterday and hadn’t shown up today,” I said. “I knocked on her door, and she didn’t answer, but her car was here. I was worried about her, so I started around the house looking in the windows, and she’s in there.” I pointed behind them, and the two officers turned to look at the window. Then they looked at each other and nodded as if they’d had a whole conversation. While Kenya went over to the window, Kevin went around to the back door.

JB had forgotten to pat while he watched the officers work. In fact, his mouth was a little open, revealing perfect teeth. He wanted to go look through the window more than anything, but he couldn’t shoulder past Kenya, who pretty much took up whatever space was available.

I didn’t want my own thoughts any more. I relaxed, dropping my guard, and listened to the thoughts of others. Out of the clamor, I picked one thread and concentrated on it.

Kenya Jones turned back to stare through us without seeing us. She was thinking of everything she and Kevin needed to do to keep the investigation as textbook perfect as Bon Temps patrol officers could. She was thinking she’d heard bad things about Dawn and her liking for rough sex. She was thinking that it was no surprise Dawn had met a bad end, though she felt sorry for anyone who ended up with flies crawling on her face. Kenya was thinking she was sorry she’d eaten that extra doughnut that morning at the Nut Hut because it might come back up and that would shame her as a black woman police officer.

I tuned in to another channel.

JB was thinking about Dawn getting killed during rough sex just a few feet away from him, and while it was awful it was also a little exciting and Sookie was still built wonderful. He wished he could screw her right now. She was so sweet and nice. He was pushing away the humiliation he’d felt when Dawn had wanted him to hit her, and he couldn’t, and it was an old humiliation.

I switched.

Kevin came around the corner thinking that he and Kenya better not botch any evidence and that he was glad no one knew he’d ever slept with Dawn Green. He was furious that someone had killed a woman he knew, and he was hoping it wasn’t a black man because that would make his relationship with Kenya even more tense.

I switched.

Rene Lenier was wishing someone would come and get the body out of the house. He was hoping no one knew he’d slept with Dawn Green. I couldn’t spell out his thoughts exactly, they were very black and snarled. Some people I can’t get a clear reading on. He was very agitated.

Sam came hurrying toward me, slowing down when he saw JB was touching me. I could not read Sam’s thoughts. I could feel his emotions (right now a mix of worry, concern, and anger) but I could not spell out one single thought. This was so fascinating and unexpected that I stepped out of JB’s embrace, wanting to go up to Sam and grab his arms and look into his eyes and really probe around in his head. I remembered when he’d touched me, and I’d shied away. Now he
felt
me in his head and though he kept on walking toward me, his mind flinched back. Despite his invitation to me, he hadn’t known I would see he was different from others: I picked up on that until he shut me down.

I’d never felt anything like it. It was like an iron door slamming. In my face.

I’d been on the point of reaching out to him instinctively, but my hand dropped to my side. Sam deliberately looked at Kevin, not at me.

“What’s happening, Officer?” Sam asked.

“We’re going to break into this house, Mr. Merlotte, unless you have a master key.”

Why would Sam have a key?

“He’s my landlord,” JB said in my ear, and I jumped.

“He is?” I asked stupidly.

“He owns all three duplexes.”

Sam had been fishing in his pocket, and now he came up with a bunch of keys. He flipped through them expertly, stopping at one and singling it out, getting it off the ring and handing it to Kevin.

“This fits front and back?” Kevin asked. Sam nodded. He still wasn’t looking at me.

Kevin went to the back door of the duplex, out of sight, and we were all so quiet we could hear the key turn in the lock. Then he was in the bedroom with the dead woman, and we could see his face twist when the smell hit him. Holding one hand across his mouth and nose, he bent over the body and put his fingers on her neck. He looked out the window then and shook his head at his partner. Kenya nodded and headed out to the street to use the radio in the patrol car.

“Listen, Sookie, how about going to dinner with me tonight?” JB asked. “This has been tough on you, and you need some fun to make up for it.”

“Thanks, JB.” I was very conscious of Sam listening. “It’s really nice of you to ask. But I have a feeling I’m going to be working extra hours today.”

For just a second, JB’s handsome face was blank. Then comprehension filtered in. “Yeah, Sam’s gotta hire someone else,” he observed. “I got a cousin in Springhill needs a job. Maybe I’ll give her a call. We could live right next door to each other, now.”

I smiled at him, though I am sure it was a very weak smile, as I stood shoulder to shoulder with the man I’d worked with for two years.

“I’m sorry, Sookie,” he said quietly.

“For what?” My own voice was just as low. Was he going to acknowledge what had passed between us—or rather, failed to pass?

“For sending you to check on Dawn. I should have come myself. I was sure she was just shacked up with someone new and needed a reminder that she was supposed to be working. The last time I had to come get her, she yelled at me so much I just didn’t want to deal with it again. So like a coward, I sent you, and you had to find her like that.”

“You’re full of surprises, Sam.”

He didn’t turn to look at me or make any reply. But his fingers folded around mine. For a long moment, we stood in the sun with people buzzing around us, holding hands. His palm was hot and dry, and his fingers were strong. I felt I had truly connected with another human. But then his grip loosened, and Sam stepped over to talk with the detective, who was emerging from his car, and JB began asking me how Dawn had looked, and the world fell back into its same old groove.