The Complete Sookie Stackhouse Stories (Sookie Stackhouse/True Blood)

  “All the dogs at the shelter are dead,” I said. “They were shot.”

  Sam rose to take a tentative step toward me, and I could tell he wanted to offer me comfort. But I was too angry to accept it, and I held the palm of my hand toward him to let him know that.

  “I moved the sign into Jim Collins’s yard,” I said. “That man’s a murderer.” My rage deflated just a little.

  “Oh, Sookie,” Bernie began, sounding both alarmed and a little reproachful, and I held up the same palm to her.

  “It was him,” I said. “He was not the only one, but it was him.”

  She sat back and looked at me with more objective attention than she’d given me since I’d met her. “And you know this how?” she said.

  “He’s condemned by his own words, from his own brain.”

  “Sookie can read minds, Mom,” Sam said, and after a second’s thought, Bernie flushed a dull red. She had thought a few unflattering things about me. I’m a big girl; I can live with that. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard plenty of similar things before.

  “Shapeshifters are hard to read, if that makes you feel any better,” I offered, and I sat down at the table with a thud. As the rage oozed out of me, it left an empty space, an aching hole. I looked down at my leg as if I could see it through my clothes, see the thickened, whiter flesh of the scarring. I made myself sit straighter. This family had enough on their plate without having to bolster me up.

  “My friend Quinn showed up,” I said, and from the corner of my eye I saw Sam start. “He came with a couple you know, Bernie,” I said, looking at Sam’s mother. “A woman named Trish Pulaski and a man named Togo Olympio.”

  “Trish and I have been friends since we moved to Wright,” Bernie said. “You probably remember her as Trish Graham, Sam. She divorced a while ago, took back her maiden name, and started up with Togo. I’ll never understand that relationship, but I tell myself it’s none of my business.” Bernie’s face suddenly reflected much more of the woman behind it and less of the mom, as if she’d switched hats internally.

  “The point is, they’re very concerned about Craig and Deidra’s wedding going off without a hitch.” I watched Bernie’s face pass from incomprehension to reluctant horror.

  “You think there may be more?” she said.

  I found myself understanding why Bernie had been stunned when her husband had reacted so drastically to her revelation. As well as being unimaginative, Bernie was a wee bit on the unrealistic side.

  “Mom,” Sam said, “if they’re starting off by killing all the dogs in the pound, I think you can assume there’s going to be something else happening. Maybe we should think about postponing the wedding? Move it somewhere else?” He looked at his brother.

  Craig said, “No.” His face hardened as I watched. “We put it off once because Deidra’s family wanted to understand more about what she’d be getting into, being married to me. We got the couples counseling. We got the totally unnecessary genetics counseling. Deidra’s ready to marry me. Her family is used to the idea, if not exactly thrilled. We set another date, and then we had to move it up.” He cast a quick glance at me. He was wondering if I knew exactly why. “Because of Deidra’s brother going overseas.”

  “Next month,” I said helpfully.

  “Right. Well, we didn’t want to wait till the last minute. In fact, we don’t want to wait another day.”

  Sam was looking from me to Craig.

  “But everyone has been pitching in to help,” Bernie said, still stuck on the hate. She’d lived here for years, and I could tell she was having a very hard time believing that people she’d known for more than a decade could turn on her. “I mean, the ladies in the church, the pastor . . . they’ve all been so happy that Craig and Deidra were going to get married. They threw Deidra a wedding shower in the fellowship hall.”

  “See, most people aren’t bad,” I said, as if I were reassuring a child. “I’m sure it’s a minority here in Wright, a handful of people, but we don’t want anything bad to happen that would ruin the wedding. Craig and Deidra need happy memories of this day, not . . .” My voice trailed off as I thought of what I’d seen at the shelter.

  “Yes, I understand,” Bernie said. She sat up a little straighter. “Craig, honey, I think you need to call Deidra right now. I hope nothing has happened over at her place.”

  Nothing could have gotten Craig moving as fast as that idea, and he had speed-dialed his fiancée almost before his mother had finished speaking. He stepped into the living room while he spoke to her, and he snapped his phone shut and came back into the kitchen with an air of relief.

  “They’re fine,” he said. “I didn’t tell them about the animal shelter. I hope they won’t find out until after the wedding. Deidra’s at the Clip N Curl, getting her hair done.”

  It was all of eight thirty in the morning. Despite the important issues we were facing, I shuddered at the idea of how long a day it was going to be for Deidra.

  “When are Mindy and Doke and their kids coming?” I asked.

  “They’re supposed to be here in an hour,” Bernie said. “Should I call their cell, tell them to turn back?”

  “No,” Sam said. “No, this wedding is going to take place. We are not going to let a few crackpots make us back down. That is,” he said more quietly, “if that’s what Craig and Deidra want to do.”

  Craig smiled at Sam briefly. “I’m getting married today,” he said. “I don’t want to put anyone in danger, but we’re having this wedding.” He shook his head from side to side. I could see the unhappiness, the bewilderment, the determination. “They all know us. Why do we seem like we’re any different from the way we’ve always been? And it’s not like Deidra or I turn into anything.”

  Sam stared at his brother, and Bernie winced.

  To his credit, Craig noticed. He said, “Sam, we talked this all out a couple of months ago. You’re my brother, and you and Mom are like God made you. If they’ve got a problem with that, they can take it up with him.”

  Sam laughed, though unwillingly, and I nodded at Craig. That was a good little speech. I hoped the next time Sam felt down about being different, he would remember his brother’s words. I wouldn’t forget them myself.

  I went to the guest room to put on my makeup. I’d dashed out of the house in such a hurry that morning, I’d left out several important steps in my daily routine. I wasn’t an essential part of the rehearsal (or the wedding), but the family clearly expected me to go with them.

  I tried to think of some tangible help I could provide—besides looking at dead animals and/or threatening a neighbor who already hated the family. (In retrospect, that hadn’t been a smart thing.) When Sam knocked on the door thirty minutes later, I let him in. I’d pulled on the yellow and gray skirt outfit with matching yellow sandals. The top zipped up the back, and I turned around so Sam could finish zipping for me. I didn’t have the flexibility in my arms that I’d had before . . . Oh, the hell with it. Not today.

  Sam zipped me up as though this were our routine. He was wearing a dress shirt and khakis, and his loafers were shined. He’d brushed his hair neatly back. I admired the new look, but I found myself missing the long tangle of hair he’d had before.

  “Listen, I did something I shouldn’t have done,” I said when I was zipped. I picked up my brush and began untangling my hair, which was very long now.

  “If you’re about to tell me what you said to Collins, I heard. So did Mom. Shifters have real sharp hearing, you know . . . and the windows were open.”

  I could feel my cheeks turn red. “Sorry,” I said.

  “I would have gone in and hit him,” Sam said, and that was so close to what I’d been thinking that I jumped.

  “I almost did,” I confessed.

  “Sook,” he said seriously, “I appreciate your caring about my family so much.”

  “Bu
t it’s not my family or my business, and I should back off and let you handle it? I know,” I said, turning away and brushing my hair forcefully.

  “I was going to say I’m glad I brought you.” Pause. “Jannalynn’s got her good points, or I wouldn’t be going out with her—but she has no restraint, and she’d have gone batshit crazy this morning. The good thing about Jannalynn is that she’s fully into her animal nature, and the bad thing is, it seems like she likes it more.”

  Without revealing how close I had come to going batshit crazy myself, I turned to face him, brush in hand. “I get what you’re saying. Eric loves being a vampire. He loves it more than anything.” Maybe more than he loves me, I thought, surprising myself. “You remember that black Focus we thought might be following us? Well, it was Quinn. Trish and Togo are his local contacts. He came here to talk to me.”

  Sam said, “Didn’t you tell me that Eric had banned Quinn from Area Five?”

  “Yeah, but he found out I was coming here from some kind of website. Isn’t that crazy? Quinn flew from wherever he was working, and he got Togo and Trish to pick him up at the airport and bring him here.”

  “You and he . . .”

  “Yeah, we had a thing, but I kind of told him to take a hike—I didn’t put it that mean—because his family is . . . well, complicated. His mom’s not really sane, and his little sister is a real piece of work, though I guess I never really had a chance to get to know her. I didn’t break up with him well,” I admitted. “He wants to have some kind of conversation about it. I sure don’t need that, though I guess I owe him. I just don’t understand how my being here got on the Internet.”

  Sam looked embarrassed. “That might be my fault,” he said. “We keep track of each other now, all of us who change. Since the announcement, we never know what people are going to do. Humans don’t always react in predictable ways. You know that better than anyone.”

  “So you put it on the Web that you and I were coming here to this wedding?”

  “No! No! But I did mention it when I was talking to Travis.” Travis, a trucker who was a Were not affiliated with a pack, stopped in at Merlotte’s about once every two weeks.

  “But why would you have mentioned me?”

  Sam closed his eyes briefly. “You’re kind of famous in the supe community, Sookie.”

  “What?” This made no sense at all.

  “You’re unique. Weres like something different as much as anyone else. You’re a friend of the Shreveport pack. You’ve done a lot for twoeys.”

  “Okay, several thoughts. I haven’t seen a computer around here, or I’d ask you to check Jim Collins’s website. I want to know what he’s saying about what’s happening in Wright. And here’s my second thought—I’ve been assuming that Jannalynn knows I came with you . . . right?”

  “Sookie, of course Jannalynn knows I brought you to this wedding. I explained that I’d asked you before we’d started dating.” Sam looked even more embarrassed, which I didn’t think was possible. He’d already more or less admitted that that wasn’t the only reason he’d left Jannalynn at home.

  Plus, Jannalynn would realize that anyone who saw on the Web that I was going with Sam to his family home would know that she was not the only woman in Sam’s life. Even though Sam and I had a platonic relationship, I knew I would have been pretty jealous if I’d been in her shoes. Or on her paws.

  “Jannalynn’s going to want to kill you,” I said flatly. “Or me. And I guess I wouldn’t really blame her.”

  Sam flushed, but his gaze was unwavering. “She’s a big girl. She knows better than anyone else that . . .”

  “That you’ve lost your frickin’ mind? Well, it’s done now.” I sighed and regrouped, realizing that worrying about Sam’s indiscretion would have to wait until later. We needed to focus on getting Craig and Deidra married without any violence disrupting the ceremony.

  “Have you thought about how Quinn and Togo and Trish can be useful? I’ve got Quinn’s cell phone number. They’re probably at the pound . . . cleaning up. Of course, I’ll help however I can.” I handed Sam the scrap of paper with Quinn’s number.

  “What I’m going to ask them to do,” Sam said, “is stand guard. When we get to the church for the rehearsal, I hope you four will set up a perimeter outside. That way we’ll have plenty of warning if Collins and his buddies try something. The time of the rehearsal isn’t public knowledge, not like the wedding time. That was in the paper because the whole community was invited.”

  That was a common practice in Bon Temps, too, so I wasn’t surprised. Many engagement announcements included the particulars of the marriage ceremony with the invitation, “All friends of the couple are welcome.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be a lookout.” I’d feel better standing watch with a shotgun in my hands, but I figured that if I had the Benelli, (a) I might actually shoot someone, and (b) I might get arrested. I didn’t know Texas gun laws, and there was no telling how stringently they’d be enforced on a local level.

  “You look too pretty to be standing out in the churchyard. I’m sorry,” Sam said, shaking his head. “This isn’t how I thought we’d be spending this time.”

  “Sam, it’s not your fault. I’m glad I can help out. I only regret it’s necessary.” There was a chance that planting the sign and killing the dogs was the end of the protest against the marriage. But that was a remote possibility.

  “I’m sorry you had to see the dogs; I guess . . . Well, that’s just sad. No one should have to see something like that.” Sam stared down at his feet.

  “I agree,” I said, my voice as steady as I could manage.

  From the flurry of voices in the living room, I could tell that Doke and Mindy and the kids had arrived. Sam and I went out to join them. We told them all the news. After some quiet discussion, they decided they’d stay at the house with the kids until it was time for the wedding. Mindy said, “All we’d do at the rehearsal is find out when to come down the aisle and sit in a pew, and I think Doke and I can manage that, right?” They were worried about Mason and Bonnie, and I didn’t blame them.

  When it was time to leave the house, I walked out with the others to find that a car was parked in front that didn’t belong to anyone in the family.

  “Hey,” called a short brunette who was leaning on the hood of the Saturn. She straightened and came forward to hug Sam.

  “Hey, yourself,” he said, and hugged her back.

  “That’s Sister Mendoza,” Craig explained. “They’ve been friends a long time.” Craig was afraid I’d get mad at Sam touching another woman.

  “She’s a nun?”

  “What?” Craig stared for a second. “Oh. Oh, no! Sister is her name.” He laughed. “She and Sam have been friends ever since we moved here. She’s a deputy at the sheriff’s department.”

  “Why is she here?”

  “I have no idea. Hey, Sister! Did you come because of that parking ticket I forgot to pay?”

  “Hell, no,” Sister Mendoza said, letting go of Sam. “I came here to be a watchman. Me and Rafe.” A short, thick-bodied man got out of the car. He was as pale-haired as Sister was brunette.

  “Rafe played football with Sam,” Craig told me, but I think I would have figured it out by the way they were thumping each other.

  Sam beckoned me over. “Sookie, these are some old friends of mine, Sister and Rafe,” he said. “You two, you be nice to this woman.” Sam was in no doubt that they would be. His brain was practically rolling with pleasure at seeing his old buddies.

  The two friends gave me a quick once-over, seemed okay with what they saw. Rafe gave Sam a fist to the shoulder. “She’s way too pretty for you, you old dog,” Rafe said, and they laughed together.

  “I’m taking the backyard,” Sister said, and she left.

  Rafe gave Sam a sharp nod. “You-all go to the church and don’t worry about
things here,” he said. “We got your back. You got someone coming to the church?”

  Sam said, “We got the church covered.” He paused. “You two aren’t in uniform,” he said carefully.

  “Well, we’re off duty,” Rafe said. He shrugged. “You know how it is, Sam.”

  Sam looked pretty grim. “I’m getting the picture,” he said.

  I felt much better about the safety of both the kids and the house itself as Sam and I got into his truck to drive behind Craig and his mom to the church.

  It wasn’t a long drive. Wright was no bigger than Bon Temps. Drier, dustier, browner—but I didn’t imagine it was essentially different. We’d had trouble with demonstrators in front of the bar, but they’d gotten tired of getting hustled out of the parking lot, and they’d gone back to writing letters. Could my fellow townspeople do what someone had done here at the dog pound?

  But there wasn’t time to worry about that because we were two blocks west of Main Street at the corner of Mesquite (the north–south street) and St. Francis (the east–west). Gethsemane Baptist Church was a faux-adobe structure with a red-tiled roof and a squat bell tower. I could hear the organist practicing inside. The sound was strangely peaceful.

  There was parking at the front and at the left side, between the church and the parsonage. The fellowship hall was directly behind the church, connected by the umbilical cord of a covered walkway. The yard was full of thin grass, though what grew there was neatly mown.

  A man who could only be the pastor was walking over from the parsonage, which looked like a smaller version of the church. He was middle-aged with a big belly and graying black hair. From my first dip into his head, I concluded that Bart Arrowsmith was a genial man who was not equipped to handle a situation this volatile. I knew that by now word must have spread all over Wright about what had happened, and I knew this situation had spooked Brother Arrowsmith.

  This was a day when I had to know the capabilities and weaknesses of the people around me, no matter how invasive it felt to enter their thoughts. What I saw in Brother Arrowsmith’s head gave me the sad suspicion that he was not going to be the tower of strength we needed today. He was a conflicted man who couldn’t decide what God wanted him to do when he was faced with a situation he couldn’t interpret scripturally.