“She’s hungry,” Luna said. “She’ll go for the food in a minute.”
Sure enough, Jannalynn completely turned her back to the house so she could bend over the table, putting condiments on her hamburger bun. I slid out of the house and across the lawn going west at a smooth, fast clip . . . and Luna was right on my heels as I went through the gap in the overgrown hedge.
“You didn’t have to come,” I muttered. With a yard full of shifters, I had to take care to keep my voice down.
“I was getting bored anyway,” she said. “I mean, I get to make out with gorgeous Chinese guys all the time.”
I smiled in the darkness. There weren’t any lights on in the Collins backyard or in the Collins house, which was odd because it was getting dark now.
There was a living brain in the house. I told Luna that, and she rolled her eyes at me. “Big whoop,” she said. “So what?”
“That’s my specialty,” I said.
“But I can smell something dead,” she told me. “Hasn’t been dead long, but it’s dead. That’s my specialty. I know a dog or a Were would be better at this, but any twoey nose is better than a oney nose.”
I shrugged. I’d have to concede that one. To knock or not to knock? As I stood flattened against the wall by the back door, debating furiously with myself, I heard a little whimper from inside. Luna stiffened beside me. I crouched and pulled open the screen door. It made the wheezy noise so common to screen doors, and I sighed.
“Who’s here?” I said, keeping my voice hushed.
A sob answered me. I felt Luna come in, and she crouched beside me. Neither of us wanted to present a target against the faint light from the Merlotte backyard.
“I’m turning on the light,” I told Luna in a tiny whisper. I patted the wall where the switch should be, and sure enough it was there. There were two. One would control the outside lights, and one the kitchen light. Was there a rule? If so, I didn’t know it. I flicked the one on the left.
I couldn’t have been more shocked by what I saw.
Jim Collins was absolutely, messily dead. He lay sprawled across the low kitchen counter, gun resting loosely in his right hand. Closer to the doorway into the interior of the house, Sarah Newlin sat on the floor. She was hurt somehow, because there was blood on her arm and more on her stomach. Her legs were extended in front of her. She was crying almost silently. There was a gun lying by her side, though I couldn’t see what make.
“Call the police from his phone,” I said instantly.
“No,” Sarah said. “Don’t!”
Luna punched in numbers so fast that I thought the phone was going to break.
With convincing hysteria, Luna said, “Oh my God! Bring an ambulance to Jim Collins’s house! Some woman has shot him; he’s dead and she’s bleeding out!” She hung up and snickered.
Sarah Newlin made a halfhearted attempt to climb to her feet. I went over to her and put my foot on her gun. I didn’t think she had enough sand in her to grab it, but better to be sure.
“You’re not going to get away,” I said dispassionately. “They’ll be here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. You’re hurt too bad to escape. If you don’t go to the hospital, you’ll die.”
“I might as well,” she said drearily. “I’ve killed a man now.”
“You’re counting this as the first?” I was shocked. “You’ve been responsible for so many deaths, but this is the one that matters?” Of course, this one counted to Sarah because Collins had been human and on her side, and the others who’d died had been vampires and weres and humans who didn’t believe what the Fellowship of the Sun advocated.
“Why’d you shoot your disciple here?” I asked, since Sarah seemed to be in confession mode.
“Steve and I knew Collins from his website,” she said weakly. “He had all the right ideas, and he was full of the fire of God. But the plans we had for today failed. God must have changed his mind, turned his face from us. Collins never came to the church. I came here to ask him why, but he was angry, angry with me, with himself. I think he may have been drinking. He challenged me to go with him, to shoot you-all next door. He said we could kill most of you, just like he killed the dogs.”
“You weren’t up for that?” Luna asked bitterly. “You sure missed an opportunity to get a bunch of us at once.”
“Couldn’t risk myself,” Sarah whispered. “I’m too important to the cause. He even thrust a gun in my hand. But God didn’t want me to sacrifice myself. When I told Collins that, he went nuts.”
“He was already nuts,” I said, but she wasn’t listening.
“Then he said I was a hypocrite, and he shot me.”
“Looks like you shot him back.”
“Yes,” Sarah whispered. “Yes, I shot him back.”
A police car pulled up in front of the Collins house, the flickering light visible from the kitchen. Someone called from the front door, “Police! We’re coming in!”
“Hurry with the ambulance,” I called back. “There are two of us who came and discovered the situation. We’re unarmed.”
“Stand with your hands against the wall!” the officer’s voice called back, and it sure as hell sounded like Porter Carpenter.
“Porter,” I said. “It’s me, Sookie Stackhouse, Sam’s friend. And my buddy Luna Garza is with me.”
“Hands!” Porter said. “Anyway.”
“Okay.” I appreciated his caution. Luna walked over to me, and we turned our backs on the doorway and put our hands on the wall. “We’re ready,” I yelled.
You’d think I’d be distraught and upset. You’d think I’d be overwhelmed, having seen this horrible scene.
But you know what? I was tickled pink. I’d never been a squeamish person, and I’d seen other and worse scenes of carnage, featuring people I cared about to some extent or other.
As it was, it was hard for me to suppress a smile when I saw Sarah Newlin hauled off to the hospital under arrest. And since the dead man was Jim Collins, I didn’t feel a moment’s grief for him, either. He would have loved it if the tables had been turned, if he’d walked in on someone who’d just killed Bernie and Sam. He’d have patted them on the back. And I’m being honest when I say that after the hate I’d seen that day, I couldn’t be sorry that if someone had to die, that person was Jim Collins, and if someone had to be a murderer, I was fine with that murderer being Sarah Newlin.
“Sookie,” said Luna into my ear, “it doesn’t hardly get any better than this.”
“I think you’re right,” I said.
Porter Carpenter himself took our statements. I could tell that Luna—and the fact that she’d smelled the dead body—made him uneasy. But he wrote everything down, made note of our phone numbers, and then sent us on our way. Finally, we got to go back to the Merlotte house, where everyone was waiting anxiously to find out what had happened. I’d heard Sam’s voice raised outside several times while I’d been answering questions—or simply waiting to be asked questions—and each time I’d smiled involuntarily. Sam was on the offensive.
Luna and I were glad to enter Bernie’s kitchen, still crowded with weres, though the bulk of the party had drifted away—including Tijgerin and Quinn.
Sam grabbed me by the shoulders, looked intently into my face, and said, “You okay?” He was vibrating with anxiety like a tuning fork.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I said. I smiled at him. “Thanks. I could hear you yell.”
“I wanted you to hear me.”
“We had quite an evening over there,” Luna said. “Man, getting questioned by the cops is thirsty work!” Her cute Chinese cop took the hint and got Luna a beer from the refrigerator.
“We still have some food, if you’re hungry,” Bernie said. I could tell she was exhausted, but she was upright.
“Not me,” I told her. Luna shook her head, too. “First, let me be sure yo
u-all know Luna Garza from Dallas. Luna did me a good turn at the Fellowship of the Sun church some time ago, and seeing her here tonight turned out to be lucky for me again. . . .”
When we’d related the whole story, Brenda Sue began laughing. And she was joined by some of the other twoeys. “That’s just too good,” she said. “It’s perfect. I know this is probably wrong of me, but I can’t help feeling okay about this.” There was a lot of silent agreement in the room.
Gradually, the remaining guests of the unofficial party began to leave. I couldn’t avoid talking to Jannalynn anymore. She’d been sitting behind the table within reach of Sam since I’d returned, and she hadn’t said a word. I knew this situation was hard for her, and I felt sorry it was, but there was nothing I could do about it. She’d known when she’d come to Wright that it was the wrong thing to do.
What could I see in her brain? I saw grief, resentment, and envy. Jannalynn was wondering why Sam couldn’t see that she was just like me. She was brave and pretty and loyal, too.
“I have a boyfriend,” I said. “You know I go with Eric Northman.”
“Doesn’t make any difference,” she said stoically, not meeting my eyes.
“Sure it does. I love Eric. You love Sam.” Already I could tell that saying anything at all had been the mistake I’d thought it would be, that we were compounding the unhappiness. But I couldn’t simply sit there in silence staring at her.
Jannalynn could do that, though, and she did. She stared a hole through me and didn’t say a word. I didn’t know where she proposed to sleep that night, but it wasn’t going to be in the sewing room with me, and I was going to bed.
Luna was ready to depart (by a huge coincidence, so was the cute cop), and I gave her a hug and told her I hoped to see her in Bon Temps someday.
“Girlfriend, just say the word,” she murmured, and returned the hug.
I didn’t see Sam anywhere, but I told Bernie good night and took my turn in the bathroom.
I don’t know what anyone else did after that, but I took the quickest shower on record and slipped into my nightgown and unfolded the couch. I had time to pull the sheet up over me about halfway before I was out like a light. My phone buzzed a couple of times in the night, but all I did was moan and turn over.
The next morning, it was raining like hell when I woke. The clock told me it was after eight o’clock, and I knew I had to get up. I could smell coffee and a trace of a sweet scent that made me suspect someone had gone to a bakery.
In fact, Bernie had gone to the store and gotten some Pillsbury cinnamon rolls. Sam and Bernie were sitting at the table. Sam got up to get me a cup of coffee, and I hunched over it gratefully.
Bernie shoved the paper over to me. It was the Waco paper. There was a short article about the upset at the wedding.
“Was it on the TV?” I asked.
“Yeah, apparently,” Sam said. “But Jim’s murder is upstaging the wedding.”
I nodded. All my glee had faded, leaving me feeling sort of dirty.
“Bernie, you did great yesterday,” I said. Bernie looked ten years older than she had the day before, but there was vigor in her step and purpose in her voice.
“I’m glad it’s over. I hope I never have to go through anything like that again. I hope Craig and Deidra are happy.” Three true things.
I nodded emphatically. I agreed all the way around. “You going to church today?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Sam said, “Sook, you think you can be ready to leave in an hour or so?”
“Sure. All I have to do is grab up my stuff and put on some makeup.” I’d pulled on my shorts and a shirt and packed my nightgown already.
“No hurry,” Sam assured me, but I could tell from the way he was sitting that he wanted to get on the road again. I wondered where Jannalynn was. I sort of felt around the house for her mentally, got no other brain signal. Hmmm.
We were actually out the door in forty-five minutes, after I said all the correct things to Bernie. I didn’t want her to think I hadn’t been brought up right. She smiled at me, and she seemed sincere when she told me she’d enjoyed having me in the house.
Sam and I were silent for a long time after we left Wright. I checked my cell phone for messages, and sure enough, I had two from Eric. He didn’t like to text, though he would if he had to. He’d left voice messages. First message—“I’ve seen you on the evening news. Call me.” BEEP. Second message—“Every time you leave town you get into trouble. Do you need me to come?” BEEP.
“Eric all bent out of shape?” Sam asked.
“Yeah. About like Jannalynn, I expect.” I had to say something. Better to get it over with.
“Not exactly. You and Eric have been together longer, and you seem to know each other a little better.”
“As well as a human and a thousand-year-old vamp can, I guess. You don’t think you and Jannalynn know each other?”
“She’s a lot younger than me,” he said. “And she has some impulse-control issues. But she’s really brave, really loyal.”
Okay, that was just weird. It was like listening to an echo of Jannalynn’s thoughts the night before.
“Yes,” I said. “She is.”
Sam shrugged. “When she left last night, we agreed we’d talk when I got back to Bon Temps and recovered from the wedding. We have a date for next weekend.”
I had a limited menu of responses to choose from. “Good,” I said, and left it at that.
We continued our near silence most of the way across Texas. I thought of the hateful crowd the day before, their distorted faces. I thought about the flash of sheer pleasure I’d felt when I’d realized who’d killed Jim Collins. I thought of how much fun the party had been before Jannalynn had shown up and Luna had told me about the smell in the house next door.
“I was surprised that the police didn’t come over to ask any questions last night,” I said.
“Sister called this morning and told me that they were going to, but—well, it seemed so obvious what had happened—”
“That’s great. You’re free and clear.”
This was good. Now we were talking like we had before. A knot in my stomach eased up.
“She said that even before they knew Jim was dead, the Arrowsmiths prodded their son to come forward and tell Porter that he’d seen the e-mails between Sarah Newlin and Jim about marshaling both sides to clash at the wedding. She’d urged Jim to make trouble, to enlist his like-minded neighbors and friends to take action, and encourage them to disrupt the wedding in any way they could. In turn, Jim had insisted she come to town herself to witness the work he was doing. The theory is that the shooting started when the two of them were arguing because the plan didn’t work out.”
That was pretty much the truth and should sure clinch the case against Sarah. “Why do you think we didn’t hear the shots?” I asked Sam.
“According to Sister, all the windows were shut. Probably because the noise of a yard full of folks he hated enjoying themselves was bothering Jim,” Sam said. “And with our CD player turned up loud . . . Sarah Newlin told them that she’d been at Jim’s house almost an hour before he got worked up enough to suggest they go over and shoot us all. But then her lawyer arrived, and she clammed up.”
“You think there’s any way she’ll get off?” I asked incredulously.
“She won’t go to prison for murder. Maybe manslaughter. Of course, she’ll claim self-defense.” He shook his head and accelerated to pass a beat-up minivan that was poking along in front of us.
“Just think on it, Sook—if Luna hadn’t gone on the Collins side of the hedge to make out in private, maybe Sarah Newlin would have called someone to come get her, or managed somehow to crawl out of the house. She might even have made it into her car. Then I think Mom and I would have had a visi
t from the police for sure.”
But that hadn’t happened, and now Sarah Newlin would be in jail for a while anyway. That was something, a big something. “I’m not drawing any big life lesson from yesterday,” I said.
“Were you sure you were going to?”
“Well, yes.”
“We survived,” Sam said. “And my brother got married to the woman he loves. And that’s all that’s important.”
“Sam, do you really think that?” I didn’t want to pick at him, but I was genuinely curious.
My boss smiled at me. “Nah. But what would you say the moral of the day was? There was a lot of hate, there was some love. The love won out for Craig, the hate did Jim Collins in. End of story.”
Sam was right, as far as his “moral” went.
But I didn’t think it was truly the end of the story.
IF I HAD A HAMMER
“If I Had a Hammer” is a retroactive story meant to create the basis for a situation that occurs in one of the novels. I needed to show that Sam is willing to help Tara and JB du Rone with their home-improvement project (creating a better bedroom for their twins). Of course, Sookie has to be present to help . . . and in the process, she becomes closer to Sam. I also wanted to introduce the du Rones’ babysitter, who shows up later in “In the Blue Hereafter.”
Dead Ever After precedes “If I Had a Hammer.”
“IF I HAD a hammer,” I sang, as I used the measuring tape and a pencil to mark where I needed to drill.
From the next room, Tara called, “I’m going to leave if you’re going to sing.”
“I’m not that bad,” I said with mock indignation.
“Oh yes, you are!” She was changing one of the twins in the next room.
We’d been friends forever. Tara’s husband, JB du Rone, was part of that friendship. We’d formed a little group of misfits at our high school in Bon Temps, Louisiana. What had saved us from utter outcast-dom was that we each had a redeeming talent. I could play softball, Tara was a great manager (yearbook, softball team), and JB was incredibly handsome and could play football, given good and patient coaching.