Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

by Charlaine Harris

  I slept between three and six, I think, and woke up to a summer day that mocked me by being beautiful. The downpour had washed everything, cooled the air, and renewed the green of the grass and the trees. The delicate pink of the old crepe myrtle was unfurling. The cannas would be open soon.

  I felt like Hell hungover.

  While the coffeepot did its work, I slumped at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. I remembered—too vividly—sliding into a dark depression when I understood that Bill, my first-ever boyfriend and lover, had left me.

  This was not quite as bad; that had been the first time, this was the second. I’d had other kinds of losses during the same time period. Loved ones, friends, acquaintances had been mown down by the Grim Reaper. So I was no stranger to loss and to change, and these experiences had taught me something.

  But today was bad enough, and I could think of nothing to look forward to.

  Somehow I had to pull out of this state of unhappiness. I couldn’t struggle through many days like this.

  Seeing my little cousin Hunter would make me happy. Smiling in anticipation, I had already put my hand on the phone to call his dad before I realized what a criminal mistake inviting Hunter over would be. The child was a telepath like me, and he would read my misery like a book … a terrible situation for Hunter.

  I tried to think of another good thing to anticipate. Tara would be coming home from the hospital today, and I should cook a meal for her. I tried to summon the energy to plan that, but I came up with nothing. Okay, save that for later. I cast around for other pleasant ideas, but nothing took a grip on my black mood to loosen its hold on me.

  When I’d exhausted my fund of self-pity by brooding on my untenable situation with Eric, I thought I should focus on the death that had precipitated the current crisis, at least in part. I checked the news on the computer, but no arrest had been made in Kym Rowe’s murder. Detective Ambroselli said, “The police are not close to an arrest, but we’re pursuing several leads. Meanwhile, if anyone saw anything in the Clearwater Cove area that night, please call our hotline.” So, it would be interesting to hear if Bill and Heidi had found out anything, and it would be interesting—maybe—to ask the writer, Harp Powell, why he was going around with the Rowes. I’d had the feeling he was a cut or two above what he seemed to be doing—making a quick buck off the murder of a young, self-destructive stripper.

  It felt good to have a couple of projects in mind, and I clutched them to me as I went through my morning ritual. The lockers for the employee area were supposed to come today on the truck. That would be fun. If you had a very limited idea of fun.

  I goaded and prodded myself into preparation and went in the back door of Merlotte’s full of grim determination. As I tied on my apron, I felt my mouth curve up in my worst smile, the one that sent out “I’m crazy” signals all over the place. It had been a long time since I’d worn that particular smile.

  I made a round of my tables and realized Sam wasn’t behind the bar, again. Another man who wasn’t there when I needed him. Maybe he and Jannalynn the Terrible had gone to Arkansas to get a marriage license. I stopped dead in my tracks, the smile turning into a scowl. Pivoting on my heel, I shot out the back door of Merlotte’s. Sam’s truck wasn’t at his trailer. In the middle of the employee parking lot I clapped my cell phone to my ear after punching my speed dial.

  After two rings, Sam answered.

  “Where are you?” I snarled. If I was here being unhappy, Sam should be here, too. Weren’t we sort-of partners?

  “I took another day off,” he said, now clued in about my mood. He was only pretending to be casual.

  “Seriously, Sam, where are you?”

  “Yeah, you sound pretty damn serious,” he said, now borderline angry himself.

  “Did you get married?” The thought of Sam being on his honeymoon with Jannalynn—having fun while Eric made me miserable—was simply intolerable. I’ve had moments when I recognized that my reactions to current events were out of the stratosphere (most often when I was in the grip of my monthly woes), and usually that realization was enough for me to rein in the inappropriateness.

  But not today.

  “Sookie, why would you think that?” Sam sounded genuinely bewildered.

  “She told Alcide she was going to ask you. She told him she wanted me to help her surprise you … but I wouldn’t do it.”

  Sam was silent for a moment, perhaps struggling through all those pronouns.

  “I’m standing outside her house,” he said finally. “Jannalynn volunteered us to help Brenda get Splendide back in order after the break-in. I did think I’d get back to Bon Temps sooner than I am. But I’m not married. And I don’t have any plans to get that way.”

  I started crying. I put my hand over the phone so he couldn’t hear me.

  “Sookie, what’s really wrong?” Sam’s voice said.

  “I can’t tell you standing out here in the parking lot, and anyway, it makes me sound like the most pitiful person.” I couldn’t manage to get myself under control. When I thought of Freyda’s cool surface, I was disgusted with my own irrational display. “I’m sorry, Sam. Sorry I called you. I’ll see you when you get home. Forget this whole conversation, okay?”

  “Sookie? Listen, just shut up for a minute.”

  I did.

  “Look, my friend, we’re gonna be all right,” he said. “We’ll talk, and everything will look better.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. But even to my own ears, I sounded reasonable and much more like my better self.

  “Then we’ll deal with that,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Sookie, is there any reason you can think of that someone might want to tear apart the pieces of furniture you sold to Brenda? I mean, her partner, Donald, said he’d found a secret drawer, but all that was in it was an old pattern and he’d handed that to you. Did you know anything about that furniture that might give any kind of hint why anyone would break it up?”

  “No,” I lied. “It was just an old Butterick pattern, I think. I bet Jason or I stuck it in there when we were little ’cause we thought that would be funny. I don’t even remember Gran showing it to us. You’ll have to tell me all about the break-in when you come back. Drive careful.”

  We hung up. I shook myself, feeling my personality settling back into place on my shoulders. It was like an emotional tornado had subsided into a dust devil. I wiped my face with my apron before marching back into the bar, my cell phone in my pocket like a talisman. Everyone was eyeing me sideways. I must have startled the customers with my abrupt exit. I did a little courtesy tour around to all my tables, just to let people know I had returned to my right mind. I worked through the rest of my shift without descending to the previous level of Hell I’d inhabited.

  Kennedy was singing behind the bar, still happy since Danny had revealed his big secret job hunt to her. I didn’t feel like talking about vampire stuff at all, so I just rolled with her good mood.

  By the time the delivery truck pulled up to the back door, I was borderline normal myself. The lockers fit right in the space I’d cleared for them, I’d already bought padlocks for everyone on the staff, and since Sam wasn’t there, I got the pleasure of allotting everyone a locker and explaining that though Sam and I wouldn’t go in the lockers unless there was a crisis, we would be keeping a key to each one. Since the ladies had trusted Sam all these years with their purses, they shouldn’t have any problem trusting him with a change of clothes or a hairbrush. Everyone was pleased and even a little excited, because a change in the workplace can mean a lot.

  Sam’s truck was parked in front of his trailer when my shift was over, so I felt free to take off. Sam and I needed to talk, but not this evening.

  I stopped by the grocery store on the way home to buy the ingredients for Tara’s homecoming meal. I’d left a message on JB’s cell phone to tell him I was bringing something over, and just as insurance I’d left a message on their landline, too.

&
nbsp; I started cooking in my cool and empty house. I was doing my level best not to think about anything but food preparation. I’d decided to keep it simple and basic. I made a hamburger-and-sausage meatloaf, a pasta salad, and a carrot casserole for Tara and JB. The blackberries at the store had been too tempting to resist, and I made a blackberry cobbler. As long as I was cooking, I made duplicates of everything for Dermot and me. Two birds with one stone, I thought proudly.

  At the little house on Magnolia Street, a smiling JB met me at the door to help me carry in the food. While I went into the kitchen to turn on the stove to warm the meatloaf and casserole a little, the proud father returned to the small, small nursery. I tiptoed in to find Tara and JB staring down at the two cribs holding these amazing tiny beings. I joined them in the admiration gallery.

  Before I could even ask, Tara said, “Sara Sookie du Rone and Robert Thornton du Rone.”

  And I felt the bottom fall out of my heart. “You named her Sookie?”

  “It’s her middle name. There’s only one Sookie, that’s you. We’ll call her Sara. But we wanted her to have your name as part of her identity.”

  I simply refused to cry anymore, but I admit I had to blot my eyes. JB patted my shoulder and went to get the ringing phone before it disturbed the sleepers. Tara and I hugged. The babies continued to snooze, so we sneaked out and eased into the living room. We could hardly find a seat because of the flower arrangements and baby gifts cluttering the room—in fact, the whole house. Tara was very, very happy. So was JB. It permeated their home. I hoped it was catching.

  “Look what your cousin gave us a couple of weeks ago,” Tara said. She lifted a brightly colored box that contained (the print said) a baby gym. The concept confused me, but Tara said it was an arched toy you laid the baby under, and the baby could bat at the bright things with little hands. She showed me the picture.

  “Awww,” I said. “Claude gave you that?” I simply couldn’t imagine Claude selecting a gift, wrapping it, and bringing it by this house. He genuinely liked babies—though not to eat, as Bellenos might suggest. Bellenos surely wouldn’t really think of … I just couldn’t go there.

  She nodded. “I guess I just send the thank-you note to your address?”

  Or pop it through a hole in the air in the woods. “Sure, that’ll be fine.”

  “Sookie, is everything okay with you?” Tara said suddenly. “You don’t seem quite yourself.”

  The last thing in the world I’d do is intrude on her happiness with my problems. And I could tell from her brain that she really didn’t want to hear bad news; but she’d asked anyway, and that counted for a lot. “I’m good,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep last night, is all.”

  “Oh, did that big Viking keep you awake?” Tara gave me an elaborately sly look, and we both laughed, though it was hard for me to make it sound genuine.

  Their supper should be warm by now, and they needed some privacy. They’d been lucky to bring twins home from the hospital this early. I was sure Tara ought to rest. So I said my good-byes, told Tara I’d stop by in a couple of days to pick up my dishes, and hugged JB on my way out, resolutely blocking out the memory of how he’d looked in his G-string.

  Sara Sookie. Someone was named after me.

  I smiled all the way home.

  Dermot was there when I pulled up, and it was a real delight to know I wouldn’t be alone that night. Supper was ready. All we had to do was get it out of the still-warm oven.

  I told Dermot I’d “sent” the letter Bellenos had suggested, and he was so excited that he wanted to go out to the portal then and there to see if there’d been an answer. I persuaded him to wait until the next day, but he was fidgety for a good twenty minutes.

  Nonetheless, Dermot was the kind of guest you want to have; he complimented the food, and he helped do the dishes. By the time we cleared away, the night outside was humming with the noise of the insects.

  “I’m going to finish caulking the attic windows,” Dermot said, still humming with energy.

  Though before he’d begun work on the attic room he’d never caulked anything in his life, he’d watched a demonstration online and he was ready to work.

  “You rock, Dermot,” I said.

  He grinned at me. He was really sticking to the attic renovation, despite what I felt was an increasingly weak chance that Claude would return to claim his bedroom. After he went upstairs, I cracked the kitchen window over the sink so I’d have a little breeze while I scrubbed the sink with some Bon Ami.

  A mockingbird had perched outside in a photinia at the corner of the house. The stupid bird was singing to itself loud enough to wake the dead. I wished I had a slingshot.

  Just as I thought that, I thought I heard a voice outside calling, “Sookie!”

  I went out on the back porch. Sure enough, Bill was waiting in the backyard. “I can smell the fairy from here,” he said. “I know I can’t come in. Can you step out?”

  “Hold on a minute.” I rinsed out the sink, dried my hands on the dish towel, and shut the window to keep in the air-conditioning. Then, hoping my hair still looked decent, I went outside.

  Bill had been having some vampire downtime. He was standing silent in the darkness, lost in his thoughts. When he heard me ap-proach, he stepped out into the bright security light, looking both intent and focused. It was easy to see that Bill had a list of things to tell me. “I’ll start with the lesser things first,” he said, rather stiffly. “I don’t know if you’ve spared a moment to wonder about my efforts to find out who killed the young woman, but I assure you I’m trying to find out. She died while I was patrolling, and I won’t be easy until I understand why it happened.”

  Taken aback, I could only nod slightly. “I don’t know why you thought I … oh, Eric. Well, never mind. Please tell me what you’ve discovered. Would you like to sit?”

  We both sat in the lawn chairs. “Heidi and I went over Eric’s backyard with great attention,” Bill said. “You know it slopes down to a brick wall, the outer perimeter of the gated community.”

  “Right.” I hadn’t spent more than ten minutes total in Eric’s backyard, but I knew its contours. “There’s a gate in the brick wall.”

  “Yes, for the yard crew.” Bill said this like having a yard crew was an exotic indulgence, like having a bunch of peacocks. “It’s easier for the yard crew to gather all the yard debris and carry it out the back, rather than go uphill to the curb.” His tone made it plain what he thought of people who liked to have a job made easier for them.

  “It isn’t kept locked?” I was startled at the idea that it might have been swinging open.

  “Normally, yes. And normally, Mustapha is responsible for unlocking it for the yard crew on the day they’re expected, and he’s also responsible for locking it after they’re done. But the lock was missing.”

  “A werewolf or vampire could have snapped it,” I said. “So Mustapha’s not necessarily guilty of opening the gate, anyway.” He’d done something wrong, though. You don’t vanish unless you’ve done something wrong. “What did you smell? Anything?”

  “Even Heidi could not say for certain who’d been there,” Bill said. “Many humans, sweaty humans … the yard workers. A dash of fairy, but that could have been a very faint trace of the vial around the girl’s neck. And a stronger trace of twoey. That could have been from the girl herself.” He leaned back and looked up into the night sky … the only sky he’d seen in more than a hundred and thirty years.

  “What do you think happened?” I asked him, after we’d been quiet for a few calm moments. I’d been looking up, along with Bill. Though Bon Temps was close, it only cast a faint glow upward, especially this late. I could see the stars, vast and cold and distant. I shivered.

  “Look, Sookie,” he said, and held out something small. I took it and held it up to my nose to try to make it out in the patchy light.

  “It’s true, then,” I said. It was a rubber stopper, the kind that would close a small vial. “Where did
you find it?”

  “In the living room. It rolled under the dining table and landed right by a chair leg. I think the woman Kym took out the stopper when she knew she was going to see Eric face-to-face,” he said. “She dropped it while she drank the blood. She tucked the vial down into her bra in case the lingering scent would attract him further. And when I found her on the lawn, I could smell that she was two-natured. That would have added to her … allure.”

  “The dad’s two-natured, a Were, I think. The Rowes showed up here at my house yesterday with a reporter, to try to make something quotable happen.”

  Bill wanted to hear all about it. “You have the reporter’s card?” he asked when I’d finished.

  I went into the house and found it on the kitchen counter. Now that I took a moment to look at it, I discovered that Harp Powell was based in Terre Sauvage, a small town that lay north of the interstate between Bon Temps and Shreveport. “Huh,” I said, handing it to Bill, “I assumed he was based in Shreveport or Baton Rouge or Monroe.”

  Bill said, “I met this man at Fangtasia. He’s been published by a small regional press. He’s written several books.”

  Bill sounded quite respectful; he had great admiration for the written word.

  “What was he doing at Fangtasia?” I asked, diverted.

  “He interviewed me and Maxwell Lee, since we’re both native Louisianans. He was hoping to do a collection of Louisiana vampires’ histories. He wanted to listen to our recollections of the times we grew up in, the historical events we’d witnessed. He thought that would be interesting.”

  “So, a ripoff of Christina Sobol?” I tried not to sound sarcastic. Sobol’s Dead History I had been on all the best-seller lists a couple of years before. Amazon had sent me a notice to tell me that Dead History II would be out in a month. These books, as you may have guessed, were vampires’ reminiscences about the times they’d lived in. Harp Powell was doing a regional twist on a national best seller.

  Bill nodded. “I’m trying to remember if he asked questions about Eric. I believe that he wanted Eric’s phone number in case he needed to get in touch with him…. I didn’t give it to him, of course, but he could have discovered Eric’s address online.” Bill was one of the computer-savvy vampires.