Sookie Stackhouse 8-copy Boxed Set

by Charlaine Harris

  “Why did she want him to do that?” Alcide asked. He was smiling at my description of our supper stop at a Cracker Barrel.

  “Bill’s a vet,” I said. “An Army vet, not an animal-doctor vet.”

  “So?” After a beat, he said, “You mean your boyfriend is a veteran of the Civil War?”

  “Yeah. He was human then. He wasn’t brought over until after the war. He had a wife and children.” I could hardly keep calling him my boyfriend, since he’d been on the verge of leaving me for someone else.

  “Who made him a vampire?” Alcide asked. We were in Jackson now, and he was making his way downtown to the apartment his company maintained.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He doesn’t talk about it.”

  “That seems a little strange to me.”

  Actually, it seemed a little strange to me, too; but I figured it was something really personal, and when Bill wanted to tell me about it, he would. The relationship was very strong, I knew, between the older vampire and the one he’d “brought over.”

  “I guess he really isn’t my boyfriend anymore,” I admitted. Though “boyfriend” seemed a pretty pale term for what Bill had been to me.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  I flushed. I shouldn’t have said anything. “But I still have to find him.”

  We were silent for a while after that. The last city I’d visited had been Dallas, and it was easy to see that Jackson was nowhere close to that size. (That was a big plus, as far as I was concerned.) Alcide pointed out the golden figure on the dome of the new capitol, and I admired it appropriately. I thought it was an eagle, but I wasn’t sure, and I was a little embarrassed to ask. Did I need glasses? The building we were going to was close to the corner of High and State streets. It was not a new building; the brick had started out a golden tan, and now it was a grimy light brown.

  “The apartments here are larger than they are in new buildings,” Alcide said. “There’s a small guest bedroom. Everything should be all ready for us. We use the apartment cleaning service.”

  I nodded silently. I could not remember if I’d ever been in an apartment building before. Then I realized I had, of course. There was a two-story U-shaped apartment building in Bon Temps. I had surely visited someone there; in the past seven years, almost every single person in Bon Temps had rented a place in Kingfisher Apartments at some point in his or her dating career.

  Alcide’s apartment, he told me, was on the top floor, the fifth. You drove in from the street down a ramp to park. There was a guard at the garage entrance, standing in a little booth. Alcide showed him a plastic pass. The heavyset guard, who had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, barely glanced at the card Alcide held out before he pressed a button to raise the barrier. I wasn’t too impressed with the security. I felt like I could whip that guy, myself. My brother, Jason, could pound him into the pavement.

  We scrambled out of the truck and retrieved our bags from the rudimentary backseat. My hanging bag had fared pretty well. Without asking me, Alcide took my small suitcase. He led the way to a central block in the parking area, and I saw a gleaming elevator door. He punched the button, and it opened immediately. The elevator creaked its way up after Alcide punched the button marked with a 5. At least the elevator was very clean, and when the door swished open, so were the carpet and the hall beyond.

  “They went condo, so we bought the place,” Alcide said, as if it was no big deal. Yes, he and his dad had made some money. There were four apartments per floor, Alcide told me.

  “Who are your neighbors?”

  “Two state senators own 501, and I’m sure they’ve gone home for the holiday season,” he said. “Mrs. Charles Osburgh the Third lives in 502, with her nurse. Mrs. Osburgh was a grand old lady until the past year. I don’t think she can walk anymore. Five-oh-three is empty right now, unless the realtor sold it this past two weeks.” He unlocked the door to number 504, pushed it open, and gestured for me to enter ahead of him. I entered the silent warmth of the hall, which opened on my left into a kitchen enclosed by counters, not walls, so the eye was unobstructed in sweeping the living room/ dining area. There was a door immediately on my right, which probably opened onto a coat closet, and another a little farther down, which led into a small bedroom with a neatly made-up double bed. A door past that revealed a small bathroom with white-and-blue tiles and towels hung just so on the racks.

  Across the living room, to my left, was a door that led into a larger bedroom. I peered inside briefly, not wanting to seem overly interested in Alcide’s personal space. The bed in that room was a king. I wondered if Alcide and his dad did a lot of entertaining when they visited Jackson.

  “The master bedroom has its own bath,” Alcide explained. “I’d be glad to let you have the bigger room, but the phone’s in there, and I’m expecting some business calls.”

  “The smaller bedroom is just fine,” I said. I peeked around a little more after my bags were stowed in my room.

  The apartment was a symphony in beige. Beige carpet, beige furniture. Sort of oriental bamboo-y patterned wallpaper with a beige background. It was very quiet and very clean.

  As I hung my dresses in the closet, I wondered how many nights I’d have to go to the club. More than two, and I’d have to do some shopping. But that was impossible, at the least imprudent, on my budget. A familiar worry settled hard on my shoulders.

  My grandmother hadn’t had much to leave me, God bless her, especially after her funeral expenses. The house had been a wonderful and unexpected gift.

  The money she’d used to raise Jason and me, money that had come from an oil well that had petered out, was long gone. The fee I’d gotten paid for moonlighting for the Dallas vampires had mostly gone to buy the two dresses, pay my property taxes, and have a tree cut down because the previous winter’s ice storm had loosened its roots and it had begun to lean too close to the house. A big branch had already fallen, damaging the tin roof a bit. Luckily, Jason and Hoyt Fortenberry had known enough about roofing to repair that for me.

  I recalled the roofing truck outside of Belle Rive.

  I sat on the bed abruptly. Where had that come from? Was I petty enough to be angry that my boyfriend had been thinking of a dozen different ways to be sure his descendants (the unfriendly and sometimes snooty Bellefleurs) prospered, while I, the love of his afterlife, worried herself to tears about her finances?

  You bet, I was petty enough.

  I should be ashamed of myself.

  But later. My mind was not through toting up grievances.

  As long as I was considering money (lack of), I wondered if it had even occurred to Eric when he dispatched me on this mission that since I’d be missing work, I wouldn’t get paid. Since I wouldn’t get paid, I couldn’t pay the electric company, or the cable, or the phone, or my car insurance . . . though I had a moral obligation to find Bill, no matter what had happened to our relationship, right?

  I flopped back on the bed and told myself that this would all work out. I knew, in the back of my mind, that all I had to do was sit down with Bill—assuming I ever got him back—and explain my situation to him, and he’d . . . he’d do something.

  But I couldn’t just take money from Bill. Of course, if we were married, it would be okay; husband and wife held all in common. But we couldn’t get married. It was illegal.

  And he hadn’t asked me.

  “Sookie?” a voice said from the doorway.

  I blinked and sat up. Alcide was lounging against the jamb, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded uncertainly.

  “You missing him?”

  I was too ashamed to mention my money troubles, and they weren’t more important than Bill, of course. To simplify things, I nodded.

  He sat beside me and put his arm around me. He was so warm. He smelled like Tide detergent, and Irish Spring soap, and man. I closed my eyes and counted to ten again.

  “You miss him,” he said, confirming. He reac
hed across his body to take my left hand, and his right arm tightened around me.

  You don’t know how I miss him, I thought.

  Apparently, once you got used to regular and spectacular sex, your body had a mind of its own (so to speak) when it was deprived of that recreation; to say nothing of missing the hugging and cuddling part. My body was begging me to knock Alcide Herveaux back onto the bed so it could have its way with him. Right now.

  “I do miss him, no matter what problems we have,” I said, and my voice came out tiny and shaky. I wouldn’t open my eyes, because if I did, I might see on his face a tiny impulse, some little inclination, and that would be all it would take.

  “What time do you think we should go to the club?” I asked, firmly steering in another direction.

  He was so warm.

  Other direction! “Would you like me to cook supper before we go?” Least I could do. I shot up off the bed like a bottle rocket; turned to face him with the most natural smile I could muster. Get out of close proximity, or jump his bones.

  “Oh, let’s go to the Mayflower Cafe. It looks like an old diner—it is an old diner—but you’ll enjoy it. Everyone goes there—senators and carpenters, all kinds of people. They just serve beer, that okay?” I shrugged and nodded. That was fine with me. “I don’t drink much,” I told him.

  “Me neither,” he said. “Maybe because, every so often, my dad tends to drink too much. Then he makes bad decisions.” Alcide seemed to regret having told me this. “After the Mayflower, we’ll go to the club,” Alcide said, much more briskly. “It gets dark real early these days, but the vamps don’t show up till they’ve had some blood, picked up their dates, done some business. We should get there about ten. So we’ll go out to eat about eight, if that suits you?”

  “Sure, that’ll be great.” I was at a loss. It was only two in the afternoon. His apartment didn’t need cleaning. There was no reason to cook. If I wanted to read, I had romance novels in my suitcase. But in my present condition, it was hardly likely to help my state of . . . mind.

  “Listen, would it be okay if I ran out to visit some clients?” he asked.

  “Oh, that would be fine.” I thought it would be all to the good if he wasn’t in my immediate vicinity. “You go do whatever you need to do. I have books to read, and there’s the television.” Maybe I could begin the mystery novel.

  “If you want to . . . I don’t know . . . my sister, Janice, owns a beauty shop about four blocks away, in one of the older neighborhoods. She married a local guy. You want to, you could walk over and get the works.”

  “Oh, I . . . well, that . . .” I didn’t have the sophistication to think of a smooth and plausible refusal, when the glaring roadblock to such a treat was my lack of money.

  Suddenly, comprehension crossed his face. “If you stopped by, it would give Janice the opportunity to look you over. After all, you’re supposed to be my girlfriend, and she hated Debbie. She’d really enjoy a visit.”

  “You’re being awful nice,” I said, trying not to sound as confused and touched as I felt. “That’s not what I expected.”

  “You’re not what I expected, either,” he said, and left his sister’s shop number by the phone before heading out on his business.

  Chapter Five

  JANICE HERVEAUX PHILLIPS (married two years, mother of one, I learned quickly) was exactly what I might have expected of a sister of Alcide’s. She was tall, attractive, plainspoken, and confident; and she ran her business efficiently.

  I seldom went into beauty parlors. My gran had always done her own home perms, and I had never colored my hair or done anything else to it, besides a trim now and then. When I confessed this to Janice, who’d noticed I was looking around me with the curiosity of the ignorant, her broad face split in a grin. “Then you’ll need everything,” she said with satisfaction.

  “No, no, no,” I protested anxiously. “Alcide—.”

  “Called me on his cell phone and made it clear I was to give you the works,” Janice said. “And frankly, honey, anyone who helps him recover from that Debbie is my best friend.”

  I had to smile. “But I’ll pay,” I told her.

  “No, your money’s no good here,” she said. “Even if you break up with Alcide tomorrow, just getting him through tonight will be worth it.”

  “Tonight?” I began to have a sinking feeling that once again, I didn’t know everything there was to know.

  “I happen to know that tonight that bitch is going to announce her engagement at that club they go to,” Janice said.

  Okay, this time what I didn’t know was something pretty major. “She’s marrying the—man she took up with after she dumped Alcide?” (I barely stopped myself from saying, “The shape-shifter?”)

  “Quick work, huh? What could he have that my brother doesn’t have?”

  “I can’t imagine,” I said with absolutely sincerity, earning a quick smile from Janice. There was sure to be a flaw in her brother somewhere—maybe Alcide came to the supper table in his underwear, or picked his nose in public.

  “Well, if you find out, you let me know. Now, let’s get you going.” Janice glanced around her in a businesslike way. “Corinne is going to give you your pedicure and manicure, and Jarvis is going to do your hair. You sure have a great head of it,” Janice said in a more personal way.

  “All mine, all natural,” I admitted.

  “No color?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re the lucky one,” Janice said, shaking her head.

  That was a minority opinion.

  Janice herself was working on a client whose silver hair and gold jewelry proclaimed she was a woman of privilege, and while this cold-faced lady examined me with indifferent eyes, Janice fired off some instructions to her employees and went back to Ms. Big Bucks.

  I had never been so pampered in my life. And everything was new to me. Corinne (manicures and pedicures), who was as plump and juicy as one of the sausages I’d cooked that morning, painted my toenails and fingernails screaming red to match the dress I was going to wear. The only male in the shop, Jarvis, had fingers as light and quick as butterflies. He was thin as a reed and artificially platinum blond. Entertaining me with a stream of chatter, he washed and set my hair and established me under the dryer. I was one chair down from the rich lady, but I got just as much attention. I had a People magazine to read, and Corinne brought me a Coke. It was so nice to have people urging me to relax.

  I was feeling kind of roasted under the dryer when the timer binged. Jarvis got me out from under it and set me back in his chair. After consulting with Janice, he whipped his preheated curling iron from a sort of holster mounted on the wall, and painstakingly arranged my hair in loose curls trailing down my back. I looked spectacular. Looking spectacular makes you happy. This was the best I’d felt since Bill had left.

  Janice came over to talk every moment she was able. I caught myself forgetting that I wasn’t Alcide’s real girlfriend, with a real chance of becoming Janice’s sister-in-law. This kind of acceptance didn’t come my way too often.

  I was wishing I could repay her kindness in some way, when a chance presented itself. Jarvis’s station mirrored Janice’s, so my back was to Janice’s customer’s back. Left on my own while Jarvis went to get a bottle of the conditioner he thought I should try, I watched (in the mirror) Janice take off her earrings and put them in a little china dish. I might never have observed what happened next if I hadn’t picked up a clear covetous thought from the rich lady’s head, which was, simply, “Aha!” Janice walked away to get another towel, and in the clear reflection, I watched the silver-haired customer deftly sweep up the earrings and stuff them into her jacket pocket, while Janice’s back was turned.

  By the time I was finished, I’d figured out what to do. I was just waiting to say good-bye to Jarvis, who’d had to go to the telephone; I knew he was talking to his mother, from the pictures I got from his head. So I slid out of my vinyl chair and walked over to the rich wom
an, who was writing a check for Janice.

  “ ’Scuse me,” I said, smiling brilliantly. Janice looked a little startled, and the elegant woman looked snooty. This was a client who spent a lot of money here, and Janice wouldn’t want to lose her. “You got a smear of hair gel on your jacket. If you’ll please just slide out of it for a second, I’ll get it right off.”

  She could hardly refuse. I grasped the jacket shoulders and gently tugged, and she automatically helped me slide the green-and-red plaid jacket down her arms. I carried it behind the screen that concealed the hair-washing area, and wiped at a perfectly clean area just for verisimilitude (a great word from my Word of the Day calendar). Of course, I also extracted the earrings and put them in my own pocket.

  “There you are, good as new!” I beamed at her and helped her into the jacket.

  “Thanks, Sookie,” Janice said, too brightly. She suspected something was amiss.

  “You’re welcome!” I smiled steadily.

  “Yes, of course,” said the elegant woman, somewhat confusedly. “Well, I’ll see you next week, Janice.”

  She clicked on her high heels all the way out the door, not looking back. When she was out of sight, I reached in my pocket and held out my hand to Janice. She opened her hand under mine, and I dropped the earrings into her palm.