Dead Until Dark (Sookie Stackhouse #1)(82)

“Well, I guess I better be getting back home,” Sam said. He looked at me hopefully. He was still naked.

“Yes, I think you better. But—oh, dang it—you . . . oh, hell.” I stomped upstairs to look for some clothes. It seemed to me Jason had a couple of things in an upstairs closet he kept here for some emergency.

Sure enough, there was a pair of blue jeans and a work shirt in the first upstairs bedroom. It was already hot up there, under the tin roof, because the upstairs was on a separate thermostat. I came back down, grateful to feel the cool conditioned air.

“Here,” I said, handing Sam the clothes. “I hope they fit well enough.” He looked as though he wanted to start our conversation back up, but I was too aware now that I was clad in a thin nylon nightgown and he was clad in nothing at all.

“On with the clothes,” I said firmly. “And you get dressed out in the living room.” I shooed him out and shut the door behind him. I thought it would be insulting to lock the door, so I didn’t. I did get dressed in record time, pulling on clean underwear and the denim skirt and yellow shirt I’d had on the night before. I dabbed on my makeup, put on some earrings, and brushed my hair up into a ponytail, putting a yellow squnchy over the elastic band. My morale rose as I looked in the mirror. My smile turned into a frown when I thought I heard a truck pulling into the front yard.

I came out of the bedroom like I’d been fired from a cannon, hoping like hell Sam was dressed and hiding. He’d done one better. He’d changed back into a dog. The clothes were scattered on the floor, and I swept them up and stuffed them into the closet in the hall.

“Good boy!” I said enthusiastically and scratched behind his ears. Dean responded by sticking his cold black nose up my skirt. “Now you cut that out,” I said, and looked through the front window. “It’s Andy Bellefleur,” I told the dog.

Andy jumped out of his Dodge Ram, stretched for a long second, and headed for my front door. I opened it, Dean by my side.

I eyed Andy quizzically. “You look like you been up all night long, Andy. Can I make you some coffee?”

The dog stirred restlessly beside me.

“That would be great,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I stood aside. Dean growled.

“You got a good guard dog, there. Here, fella. Come here.” Andy squatted to hold out a hand to the collie, whom I simply could not think of as Sam. Dean sniffed Andy’s hand, but wouldn’t give it a lick. Instead, he kept between me and Andy.

“Come on back to the kitchen,” I said, and Andy stood and followed me. I had the coffee on in a jiffy and put some bread in the toaster. Assembling the cream and sugar and spoons and mugs took a few more minutes, but then I had to face why Andy was here. His face was drawn; he looked ten years older than I knew him to be. This was no courtesy call.

“Sookie, were you here last night? You didn’t work?”

“No, I didn’t. I was here except for a quick trip in to Merlotte’s.”

“Was Bill here any of that time?”

“No, he’s in New Orleans. He’s staying in that new hotel in the French Quarter, the one just for vampires.”

“You’re sure that’s where he is.”

“Yes.” I could feel my face tighten. The bad thing was coming.

“I’ve been up all night,” Andy said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve just come from another crime scene.”

“Yes.” I went into his mind. “Amy Burley?” I stared at his eyes, trying to make sure. “Amy who worked at the Good Times Bar?” The name at the top of yesterday’s pile of prospective barmaids, the name I’d left for Sam. I looked down at the dog. He lay on the floor with his muzzle between his paws, looking as sad and stunned as I felt. He whined pathetically.

Andy’s brown eyes were boring a hole in me. “How’d you know?”

“Cut the crap, Andy, you know I can read minds. I feel awful. Poor Amy. Was it like the others?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it was like the others. But the puncture marks were fresher.”

I thought of the night Bill and I had had to go to Shreveport to answer Eric’s summons. Had Amy given Bill blood that night? I couldn’t even count how many days ago that had been, my schedule had been so thrown off by all the strange and terrible events of the past few weeks.

I sat down heavily in a wooden kitchen chair, shaking my head absently for a few minutes, amazed at the turn my life had taken.

Amy Burley’s life had no more turns to take. I shook the odd spell of apathy off, rose and poured the coffee.

“Bill hasn’t been here since night before last,” I said.

“And you were here all night?”

“Yes, I was. My dog can tell you,” and I smiled down at Dean, who whined at being noticed. He came over to lay his fuzzy head on my knees while I drank my coffee. I smoothed his ears.

“Did you hear from your brother?”

“No, but I got a funny phone call, from someone who said he was at Merlotte’s.” After the words left my mouth I realized the caller must have been Sam, luring me over to Merlotte’s so he could maneuver himself into accompanying me home. Dean yawned, a big jaw-cracking yawn that let us see every one of his white sharp teeth.