Dead Until Dark (Sookie Stackhouse #1)(86)

“Your brother’s never been arrested before,” Sid Matt observed.

“No.” Though it had been a near thing, a couple of times, to hear Jason tell it.

“No record, upstanding member of the community, steady job. There may be a chance I can get him out on bail. But if he runs, you’ll lose everything.”

It truly had never occurred to me that Jason might skip bail. I didn’t know anything about arranging for bail, and I didn’t know what I’d have to do, but I wanted Jason out of that jail. Somehow, staying in jail until the legal processes had been gone through before the trial. . . somehow, that would make him look guiltier.

“You find out about it and let me know what I have to do,” I said. “In the meantime, can I go see him?”

“He’d rather you didn’t,” Sid Matt said.

That hurt dreadfully. “Why?” I asked, trying really hard not to tear up again.

“He’s ashamed,” said the lawyer.

The thought of Jason feeling shame was fascinating.

“So,” I said, trying to move along, suddenly tired of this unsatisfactory meeting. “You’ll call me when I can actually do something?”

Sid Matt nodded, his jowls trembling slightly with the movement. I made him uneasy. He sure was glad to be leaving me.

The lawyer drove off in his pickup, clapping a cowboy hat on his head when he was still in sight.

When it was full dark, I went out to check on Bubba. He was sitting under a pin oak, bottles of blood lined up beside him, empties on one side, fulls on the other.

I had a flashlight, and though I knew Bubba was there, it was still a shock to see him in the beam of light. I shook my head. Something really had gone wrong when Bubba “came over,” no doubt about it. I was sincerely glad I couldn’t read Bubba’s thoughts. His eyes were crazy as hell.

“Hey, sugar,” he said, his Southern accent as thick as syrup. “How you doing? You come to keep me company?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” I said.

“Well, I could think of places I’d be more comfortable, but since you’re Bill’s girl, I ain’t about to talk about them.”

“Good,” I said firmly.

“Any cats around here? I’m getting mighty tired of this bottled stuff.”

“No cats. I’m sure Bill will be back soon, and then you can go home.” I started back toward the house, not feeling comfortable enough in Bubba’s presence to prolong the conversation, if you could call it that. I wondered what thoughts Bubba had during his long watchful nights; I wondered if he remembered his past.

“What about that dog?” he called after me.

“He went home,” I called back over my shoulder.

“Too bad,” Bubba said to himself, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.

I got ready for bed. I watched television. I ate some ice cream, and I even chopped up a Heath Bar for a topping. None of my usual comfort things seemed to work tonight. My brother was in jail, my boyfriend was in New Orleans, my grandmother was dead, and someone had murdered my cat. I felt lonely and sorry for myself all the way around.

Sometimes you just have to roll in it.

Bill didn’t return my call.

That added fuel to the flame of my misery. He’d probably found some accommodating whore in New Orleans, or some fang-banger, like the ones who hung around Blood in the Quarter every night, hoping for a vampire “date.”

If I were a drinking woman, I would have gotten drunk. If I’d been a casual woman, I would have called lovely JB du Rone and had sex with him. But I’m not anything so dramatic or drastic, so I just ate ice cream and watched old movies on TV. By an eerie coincidence, Blue Hawaii was on.

I finally went to bed about midnight.

A shriek outside my bedroom window woke me up. I sat up straight in bed. I heard thumps, and thuds, and finally a voice I was sure was Bubba’s shouting, “Come back here, sucker!”

When I hadn’t heard anything in a couple of minutes, I pulled on a bathrobe and went to the front door. The yard, lit by the security light, was empty. Then I glimpsed movement to the left, and when I stuck my head out the door, I saw Bubba, trudging back to his hideout.

“What happened?” I called softly.

Bubba changed direction and slouched over to the porch.

“Sure enough, some sumbitch, scuse me, was sneaking around the house,” Bubba said. His brown eyes were glowing, and he looked more like his former self. “I heard him minutes before he got here, and I thought I’d catch ahold of him. But he cut through the woods to the road, and he had a truck parked there.”

“Did you get a look?”

“Not enough of one to describe him,” Bubba said shamefacedly. “He was driving a pickup, but I couldn’t even tell what color it was. Dark.”

“You saved me, though,” I said, hoping my very real gratitude showed in my voice. I felt a swell of love for Bill, who had arranged my protection. Even Bubba looked better than he had before. “Thanks, Bubba.”

“Aw, think nothing of it,” he said graciously, and for that moment he stood up straight, kind of tossed his head back, had that sleepy smile on his face. . . it was him, and I’d opened my mouth to say his name, when Bill’s warning came back to shut my mouth.