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."
1 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.
I wished I'd kept my mouth shut.
But now I had to explain the whole thing to Andy, who was slumped only half-awake in my kitchen chair, his plaid shirt wrinkled and blotched with coffee stains, his khakis shapeless through long wear. Andy was longing for bed the way a horse longs for his own stall.
"You need to get some rest," I said gently. There was something sad about Andy Bellefleur, something daunted.
"It's these murders," he said, his voice unsteady from exhaustion. "These poor women. And they were all the same in so many ways."
"Uneducated, blue-collar women who worked in bars? Didn't mind having a vampire lover from time to time?"
He nodded, his eyes drooping shut.
"Women just like me, in other words."
His eyes opened then. He was aghast at his error. "Sookie..."
"I understand, Andy," I said. "In some respects, we are all alike, and if you accept the attack on my grandmother as intended for me, well, I guess then I'm the only survivor." I wondered who the murderer had left to kill. Was Ithe only one alive who met his criteria? That was the scariest thought I'd had all day.
Andy was practically nodding over his coffee cup. "Why don't you go lie down in the other bedroom?" I suggested quietly. "You have to have some sleep. You're not safe to drive, I wouldn't think."
'That's kind of you," Andy said, his voice dragging. He sounded a little surprised, like kindness wasn't something he expected from me. "But I have to get home, set my alarm. I can sleep for maybe three hours."
"I promise I'll wake you up," I said. I didn't want Andy sleeping in my house, but I didn't want him to have a wreck on die way to his house, either. Old Mrs. Bellefleur would never forgive me, and probably Portia wouldn't either. "You come lie down in this room." I led him to my old bedroom. My single bed was neatly made up. "You just lie down on top of the bed, and I'll set the alarm." I did, while he watched. "Now, get a little sleep. I have one errand to run, and I'll be right back." Andy didn't offer any more resistance, but sat heavily on the bed even as I shut the door.
The dog had been padding after me while I got Andy situated, and now I said to him, in a quite different tone, "You go get dressed right now!"
Andy stuck his head out the bedroom door. "Sookie, who are you talking to?"
"The dog," I answered instantly. "He always gets his collar, and I put it on every day."
"Why do you ever take it off?"
"It jingles at night, keeps me up. You go to bed, now."
"All right." Looking satisfied at my explanation, Andy shut the door again.
I retrieved Jason's clothes from the closet, put them on the couch in front of the dog, and sat with my back turned. But I realized I could see in the mirror over the mantel.
The air grew hazy around the collie, seemed to hum and vibrate with energy, and then the form began to change within that electric concentration. When the haze cleared, there was Sam kneeling on the floor, buck-naked. Wow, what a bottom. I had to make myself close my eyes, tell myself repeatedly that I had not been unfaithful to Bill. Bill's butt, I told myself staunchly, was every bit as neat.
"I'm ready," Sam's voice said, so close behind me that I jumped. I stood up quickly and turned to face him, and found his face about six inches from mine.
"Sookie," he said hopefully, his hand landing on my shoulder, rubbing and caressing it.
I was angry because half of me wanted to respond. "Listen here, buddy, you could have told me about yourself any time in the past few years. We've known each other what, four years? Or even more! And yet, Sam, despite the fact that I see you almost daily, you wait until Bill is interested in me, before you even..." and unable to think how to finish, I threw my hands up in the air. Sam drew back, which was a good thing. "I didn't see what was in front of me until I thought it might be taken away," he said, his voice quiet.
I had nothing to say to that. 'Time to go home," I told him. "And we better get you there without anyone seeing you. I mean it."
This was chancy enough without some mischievous person like Rene seeing Sam in my car in the early morning and drawing wrong conclusions. And passing them on to Bill.
So off we went, Sam hunched down in the backseat. I pulled cautiously behind Merlotte's. There was a truck there; black, with pink and aqua flames down the sides. Jason's. "Uh-oh," I said.
"What?" Sam's voice was somewhat muffled by his position.
"Let me go look," I said, beginning to be anxious. Why would Jason park over here in the employees' parking area? And it seemed to me there was a shape in the truck.
I opened my door. I waited for the sound to alert the figure in the truck. I watched for evidence of movement. When nothing happened, I began to walk across the gravel, as frightened as I'd ever been in the light of day.
When I got closer to the window, I could see that the figure inside was Jason. He was slumped behind the wheel. I could see that his shirt was stained, that his chin was resting on his chest, that his hands were limp on the seat on either side of him, that the mark on his handsome face was a long red scratch. I could see a videotape resting on the truck dashboard, unlabelled.
"Sam," I said, hating the fear in my voice. "Please come here."
Quicker than I could believe, Sam was beside me, then teaching past me to unlatch the truck door. Since the truck had apparently been sitting there for several hours—there was dew on its hood—with the windows closed, in the early summer, the smell that rolled out was pretty strong and compounded of at least three elements: blood, sex, and liquor.
"Call the ambulance!" I said urgently as Sam reached in to feel for Jason's pulse. Sam looked at me doubtfully. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked.
"Of course! He's unconscious!"
"Wait, Sookie. Think about this."
And I might have reconsidered m just a minute, but at that moment Arlene pulled up in her beat-up blue Ford, and Sam sighed and went into his trailer to phone.