Club Dead

that he’d given Bubba a magazine to look at and a bottle of Life Support to sip on, and began to poke around behind the bar. “How come that guy was driving a car instead of a motorcycle?” Sam muttered in a low voice. “How come his car’s got a Mississippi license plate?” He hushed when Kevin came up to check that we were going to call Jane’s son, Marvin. Sam phoned while Kevin stood there so he could relay the son’s promise to be at Merlotte’s in twenty minutes. Kevin pushed off after that, his notebook tucked under his arm. I wondered if Kevin was turning into a poet, or writing his resume.
    The four men who’d been trying to ignore Jane while sipping their pitcher at the speed of a turtle finished their beer and left, each dropping a dollar on the table by way of tip. Big spenders. I’d never get my driveway regraveled with customers like these.
    With only half an hour to wait, Arlene did her closing chores and asked if she could go on and leave with Buck. Her kids were still with her mom, so she and Buck might have the trailer to themselves for a little while.
    “Bill coming home soon?” she asked me as she pulled on her coat. Buck was talking football with Sam.
    I shrugged. He’d called me three nights before, telling me he’d gotten to “Seattle” safely and was meeting with—whomever he was supposed to meet with. The Caller ID had read “Unavailable.” I felt like that said quite a lot about the whole situation. I felt like that was a bad sign.
    “You . . . missing him?” Her voice was sly.
    “What do you think?” I asked, with a little smile at the corners of my mouth. “You go on home, have a good time.”
    “Buck is very good at good times,” she said, almost leering.
    “Lucky you.”
    So Jane Bodehouse was the only customer in Merlotte’s when Pam arrived. Jane hardly counted; she was so out of it.
    Pam is a vampire, and she is co-owner of Fangtasia, a tourist bar in Shreveport. She’s Eric’s second in command. Pam is blond, probably two hundred-plus years old, and actually has a sense of humor—not a vampire trademark. If a vampire can be your friend, she was as close as I’d gotten.
    She sat on a bar stool and faced me over the shining expanse of wood.
    This was ominous. I had never seen Pam anywhere but Fangtasia. “What’s up?” I said by way of greeting. I smiled at her, but I was tense all over.
    “Where’s Bubba?” she asked, in her precise voice. She looked over my shoulder. “Eric’s going to be angry if Bubba didn’t make it here.” For the first time, I noticed that Pam had a faint accent, but I couldn’t pin it down. Maybe just the inflections of antique English.
    “Bubba’s in the back, in Sam’s office,” I said, focusing on her face. I wished the ax would go on and fall. Sam came to stand beside me, and I introduced them. Pam gave him a more significant greeting than she would have given a plain human (whom she might not have acknowledged at all), since Sam was a shape-shifter. And I expected to see a flicker of interest, since Pam is omnivorous in matters of sex, and Sam is an attractive supernatural being. Though vampires aren’t well-known for facial expressions, I decided that Pam’s was definitely unhappy.
    “What’s the deal?” I asked, after a moment of silence.
    Pam met my gaze. We’re both blue-eyed blonds, but that’s like saying two animals are both dogs. That’s as far as any resemblance went. Pam’s hair was straight and pale, and her eyes were very dark. Now they were full of trouble. She looked at Sam, her stare significant. Without a word, he went over to help Jane’s son, a worn-looking man in his thirties, shift Jane to the car.
    “Bill’s missing,” Pam said, shooting from the conversational hip.
    “No, he’s not. He’s in Seattle,” I said. Willfully obtuse. I had learned that word from my Word-A-Day calendar only that morning, and here I was getting to use it.
    “He lied to you.”
    I absorbed that, made a “come on” gesture with my hand.
    “He’s been in Mississippi all this time. He drove to Jackson.”
    I stared down at the heavily polyurethane-coated wood of the bar. I’d pretty much figured Bill had lied to me, but hearing it said out loud, baldly, hurt like hell. He’d lied to me, and he was missing.
    “So . . . what are you going to do to find him?” I asked, and hated how unsteady my voice was.
    “We’re looking. We’re doing everything we can,” Pam said. “Whoever got him