Dead as a Doornail

shouldn’t be a problem.”
    “Who’ll be packmaster now?”
    “I don’t know,” Alcide said, but his voice wasn’t as neutral as I’d expected.
    “Do you want the job?”
    “No.” He seemed a little hesitant, I thought, and I felt the conflict in his head. “But my father does.” He wasn’t finished. I waited.
    “Were funerals are pretty ceremonial,” he said, and I realized he was trying to tell me something. I just wasn’t sure what it was.
    “Spit it out.” Straightforward is always good, as far as I’m concerned.
    “If you think you can overdress for this, you can’t,” he said. “I know the rest of the shifter world thinks Weres only go for leather and chains, but that’s not true. For funerals, we go all out.” He wanted to give me even more fashion tips, but he stopped there. I could see the thoughts crowding right behind his eyes, wanting to be let out.
    “Every woman wants to know what’s appropriate to wear,” I said. “Thanks. I won’t wear pants.”
    He shook his head. “I know you can do that, but I’m always taken by surprise.” I could hear that he was disconcerted. “I’ll pick you up at eleven thirty,” he said.
    “Let me see about swapping shifts.”
    I called Holly and found it suited her to switch shifts with me. “I can just drive over there and meet you,” I offered.
    “No,” he said. “I’ll come get you and bring you back.”
    Okay, if he wanted to go to the trouble of fetching me, I could live with it. I’d save mileage on my car, I figured. My old Nova was none too reliable.
    “All right. I’ll be ready.”
    “I better go,” he said. The silence drew out. I knew Alcide was thinking of kissing me. He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. We regarded each other from a few inches apart.
    “Well, I have some things I need to be doing, and you should be going back to Shreveport. I’ll be ready at eleven thirty tomorrow.”
    After Alcide left, I got my library book, Carolyn Haines’s latest, and tried to forget my worries. But for once, a book just couldn’t do the trick. I tried a hot soak in the bathtub, and I shaved my legs until they were perfectly smooth. I painted my toenails and fingernails a deep pink and then I plucked my eyebrows. Finally, I felt relaxed, and when I crawled into my bed I had achieved peace through pampering. Sleep came upon me in such a rush that I didn’t finish my prayers.

Chapter 6
    Y OU HAVE TO figure out what to wear to a funeral, just like any other social occasion, even if it seems your clothes should be the last thing on your mind. I had liked and admired Colonel Flood during our brief acquaintance, so I wanted to look appropriate at his burial service, especially after Alcide’s comments.
    I just couldn’t find anything in my closet that seemed right. About eight the next morning, I phoned Tara, who told me where her emergency key was. “Get whatever you need out of my closet,” Tara said. “Just be sure you don’t go into any other rooms, okay? Go straight from the back door to my room and back out again.”
    “That’s what I’d be doing anyway,” I said, trying not to sound offended. Did Tara think I’d rummage around her house just to pry?
    “Of course you would, but I just feel responsible.”
    Suddenly, I understood that Tara was telling me that there was a vampire sleeping in her house. Maybe it was the bodyguard Mickey, maybe Franklin Mott. After Eric’s warning, I wanted to stay far away from Mickey. Only the very oldest vampires could rise before dark, but coming across a sleeping vampire would give me a nasty start in and of itself.
    “Okay, I get you,” I said hastily. The idea of being alone with Mickey made me shiver, and not with happy anticipation. “Straight in, straight out.” Since I didn’t have any time to waste, I jumped in my car and drove into town to Tara’s little house. It was a modest place in a modest part of town, but Tara’s owning her own home was a miracle, when I recalled the place where she’d grown up.
    Some people should never breed; if their children have the misfortune to be born, those children should be taken away immediately. That’s not allowed in our country, or any country that I know of, and I’m sure in my brainier moments that’s a good thing. But the Thorntons, both alcoholics, had been vicious people who should have died years earlier than they did. (I forget my religion when I think of them.) Iremember Myrna Thornton tearing