Dead as a Doornail

sat me down on the grass and put the socks on my feet. Then she helped me stand up and get my arms into the coat. I buttoned it around me gratefully.
    This was the second time Claudine had appeared out of nowhere when I was about to get into serious trouble. The first time, I’d fallen asleep at the wheel after a very long day.
    “You’re making it awfully hard on me,” she said. She still sounded cheerful, but maybe not quite as sweet.
    Something changed about the house, and I realized the night-light in the hall had gone out. Either the electricity was out, or the line had been shut down in town by the fire department.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling that was appropriate, though I had no idea why Claudine felt put upon when it was my house that was burning. I wanted to hurry to the backyard to get a better view, but Claudine caught hold of my arm.
    “No closer,” she said simply, and I could not break her hold. “Listen, the trucks are coming.”
    Now I could hear the fire engines, and I blessed every person who was coming to help. I knew the pagers had gone off all over the area, and the volunteers had rushed to the firehouse straight from their beds.
    Catfish Hunter, my brother’s boss, pulled up in his car. He leaped out and ran right to me. “Anyone left inside?” heasked urgently. The town’s fire truck pulled in after him, scattering my new gravel all to hell.
    “No,” I said.
    “Is there a propane tank?”
    “Yes.”
    “Where?”
    “Backyard.”
    “Where’s your car, Sookie?”
    “In the back,” I said, and my voice was starting to shake.
    “Propane tank in the back!” Catfish bellowed over his shoulder.
    There was an answering yell, followed by a lot of purposeful activity. I recognized Hoyt Fortenberry and Ralph Tooten, plus four or five other men and a couple of women.
    Catfish, after a quick conversation with Hoyt and Ralph, called over a smallish woman who seemed swamped by her gear. He pointed to the still figure in the grass, and she threw off her helmet and knelt beside him. After some peering and touching, she shook her head. I barely recognized her as Dr. Robert Meredith’s nurse, Jan something.
    “Who’s the dead man?” asked Catfish. He didn’t seem too upset by the corpse.
    “I have no idea,” I said. I only discovered how shocked I was by the way my voice came out—quavery, small. Claudine put her arm around me.
    A police car pulled in to the side of the fire truck, and Sheriff Bud Dearborn got out of the driver’s seat. Andy Bellefleur was his passenger.
    Claudine said, “Ah-oh.”
    “Yeah,” I said.
    Then Charles was with me again, and Bill was right on his heels. The vampires took in the frantic but purposeful activity. They noticed Claudine.
    The small woman, who’d stood to resume her gear, called, “Sheriff, do me a favor and call an ambulance to take this body away.”
    Bud Dearborn glanced at Andy, who turned away to speak into the car radio.
    “Having one dead beau ain’t enough, Sookie?” Bud Dearborn asked me.
    Bill snarled, the firefighters broke out the window by my great-great-grandmother’s dining table, and a visible rush of heat and sparks gushed into the night. The pumper truck made a lot of noise, and the tin roof that covered the kitchen and porch separated from the house.
    My home was going up in flames and smoke.

Chapter 8
    C LAUDINE WAS ON my left. Bill came to stand to my right and took my hand. Together, we watched the firefighters aim the hose through the broken window. A sound of shattering glass from the other side of the house indicated they were breaking the window over the sink, too. While the firefighters concentrated on the fire, the police concentrated on the body. Charles stepped up to bat right away.
    “I killed him,” he said calmly. “I caught him setting fire to the house. He was armed, and he attacked me.”
    Sheriff Bud Dearborn looked more like a Pekinese than any human should look. His face was practically concave. His eyes were round and bright, and at the moment extremely curious. His brown hair, liberally streaked with gray, was combed back from his face all around, and I expected him to snuffle when he spoke. “And you would be?” he asked the vampire.
    “Charles Twining,” Charles answered gracefully. “At your service.”
    I wasn’t imagining the snort the sheriff gave or Andy Bellefleur’s eye roll.
    “And you’d be on the spot because . . . ?”
    “He’s staying with me,” Bill