Dead as a Doornail

big news.
    “Yes,” I said. “I know that.”
    “A vampire had to save you.” There was disgust in his voice. Vamps and Weres just didn’t get along.
    “Yes,” I agreed, though actually my savior had been Claudine. But Charles had killed the arsonist. “Oh, would you rather I’d burned?”
    “No, of course not!” He turned away, looked at the mostly dismantled porch. “Someone’s working on tearing down the damaged part already?”
    “Yes.”
    “I could have gotten a whole crew out here.”
    “Terry volunteered.”
    “I can get you a good rate on the reconstruction.”
    “I’ve lined up a contractor.”
    “I can loan you the money to do it.”
    “I have the money, thank you very much.”
    That startled him. “You do? Where’d—” He stopped before saying something inexcusable. “I didn’t think your grandmother had had much to leave you,” he said, which was almost as bad.
    “I earned the money,” I said.
    “You earned the money from Eric?” he guessed accurately.Alcide’s green eyes were hot with anger. I thought he was going to shake me.
    “You just calm down, Alcide Herveaux,” I said sharply. “How I earned it is none of your damn business. I’m glad to have it. If you’ll get down off your high horse, I’ll tell you that I’m glad you’re concerned about me, and I’m grateful you’re offering help. But don’t treat me like I’m a slow fifth grader in the special class.”
    Alcide stared down at me while my speech soaked in. “I’m sorry. I thought you—I thought we were close enough for you to’ve called me that night. I thought . . . maybe you needed help.”
    He was playing the “you hurt my feelings” card.
    “I don’t mind asking for help when I need it. I’m not that proud,” I said. “And I’m glad to see you.” (Not totally true.) “But don’t act like I can’t do things for myself, because I can, and I am.”
    “The vampires paid you for keeping Eric while the witches were in Shreveport?”
    “Yes,” I said. “My brother’s idea. It embarrassed me. But now I’m grateful I’ve got the money. I won’t have to borrow any to get the house put into shape.”
    Terry Bellefleur returned with his pickup just then, and I introduced the two men. Terry didn’t seem at all impressed by meeting Alcide. In fact, he went right back to work after he gave Alcide’s hand a perfunctory shake. Alcide eyed Terry doubtfully.
    “Where are you staying?” Alcide had decided not to ask questions about Terry’s scars, thank goodness.
    “I’m staying with Jason,” I said promptly, leaving out the fact that I hoped that would be temporary.
    “How long is it gonna take to rebuild?”
    “Here’s the guy who can tell me,” I said gratefully. Randall Shurtliff was in a pickup, too, and he had his wife andpartner with him. Delia Shurtliff was younger than Randall, pretty as a picture, and tough as nails. She was Randall’s second wife. When he’d gotten divorced from his “starter” wife, the one who’d had three children and cleaned his house for twelve years, Delia had already been working for Randall and had gradually begun to run his business for him far more efficiently than he’d ever done. He was able to give his first wife and sons more advantages with the money his second wife had helped him earn than he otherwise might have, had he married someone else. It was common knowledge (by which I mean I wasn’t the only one who knew this) that Delia was very ready for Mary Helen to remarry and for the three Shurtliff boys to graduate from high school.
    I shut out Delia’s thoughts with a firm resolve to work on keeping my shields up. Randall was pleased to meet Alcide, whom he’d known by sight, and Randall was even more eager to take on rebuilding my kitchen when he knew I was a friend of Alcide’s. The Herveaux family carried a lot of weight personally and financially in the building trade. To my irritation, Randall began addressing all his remarks to Alcide instead of to me. Alcide accepted this quite naturally.
    I looked at Delia. Delia looked at me. We were very unlike, but we were of one mind at that moment.
    “What do you think, Delia?” I asked her. “How long?”
    “He’ll huff and he’ll puff,” she said. Her hair was paler than mine, courtesy of the beauty salon, and she wore emphatic eye makeup, but she was dressed sensibly in khakis and a polo shirt with “Shurtliff Construction” in script above her left breast. “But