Dead as a Doornail

has no prior record,” Andy said, looking down at the little notebook he’d produced. “He has no known association with the Fellowship of the Sun.”
    “But that doesn’t make sense,” I said into the little silence that followed. “Why would he set the fire otherwise?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me that,” Andy said, his clear gray eyes meeting mine.
    I’d had it with Andy, abruptly and finally. In our dealings over the years, he’d insulted me and wounded me, and now I’d encountered that last straw.
    “Listen to me, Andy,” I said, and I looked right back into his eyes. “I never did anything to you that I know of. I’ve never been arrested. I’ve never even jaywalked, or been late paying my taxes, or sold a drink to an underage teen. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket. Now someone tried to barbecue me inside my own home. Where do you get off, making me feel like I’ve done something wrong?” Other than shoot Debbie Pelt, a voice whispered in my head. It was the voice of my conscience.
    “I don’t think there’s anything in this guy’s past that would indicate he’d do this to you.”
    “Fine! Then find out who did! Because someone burned my house, and it sure wasn’t me!” I was yelling when I got to the last part, partly to drown the voice. My only recoursewas to turn and walk away, striding around the house until I was out of Andy’s sight. Terry gave me a sidelong look, but he didn’t stop swinging his sledgehammer.
    After a minute, I heard someone picking his way through the debris behind me. “He’s gone,” Alcide said, his deep voice just a tiny bit amused. “I guess you’re not interested in going any further with our conversation.”
    “You’re right,” I said briefly.
    “Then I’ll go back to Shreveport. Call me if you need me.”
    “Sure.” I made myself be more polite. “Thanks for your offer of help.”
    “ ‘Help’? I asked you to live with me!”
    “Then thank you for asking me to live with you.” I couldn’t help it if I didn’t sound completely sincere. I said the right words. Then my grandmother’s voice sounded in my head, telling me that I was acting like I was seven years old. I made myself turn around.
    “I do appreciate your . . . affection,” I said, looking up into Alcide’s face. Even this early in the spring, he had a tan line from wearing a hard hat. His olive complexion would be shades darker in a few weeks. “I do appreciate . . .” I trailed off, not sure how to put it. I appreciated his willingness to consider me as an eligible woman to mate with, which so many men didn’t, as well as his assumption that I would make a good mate and a good ally. This was as close as I could get to phrasing what I meant.
    “But you’re not having any.” The green eyes regarded me steadily.
    “I’m not saying that.” I drew a breath. “I’m saying now is not the time to work on a relationship with you.” Though I wouldn’t mind jumping your bones, I added to myself wistfully.
    But I wasn’t going to do that on a whim, and certainly not with a man like Alcide. The new Sookie, the reboundSookie, wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice in a row. I was double rebounding. (If you rebound from the two men you’ve had so far, do you end up a virgin again? To what state are you rebounding?) Alcide gave me a hard hug and dropped a kiss on my cheek. He left while I was still mulling that over. Soon after Alcide left, Terry knocked off for the day. I changed from the jumpsuit into my work clothes. The afternoon had chilled, so I pulled on the jacket I’d borrowed from Jason’s closet. It smelled faintly of Jason.
    I detoured on the way to work to drop off the pink and black suit at Tara’s house. Her car wasn’t there, so I figured she was still at the shop. I let myself in and went back to her bedroom to put the plastic bag in her closet. The house was dusky and deep shadowed. It was almost dark outside. Suddenly my nerves thrummed with alarm. I shouldn’t be here. I turned away from the closet and stared around the room. When my eyes got to the doorway, it was filled with a slim figure. I gasped before I could stop myself. Showing them you’re scared is like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
    I couldn’t see Mickey’s face to read his expression, if he had any.
    “Where did that new bartender at Merlotte’s come from?” he asked.
    If I’d expected anything, it wasn’t that.
    “When Sam got shot, we