Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

delicate pink of the old crepe myrtle was unfurling. The cannas would be open soon.
    I felt like Hell hungover.
    While the coffeepot did its work, I slumped at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. I remembered—too vividly—sliding into a dark depression when I understood that Bill, my first-ever boyfriend and lover, had left me.
    This was not quite as bad; that had been the first time, this was the second. I’d had other kinds of losses during the same time period. Loved ones, friends, acquaintances had been mown down by the Grim Reaper. So I was no stranger to loss and to change, and these experiences had taught me something.
    But today was bad enough, and I could think of nothing to look forward to.
    Somehow I had to pull out of this state of unhappiness. I couldn’t struggle through many days like this.
    Seeing my little cousin Hunter would make me happy. Smiling in anticipation, I had already put my hand on the phone to call his dad before I realized what a criminal mistake inviting Hunter over wouldbe. The child was a telepath like me, and he would read my misery like a book … a terrible situation for Hunter.
    I tried to think of another good thing to anticipate. Tara would be coming home from the hospital today, and I should cook a meal for her. I tried to summon the energy to plan that, but I came up with nothing. Okay, save that for later. I cast around for other pleasant ideas, but nothing took a grip on my black mood to loosen its hold on me.
    When I’d exhausted my fund of self-pity by brooding on my untenable situation with Eric, I thought I should focus on the death that had precipitated the current crisis, at least in part. I checked the news on the computer, but no arrest had been made in Kym Rowe’s murder. Detective Ambroselli said, “The police are not close to an arrest, but we’re pursuing several leads. Meanwhile, if anyone saw anything in the Clearwater Cove area that night, please call our hotline.” So, it would be interesting to hear if Bill and Heidi had found out anything, and it would be interesting—maybe—to ask the writer, Harp Powell, why he was going around with the Rowes. I’d had the feeling he was a cut or two above what he seemed to be doing—making a quick buck off the murder of a young, self-destructive stripper.
    It felt good to have a couple of projects in mind, and I clutched them to me as I went through my morning ritual. The lockers for the employee area were supposed to come today on the truck. That would be fun. If you had a very limited idea of fun.
    I goaded and prodded myself into preparation and went in the back door of Merlotte’s full of grim determination. As I tied on my apron, I felt my mouth curve up in my worst smile, the one that sent out “I’m crazy” signals all over the place. It had been a long time since I’d worn that particular smile.
    I made a round of my tables and realized Sam wasn’t behind thebar, again . Another man who wasn’t there when I needed him . Maybe he and Jannalynn the Terrible had gone to Arkansas to get a marriage license. I stopped dead in my tracks, the smile turning into a scowl. Pivoting on my heel, I shot out the back door of Merlotte’s. Sam’s truck wasn’t at his trailer. In the middle of the employee parking lot I clapped my cell phone to my ear after punching my speed dial.
    After two rings, Sam answered.
    “Where are you?” I snarled. If I was here being unhappy, Sam should be here, too. Weren’t we sort-of partners?
    “I took another day off,” he said, now clued in about my mood. He was only pretending to be casual.
    “Seriously, Sam, where are you?”
    “Yeah, you sound pretty damn serious,” he said, now borderline angry himself.
    “Did you get married?” The thought of Sam being on his honeymoon with Jannalynn—having fun while Eric made me miserable—was simply intolerable. I’ve had moments when I recognized that my reactions to current events were out of the stratosphere (most often when I was in the grip of my monthly woes), and usually that realization was enough for me to rein in the inappropriateness.
    But not today.
    “Sookie, why would you think that?” Sam sounded genuinely bewildered.
    “She told Alcide she was going to ask you. She told him she wanted me to help her surprise you … but I wouldn’t do it.”
    Sam was silent for a moment, perhaps struggling through all those pronouns.
    “I’m standing outside her house,” he said finally. “Jannalynn