Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

my own grocery list was so short, I stopped at the old Piggly Wiggly. I could get in and out of it faster than Wal-Mart. Though I saw Maxine Fortenberry and had to pass the time of day with her, I still emerged from the store with only one bag and plenty of time to spare.
    Feeling very efficient, I was tying on my apron fifteen minutes early.
    Sam was behind the bar talking to Hoyt Fortenberry, who was taking an early lunch hour. I stopped to visit for a second, told Hoyt I’d seen his mom, asked him how the wedding plans were going (he rolled his eyes), and gave Sam a pat on the back by way of apology for my emotional excesses over the telephone the day before. He smiled back at me and continued poking at Hoyt about the potholes on the street in front of the bar.
    I stowed my purse in my shiny new locker. I wore the key to it on a chain around my neck. The other waitresses were delighted to have real lockers, and from the stuffed bags they carried in, I was sure the lockers were already full. Everyone wanted to keep a change of clothes, an extra umbrella, some makeup, a hairbrush … even D’Eriq and Antoine seemed pleased with the new system. As I passed Sam’s office, I saw the coatrack inside, and on it was a jacket, a bright red jacket … Jannalynn’s. Before I could think about what I was doing, I stepped into Sam’s office, stole the jacket, and retreated to stuff it inside my locker.
    I’d found a quick and easy solution to the problem of getting Jannalynn’s scent to the noses of Bill and Heidi. I even persuaded myself that Sam wouldn’t mind, if I were to tell him; but I didn’t test that idea by asking permission to take the jacket.
    I’m not used to feeling underhanded, and I have to confess that for an hour or two I kept away from Sam. That was unexpectedly easy, since the bar was really busy. The association of local insurance agents came in for their monthly lunch together, and since it was so hot, they were almighty thirsty. The EMT team on duty parked the ambulance outside and ordered their food. Jason and his road crew came in, and so did a bunch of nurses from the blood bank truck, parked on the town square today.
    Though I was working hard, the idea of bags of blood reminded me of Eric. Like all roads leading to Rome, all my thoughts seemed to come back to the certain prospect of misery to come. As I stood staring into the kitchen, waiting for a basket of French fried pickles for the insurance agents, my heart felt as if it were beating way too fast. I revisited the single disturbing scenario, over and over. Eric would choose her. He would leave me.
    What weighed on me with incredible heaviness was the idea of using the love gift given by Fintan to my grandmother, the cluviel dor. If I understood its properties correctly, a wish on behalf of someone I loved would surely be granted. This fairy object, which Amelia had heard was no longer made in the fae world, might come with a penalty for its use. I had no idea if there would be a price to pay, much less how steep that price would be. But if I used it to keep Eric …
    “Sookie?” Antoine said, sounding anxious. “Hey, girl, you hearing me? Here’s your pickles. For the third time.”
    “Thanks,” I said, picking up the red plastic basket and hurrying to the table. I smiled all around, put the basket neatly in the middle,and checked to see if anyone needed a drink refill. They all did, so I went to get the pitcher of sweet tea, while taking one glass with me to refill with Coke.
    Then Jason asked for more mayonnaise for his hamburger, and Jane Bodehouse wanted a bowl of pretzels to go with her lunch (Bud Light).
    By the time the noon crowd thinned out, I was feeling a little more normal. I reminded Jason I was making his sweet potato casserole and that he should come by tonight to pick it up.
    “Sook, thanks,” he said with his charming smile. “Her mom is gonna love it, and so will Michele. I really appreciate you taking the time to do this. I can grill meat, but I ain’t no kitchen chef.”
    I worked the rest of the shift on automatic. I had a little conversation with Sam about whether to change insurance companies for the bar or whether Sam should insure his trailer separately. The State Farm agent had spoken to Sam at lunchtime.
    Finally it was time to go, but I had to fiddle around until the storage room was empty and I could open the locker to remove the borrowed jacket. (“Borrowed” sounded much better than