Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

turned out to be a good thing I checked, because under the kitchen table I spied a pair of dark glasses that must havefallen out of Callaway’s shirt pocket. Dermot didn’t comment when I straightened and slid them into a drawer.
    “I don’t guess you’ve heard from Claude or Niall,” I said.
    “No. Maybe Niall has killed Claude, or maybe now that Claude is in Faery, he just doesn’t care anymore about those of us left here,” Dermot said, sounding simply philosophical.
    I really couldn’t argue with him that those scenarios were impossible, because I knew enough about fairies and enough about Claude to know that they were actually likely. “Are some of the guys coming to run out in the woods tonight?” I said. “I guess Bellenos and Gift told you about last night.”
    “Those two won’t be here tonight,” Dermot said, rather grimly. “I am making them work tonight as punishment. They hate cleaning the bathrooms and kitchen, so that’s their duty after the club closes. They may come tomorrow night if they behave themselves. I’m sorry about your car, Niece.”
    All the fae were calling me Sister now, and Dermot almost always called me Niece. There were a lot worse names they could have chosen, but all this familial terminology felt awfully intimate. “The car’s running okay,” I said, though I’d have to get the bumper fixed sooner or later. Probably later. The seat belt had to be replaced pronto. And I was a little taken aback that Dermot was punishing the sharp-toothed elf and his running buddy as he would little children, giving them the unpopular cleanup duty. But out loud I said, “At least they were able to get the car out of the ditch. I’m only worried they’ll get spotted on someone else’s land or that they’ll run into Bill.”
    “He loves you,” Dermot said, turning over the hamburgers in the skillet.
    “Yeah, I know.” I got out two plates and a bowl of mixed fruit. “There’s nothing I can do about it but be his friend, though. I used to love him back, and I gotta say there are moments when I feel the old attraction, but I’m not in love with Bill. Not anymore.”
    “You love the blond one?” Dermot had been sure about Bill, but he didn’t sound so sure about Eric.
    “Yes.” But I no longer felt the surge of love and lust and excitement I’d had before the past few weeks. I hoped I might feel all that again, but I was so emotionally battered that I’d gone a little numb. It was a curious feeling—as if my hand were asleep, but I expected it would be all pins and needles at any second. “I love him,” I said, but even to my own ears I didn’t sound happy about it.

Chapter 11
    You may wonder why I was willing to eat in the kitchen where I’d just witnessed a violent death. The fact is, Donald Callaway’s demise was not the worst thing that had happened in my kitchen—not by a long shot. Maybe that was another thing I was getting numb to.
    Just before our food was ready, when Dermot’s back was turned, I slid open the drawer and extricated the dead man’s sunglasses, sliding them into my apron pocket. I admit, I can’t say my legs were too steady when I excused myself to go to the bathroom. When I was safely shut inside, I put my hands over my face and sat on the edge of the tub to take a few deep breaths. I got up, dropping Donald Callaway’s dark glasses onto the bath mat. I stomped on them three times, quickly. Without stopping to think, I held the bath mat over thewaste can in a funnel shape and shook it gently until all the pieces were safely at the bottom of the plastic bag acting as a liner.
    After supper, I planned to take the bag out to the big garbage can that we had to wheel out to the road every Friday.
    When I heard Dermot calling me, I washed my hands and my face and left the bathroom, making myself stand straight. As I passed through my bedroom, I slipped the cluviel dor into my pocket, where the sunglasses had been. I couldn’t leave it alone in my room. Not anymore.
    The hamburgers were good, and I managed to eat mine and some fruit salad, too. Dermot and I were quiet together, which suited me fine. As we did the dishes, Dermot told me shyly that he had a date and would be going out after he showered.
    “Oh my gosh!” I grinned at him. “Who’s the lucky girl?”
    “Linda Tonnesen.”
    “The doctor!”
    “Yes,” he said a little doubtfully. “I think that’s what she said she did. Treats human ailments?”
    “Oh, that’s a