From Dead to Worse

and when I found out why she’d come to Bon Temps, I got really down on her. I don’t know if she still gets paid by the Pelts. Plus, tonight she’s here with Calvin, and she’s got no business hitting on you.” My tone was a lot angrier than I’d intended.
    “Oh.” Sam looked disconcerted.
    “But if you want to go out with her, go ahead,” I said, trying to lighten up. “I mean—she can’t be all bad. And I guess she thought she was doing the right thing, coming to help find information on a missing shifter.” That sounded pretty good and might even be the truth. “I don’t have to like who you date,” I added, just to make it clear I understood I had no claim on him.
    “Yeah, but I feel better if you do,” he said.
    “Same here,” I agreed, to my own surprise.

Chapter 2
    We began packing up in a quiet and unobtrusive way, since there were still lingering guests.
    “As along as we’re talking about dates, what happened to Quinn?” he asked as we worked. “You’ve been moping ever since you got back from Rhodes.”
    “Well, I told you he got hurt pretty bad in the bombing.” Quinn’s branch of E(E)E staged special events for the supe community: vampire hierarchal weddings, Were coming of age parties, packleader contests, and the like. That was why Quinn had been in the Pyramid of Gizeh when the Fellowship did its dirty deed.
    The FotS people were anti-vampire, but they had no idea that vampires were just the visible, public tip of the iceberg in the supernatural world. No one knew this; or at least only a few people like me, though more and more were in on the big secret. I was sure the Fellowship fanatics would hate werewolves or shapeshifters like Sam just as much as they hated vampires . . . if they knew they existed. That time might come soon.
    “Yeah, but I would have thought ...”
    “I know, I would have thought Quinn and I were all set, too,” I said, and if my voice was dreary, well, thinking about my missing weretiger made me feel that way. “I kept thinking I’d hear from him. But not a word.”
    “You still got his sister’s car?” Frannie Quinn had loaned me her car so I could get home after the Rhodes disaster.
    “No, it vanished one night when Amelia and I were both at work. I called and left a voice mail on his cell to say it had been taken, but I never heard back.”
    “Sookie, I’m sorry,” Sam said. He knew that was inadequate, but what could he say?
    “Yeah, me, too,” I said, trying not to sound too depressed. It was an effort to keep from retreading tired mental ground. I knew Quinn didn’t blame me in any way for his injuries. I’d seen him in the hospital in Rhodes before I’d left, and he’d been in the care of his sister, Fran, who didn’t seem to hate me at that point. No blame, no hate—why no communication?
    It was like the ground had opened to swallow him up. I threw up my hands and tried to think of something else. Keeping busy was the best remedy when I was worried. We began to shift some of our things to Sam’s truck, parked about a block away. He carried most of the heavier stuff. Sam is not a big guy, but he’s really strong, as all shifters are.
    By ten thirty we were almost finished. From the cheers at the front of the house, I knew that the brides had descended the staircase in their honeymoon clothes, thrown their bouquets, and departed. Portia and Glen were going to San Francisco, and Halleigh and Andy were going to Jamaica to some resort. I couldn’t help but know.
    Sam told me I could leave. “I’ll get Dawson to help me unload at the bar,” he said. Since Dawson, who’d been standing in for Sam at Merlotte’s Bar tonight, was built like a boulder, I agreed that was a good plan.
    When we divided the tips, I got about three hundred dollars. It had been a lucrative evening. I tucked the money in my pants pocket. It made a big roll, since it was mostly ones. I was glad we were in Bon Temps instead of a big city, or I’d worry that someone would hit me on the head before I got to my car.
    “Well, night, Sam,” I said, and checked my pocket for my car keys. I hadn’t bothered with bringing a purse. As I went down the slope of the backyard to the sidewalk, I patted my hair self-consciously. I’d been able to stop the pink smock lady from putting it on top of my head, so she’d done it puffy and curly and sort of Farrah Fawcett. I felt silly.
    There were cars going by, most of them wedding guests taking their departure.