From Dead to Worse

asked him about my money again, but I was too dispirited; besides, it wasn’t Eric’s problem.
    I was jumpy the whole time I was getting ready for bed, but nothing happened to make me more anxious. I reminded myself about fifty times that Amelia had warded the house. The wards would work whether she was in the house or not.
    I had some good locks on the doors.
    I was tired.
    Finally, I slept, but I woke up more than once, listening for an assassin.

Chapter 8
    I got up with heavy eyes the next day. I felt groggy and my head hurt. I had what amounted to an emotional hangover. Something had to change. I couldn’t spend another night like this. I wondered if I should call Alcide and see if he’d, ah, gone to the mattresses with his soldiers. Maybe they’d let me have a corner? But the very idea of having to do that to feel safe made me angry.
    I couldn’t stop the thought from going through my head— If Quinn were here, I could stay in my own home without fear. And for a moment, I wasn’t just worried about my missing wounded boyfriend, I was mad at him.
    I was ready to be mad at someone. There was too much loose emotion hanging around.
    Well, this was the beginning of a very special day, huh?
    No Amelia. I had to assume she’d spent the night with Pam. I didn’t have any problem with their having a relationship. I simply wanted Amelia to be around because I was lonely and scared. Her absence left a little blank spot in my landscape.
    At least the air was cooler this morning. You could feel clearly that fall was on the way, was already in the ground waiting to leap up and claim the leaves and grass and flowers. I put on a sweater over my nightgown and went out on the front porch to drink my first cup of coffee. I listened to the birds for a while; they weren’t as noisy as they were in the spring, but their songs and discussions let me know that nothing unusual was in the woods this morning. I finished my coffee and tried to plan out my day, but I kept running up against a mental roadblock. It was hard to make plans when you suspected someone might try to kill you. If I could tear myself away from the issue of my possibly impending death, I needed to vacuum the downstairs, do a load of my laundry, and go to the library. If I survived those chores, I had to go to work.
    I wondered where Quinn was.
    I wondered when I’d hear from my new great-grandfather again.
    I wondered if any more Weres had died during the night.
    I wondered when my phone would ring.
    Since nothing happened on my front porch, I dragged myself inside and did my usual morning get-ready routine. When I looked at the mirror, I was sorry I’d troubled. I didn’t look rested and refreshed. I looked like a worried person who hadn’t gotten any sleep. I dabbed some concealer beneath my eyes and put on a little extra eye shadow and blush to give my face some color. Then I decided I looked like a clown and rubbed most of it off. After feeding Bob and scolding him for the litter of kittens, I checked all my locks again and hopped in the car to go to the library.
    The Renard Parish library, Bon Temps branch, is not a large building. Our librarian graduated from Louisiana Tech in Ruston, and she is a super lady in her late thirties named Barbara Beck. Her husband, Alcee, is a detective on the Bon Temps force, and I really hope Barbara doesn’t know what he’s up to. Alcee Beck is a tough man who does good things ... sometimes. He also does quite a few bad things. Alcee was lucky when he got Barbara to marry him, and he knows it.
    Barbara’s the only full-time employee of the branch library, and I wasn’t surprised to find her by herself when I pushed open the heavy door. She was shelving books. Barbara dressed in what I thought of as comfortable chic, meaning she picked out knits in bright colors and wore matching shoes. She favored chunky, bold jewelry, too.
    “Good morning, Sookie,” she said, smiling her big smile.
    “Barbara,” I said, trying to smile back. She noticed I wasn’t my usual self, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Not really, of course, since I have my little disability, but she didn’t say anything out loud. I put the books I was returning on the appropriate desk, and I began looking at the shelves of new arrivals. Most of them were some permutation on self-help. Going by how popular these books were and how often they were checked out, everyone in Bon Temps should have become perfect by now.
    I grabbed up two new