Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,42

scattering my new gravel all to hell.

“No,” I said.

“Is there a propane tank?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Backyard.”

“Where’s your car, Sookie?”

“In the back,” I said, and my voice was starting to shake.

“Propane tank in the back!” Catfish bellowed over his shoulder.

There was an answering yell, followed by a lot of purposeful activity. I recognized Hoyt Fortenberry and Ralph Tooten, plus four or five other men and a couple of women.

Catfish, after a quick conversation with Hoyt and Ralph, called over a smallish woman who seemed swamped by her gear. He pointed to the still figure in the grass, and she threw off her helmet and knelt beside him. After some peering and touching, she shook her head. I barely recognized her as Dr. Robert Meredith’s nurse, Jan something.

“Who’s the dead man?” asked Catfish. He didn’t seem too upset by the corpse.

“I have no idea,” I said. I only discovered how shocked I was by the way my voice came out—quavery, small. Claudine put her arm around me.

A police car pulled in to the side of the fire truck, and Sheriff Bud Dearborn got out of the driver’s seat. Andy Bellefleur was his passenger.

Claudine said, “Ah-oh.”

“Yeah,” I said.

Then Charles was with me again, and Bill was right on his heels. The vampires took in the frantic but purposeful activity. They noticed Claudine.

The small woman, who’d stood to resume her gear, called, “Sheriff, do me a favor and call an ambulance to take this body away.”

Bud Dearborn glanced at Andy, who turned away to speak into the car radio.

“Having one dead beau ain’t enough, Sookie?” Bud Dearborn asked me.

Bill snarled, the firefighters broke out the window by my great-great-grandmother’s dining table, and a visible rush of heat and sparks gushed into the night. The pumper truck made a lot of noise, and the tin roof that covered the kitchen and porch separated from the house.

My home was going up in flames and smoke.

8

CLAUDINE WAS ON my left. Bill came to stand to my right and took my hand. Together, we watched the firefighters aim the hose through the broken window. A sound of shattering glass from the other side of the house indicated they were breaking the window over the sink, too. While the firefighters concentrated on the fire, the police concentrated on the body. Charles stepped up to bat right away.

“I killed him,” he said calmly. “I caught him setting fire to the house. He was armed, and he attacked me.”

Sheriff Bud Dearborn looked more like a Pekinese than any human should look. His face was practically concave. His eyes were round and bright, and at the moment extremely curious. His brown hair, liberally streaked with gray, was combed back from his face all around, and I expected him to snuffle when he spoke. “And you would be?” he asked the vampire.

“Charles Twining,” Charles answered gracefully. “At your service.”

I wasn’t imagining the snort the sheriff gave or Andy Bellefleur’s eye roll.

“And you’d be on the spot because . . . ?”

“He’s staying with me,” Bill said smoothly, “while he works at Merlotte’s.”

Presumably the sheriff had already heard about the new bartender, because he just nodded. I was relieved at not having to confess that Charles was supposed to be sleeping in my closet, and I blessed Bill for having lied about that. Our eyes met for a moment.

“So you admit you killed this man?” Andy asked Charles. Charles nodded curtly.

Andy beckoned to the woman in hospital scrubs who’d been waiting by her car—which made maybe five cars in my front yard, plus the fire truck. This new arrival glanced at me curiously as she walked past to the huddled form in the bushes. Pulling a stethoscope from a pocket, she knelt by the man and listened to various parts of his body. “Yep, dead as a doornail,” she called.

Andy had gotten a Polaroid out of the police car to take pictures of the body. Since the only light was the flash of the camera and the flicker of flame from my burning house, I didn’t think the pictures would turn out too well. I was numb with shock, and I watched Andy as if this were an important activity.

“What a pity. It would have been a good thing to find out why he torched Sookie’s house,” Bill said as he watched Andy work. His voice rivaled a refrigerator for coldness.

“In my fear for Sookie’s safety, I suppose I struck too hard.” Charles tried to look regretful.

“Since his neck seems to be broken, I suppose you did,”