Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,57
take a load to the parish dump. While he was gone, I went into my bedroom and made my bed—a strange and foolish thing to do, I know. I would have to take the sheets off and wash them; in fact, I’d have to wash almost every piece of fabric in the house to completely rid it of the smell of burning. I’d even have to wash the walls and repaint the hall, though the paint in the rest of the house seemed clean enough.
I was taking a break out in the yard when I heard a truck approaching a moment before it appeared, coming out of the trees that surrounded the driveway. To my astonishment, I recognized it as Alcide’s truck, and I felt a pang of dismay. I’d told him to stay away.
He seemed miffed about something when he leaped out of the cab. I’d been sitting in the sunshine on one of my aluminum lawn chairs, wondering what time it was and wondering when the contractor would get here. After the all-round discomfort of my night at Jason’s, I was also planning on finding somewhere else to stay while the kitchen was being rebuilt. I couldn’t imagine the rest of my house being habitable until the work was complete, and that might be months from now. Jason wouldn’t want me around that long, I was sure. He’d have to put up with me if I wanted to stay—he was my brother, after all—but I didn’t want to strain his fraternal spirit. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to stay with for a couple of months, when I came to consider the matter.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alcide bellowed as his feet touched the ground.
I sighed. Another angry man.
“We aren’t big buddies right now,” I reminded him. “But I would have gotten around to it. It’s only been a couple of days.”
“You should have called me first thing,” he told me, striding around the house to survey the damage. He stopped right in front of me. “You could have died,” he said, as if it was big news.
“Yes,” I said. “I know that.”
“A vampire had to save you.” There was disgust in his voice. Vamps and Weres just didn’t get along.
“Yes,” I agreed, though actually my savior had been Claudine. But Charles had killed the arsonist. “Oh, would you rather I’d burned?”
“No, of course not!” He turned away, looked at the mostly dismantled porch. “Someone’s working on tearing down the damaged part already?”
“Yes.”
“I could have gotten a whole crew out here.”
“Terry volunteered.”
“I can get you a good rate on the reconstruction.”
“I’ve lined up a contractor.”
“I can loan you the money to do it.”
“I have the money, thank you very much.”
That startled him. “You do? Where’d—” He stopped before saying something inexcusable. “I didn’t think your grandmother had had much to leave you,” he said, which was almost as bad.
“I earned the money,” I said.
“You earned the money from Eric?” he guessed accurately. Alcide’s green eyes were hot with anger. I thought he was going to shake me.
“You just calm down, Alcide Herveaux,” I said sharply. “How I earned it is none of your damn business. I’m glad to have it. If you’ll get down off your high horse, I’ll tell you that I’m glad you’re concerned about me, and I’m grateful you’re offering help. But don’t treat me like I’m a slow fifth grader in the special class.”
Alcide stared down at me while my speech soaked in. “I’m sorry. I thought you—I thought we were close enough for you to’ve called me that night. I thought . . . maybe you needed help.”
He was playing the “you hurt my feelings” card.
“I don’t mind asking for help when I need it. I’m not that proud,” I said. “And I’m glad to see you.” (Not totally true.) “But don’t act like I can’t do things for myself, because I can, and I am.”
“The vampires paid you for keeping Eric while the witches were in Shreveport?”
“Yes,” I said. “My brother’s idea. It embarrassed me. But now I’m grateful I’ve got the money. I won’t have to borrow any to get the house put into shape.”
Terry Bellefleur returned with his pickup just then, and I introduced the two men. Terry didn’t seem at all impressed by meeting Alcide. In fact, he went right back to work after he gave Alcide’s hand a perfunctory shake. Alcide eyed Terry doubtfully.
“Where are you staying?” Alcide had decided not to ask questions about Terry’s scars, thank goodness.