Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,78

to just a face instead of a mind.

Andy Bellefleur arrived as Arlene was getting into her car. I was glad I’d stuffed the bag from Wendy’s in a cabinet just to get it out of the way.

“You’re right next to Halleigh,” Andy said—an obvious opening gambit.

“Thanks for leaving my keys with her and getting my car over here,” I said. Andy had his moments.

“She says the guy that brought you home from the hospital was really, ah, interesting.” Andy was obviously fishing. I smiled at Andy. Whatever Halleigh had said had made him curious and maybe a little jealous.

“You could say that,” I agreed.

He waited to see if I’d expound. When I didn’t, he became all business.

“The reason I’m here, I wanted to find out if you remembered any more about yesterday.”

“Andy, I didn’t know anything then, much less now.”

“But you ducked.”

“Oh, Andy,” I said, exasperated, since he knew good and well about my condition, “you don’t have to ask why I ducked.”

He turned red, slowly and unbecomingly. Andy was a fireplug of a man and an intelligent police detective, but he had such ambiguity toward things he knew to be true, even if those things weren’t completely conventional items of common knowledge.

“We’re here all by ourselves,” I pointed out. “And the walls are thick enough that I don’t hear Halleigh moving around.”

“Is there more?” he asked suddenly, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Sookie, is there more?”

I knew exactly what he meant. He would never spell it out, but he wanted to know if there was even more in this world than humans, and vampires, and telepaths. “So much more,” I said, keeping my voice quiet and even. “Another world.”

Andy’s eyes met mine. His suspicions had been confirmed, and he was intrigued. He was right on the edge of asking me about the people who’d been shot—right on the verge of making the leap—but at the last instant, he drew back. “You didn’t see anything or hear anything that would help us? Was there anything different about the night Sam was shot?”

“No,” I said. “Nothing. Why?”

He didn’t answer, but I could read his mind like a book. The bullet from Sam’s leg didn’t match the other recovered bullets.

After he left, I tried to dissect that quick impression I’d gotten, the one that had prompted me to duck. If the parking lot hadn’t been empty, I might not have caught it at all, since the brain that had made it had been at some distance. And what I’d felt had been a tangle of determination, anger, and above all, disgust. The person who’d been shooting had been sure I was loathsome and inhuman. Stupidly enough, my first reaction was hurt—after all, no one likes to be despised. Then I considered the strange fact that Sam’s bullet didn’t match any of the previous Were shootings. I couldn’t understand that at all. I could think of many explanations, but all of them seemed far-fetched.

The rain began to pour down outside, hitting the north-facing windows with a hiss. I didn’t have a reason to call anyone, but I felt like making one up. It wasn’t a good night to be out of touch. As the pounding of the rain increased, I became more and more anxious. The sky was a leaden gray; soon it would be full dark.

I wondered why I was so twitchy. I was used to being by myself, and it seldom bothered me. Now I was physically closer to people than I’d ever been in my house on Hummingbird Road, but I felt more alone.

Though I wasn’t supposed to drive, I needed things for the duplex. I would have made the errand a necessity and gone to Wal-Mart despite the rain—or because of the rain—if the nurse hadn’t made such a big deal out of resting my shoulder. I went restlessly from room to room until the crunch of gravel told me that I was having yet more company. This was town living, for sure.

When I opened the door, Tara was standing there in a leopard-print raincoat with a hood. Of course I asked her in, and she tried her best to shake out the coat on the little front porch. I carried it into the kitchen to drip on the linoleum.

She hugged me very gently and said, “Tell me how you are.”

After I went over the story once again, she said, “I’ve been worried about you. I couldn’t get away from the shop until now, but I just had to