Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,79
come see you. I saw the suit in my closet. Did you come to my house?”
“Yes,” I said. “The day before yesterday. Didn’t Mickey tell you?”
“He was in the house when you were there? I warned you,” she said, almost panic-stricken. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? He didn’t have anything to do with you getting shot?”
“Not that I know of. But I did go into your house kind of late, and I know you told me not to. It was just dumb. He did, ah, try to scare me. I wouldn’t let him know you’ve been to see me, if I were you. How were you able to come here tonight?”
A shutter dropped over Tara’s face. Her big dark eyes hardened, and she pulled away from me. “He’s out somewhere,” she said.
“Tara, can you tell me how you came to be involved with him? What happened to Franklin?” I tried to ask these questions as gently as I could, because I knew I was treading on delicate ground.
Tara’s eyes filled with tears. She was struggling to answer me, but she was ashamed. “Sookie,” she began at last, almost whispering, “I thought Franklin really cared about me, you know? I mean, I thought he respected me. As a person.”
I nodded, intent on her face. I was scared of disrupting the flow of her story now that she’d finally begun to talk to me.
“But he . . . he just passed me along when he was through with me.”
“Oh, no, Tara! He . . . surely he explained to you why you two were breaking up. Or did you have a big fight?” I didn’t want to believe Tara had been passed from vamp to vamp like some fang-banger at a bloodsucker’s party.
“He said, ‘Tara, you’re a pretty girl and you’ve been good company, but I owe a debt to Mickey’s master, and Mickey wants you now.’ ”
I knew my mouth was hanging open, and I didn’t care. I could scarcely believe what Tara was telling me. I could hear the humiliation rolling off of her in waves of self-loathing. “You couldn’t do anything about it?” I asked. I was trying to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
“Believe me, I tried,” Tara said bitterly. She wasn’t blaming me for my question, which was a relief. “I told him I wouldn’t. I told him I wasn’t a whore, that I’d been dating him because I liked him.” Her shoulders collapsed. “But you know, Sookie, I wasn’t telling the whole truth, and he knew it. I took all the presents he gave me. They were expensive things. But they were freely given, and he didn’t tell me there were strings attached! I never asked for anything!”
“So he was saying that because you’d accepted his gifts, you were bound to do as he said?”
“He said—” Tara began weeping, and her sobs made everything come out in little jerks. “He said that I was acting like a mistress, and he’d paid for everything I had, and that I might as well be of more use to him. I said I wouldn’t, that I’d give him back everything, and he said he didn’t want it. He told me this vamp named Mickey had seen me out with him, that Franklin owed Mickey a big favor.”
“But this is America,” I protested. “How can they do that?”
“Vampires are awful,” Tara said dismally. “I don’t know how you can stand hanging out with them. I thought I was so cool, having a vamp boyfriend. Okay, he was more like a sugar daddy, I guess.” Tara sighed at the admission. “It was just so nice being, you know, treated so well. I’m not used to that. I really thought he liked me, too. I wasn’t just being greedy.”
“Did he take blood from you?” I asked.
“Don’t they always?” she asked, surprised. “During sex?”
“As far as I know,” I said. “Yeah. But you know, after he had your blood, he could tell how you felt about him.”
“He could?”
“After they’ve had your blood, they’re tuned in to your feelings.” I was quite sure that Tara hadn’t been as fond of Franklin Mott as she’d been saying, that she was much more interested in his lavish gifts and courteous treatment than in him. Of course, he’d known that. He might not have much cared if Tara liked him for himself or not, but that had surely made him more inclined to trade her off. “So how’d it happen?”