front door. I heard his voice on the front porch as he gave Bubba some last minute directions, and I heard the squeak of the swing as Bubba got up.
I didn’t look out the window until I heard Bill’s car going down the driveway. Then I saw Bubba sauntering into the woods. I told myself, as I took my shower, that Bill must trust Bubba since he’d left him guarding me. But I still wasn’t sure who I was more afraid of: the murderer Bubba was watching for, or Bubba himself.
AT WORK THE next day, Arlene asked me why the vampire had been at my house. I wasn’t surprised that she’d brought it up.
“Well, Bill had to go out of town, and he worries, you know . . .” I was hoping to let it drop at that. But Charlsie had drifted up (we weren’t at all busy: the Chamber of Commerce was having a lunch and speaker at Fins and Hooves, and the Ladies’ Prayers and Potatoes group were topping their baked potatoes at old Mrs. Bellefleur’s huge house). “You mean,” Charlsie said with starry eyes, “that your man got you a personal bodyguard?”
I nodded reluctantly. You could put it that way.
“That’s so romantic,” Charlsie sighed.
You could look at it that way.
“But you should see him,” Arlene told Charlsie, having held her tongue as long as she could. “He’s exactly like—!”
“Oh, no, not when you talk to him,” I interrupted. “He’s not at all the same.” That was true. “And he really doesn’t like it when he hears that name.”
“Oh,” said Arlene in a hushed voice, as if Bubba could be listening in the broad daylight.
“I do feel safer with Bubba in the woods,” I said, which was more or less true.
“Oh, he doesn’t stay in the house?” Charlsie asked, clearly a little disappointed.
“God, no!” I said, then mentally apologized to God for taking his name in vain. I was having to do that a lot lately. “No, Bubba stays in the woods at night, watching the house.”
“Was that true about the cats?” Arlene looked squeamish.
“He was just joking. Not a great sense of humor, huh?” I was lying through my teeth. I certainly believed Bubba enjoyed a snack of cat blood.
Arlene shook her head, unconvinced. It was time to change the subject. “Did you and Rene have fun on your evening out?” I asked.
“Rene was so good last night, wasn’t he?” she said, her cheeks pink.
A much-married woman, blushing. “You tell me.” Arlene enjoyed a little ribald teasing.
“Oh, you! What I mean, he was real polite to Bill and even that Bubba.”
“Any reason why he wouldn’t be?”
“He has kind of a problem with vampires, Sookie.” Arlene shook her head. “I know, I do, too,” she confessed when I looked at her with raised eyebrows. “But Rene really has some prejudice. Cindy dated a vampire for a while, and that just made Rene awful upset.”
“Cindy okay?” I had a great interest in the health of someone who’d dated a vamp.
“I haven’t seen her,” Arlene admitted, “but Rene goes to visit every other week or so. She’s doing well, she’s back on the right track. She has a job in a hospital cafeteria.”
Sam, who’d been standing behind the bar loading the refrigerator with bottled blood, said, “Maybe Cindy would like to move back home. Lindsey Krause quit the other shift because she’s moving to Little Rock.”
That certainly focussed our attention. Merlotte’s was becoming seriously understaffed. For some reason, low-level service jobs had dropped in popularity in the last couple of months.
“You interviewed anyone else?” Arlene asked.
“I’ll have to go through the files,” Sam said wearily. I knew that Arlene and I were the only barmaids, waitresses, servers, whatever you wanted to call us, that Sam had hung on to for more then two years. No, that wasn’t true; there was Susanne Mitchell, on the other shift. Sam spent lots of time hiring and occasionally firing. “Sookie, would you have a look through the file, see if there’s anyone there you know has moved, anyone already got a job, anyone you really recommend? That would save me some time.”
“Sure,” I said. I remembered Arlene doing the same thing a couple of years ago when Dawn had been hired. We had more ties to the community than Sam, who never seemed to join anything. Sam had been in Bon Temps for six years now, and I had never met anyone who seemed to know about Sam’s life prior to his buying the