Day Shift - Charlaine Harris Page 0,66

around corners, waiting for an attack. “Yeah, I’m Rick Horowitz.”

“Manfred Bernardo.” Manfred held out his hand, and somewhat reluctantly, Rick shook it. When he let Manfred’s hand go, he looked a little surprised.

“So you do know Sookie,” he said. “You’re a friend?”

“Yes, I am,” Manfred said. “Olivia, I’ll tell you about her someday.”

“Is everyone in this town different?” Rick said, keeping his voice low.

Manfred smiled. “Brother, you have no idea,” he said. “If you’re going to be in town for a few days, drop in to see me. You can’t spend your whole time in the hotel.”

Olivia said, “We don’t see too many new faces here, Rick.”

The newcomer looked from one of them to the other. He seemed to come to a conclusion. “Please,” he said. “If we’re going to know each other beyond saying hello, you can call me Barry.”

Rick—or rather, Barry—told Manfred he’d visit the next morning. He’d glanced down at his cell phone at a weather screen, and then told them he needed to order.

“You have somewhere to be tonight,” Manfred said.

“Not exactly,” Barry said. “I don’t stay out after sunset in Texas.”

They both regarded him with some astonishment. When he didn’t expand on this statement, Manfred said, “Sure. Well, see you around.” With the new busboy hovering to take Barry’s order, they waved and left Home Cookin.

“Doesn’t stay out after sunset in Texas?” Olivia muttered to Manfred as they walked home.

“I don’t blame him,” Manfred said. “I think he’s vampire-phobic.”

“Just in Texas?”

“He hasn’t told us the whole truth about anything but that. He’s really worried about vampires. I guess it’s lucky Lemuel isn’t around.”

Olivia obviously disagreed, but she said, “There aren’t any other vampires in a two-hundred-mile radius of Midnight. Did you know that? This Rick, rechristened Barry, might be glad to hear it.”

“No,” Manfred said, very surprised. “I never realized . . . well, okay. Interesting. Listen, what do you think of asking this new guy to step into Joe’s place in your plan?”

“You have that much confidence in him after knowing him for ten minutes?”

“Would you quit your bitching? Who else are we going to find?”

To Manfred’s surprise, she laughed. “I wish I could think of someone. You’re chipper all of a sudden.”

“It’s interesting having someone new in town,” he said. “And I think you’re right. From what I get from him, I’m almost certain he’s a telepath, so that’s even more interesting. Kind of unnerving, though.”

“To have someone know what you’re thinking? Damn straight, it’s unnerving. Did I understand you were telling him you knew another telepath? You kept that one close to your chest.”

“You have more secrets than I do.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Manfred laughed again. “I haven’t heard anyone say that in years.”

“My grandmother . . .” But then Olivia clamped down on whatever she’d thought of telling him, somewhat to Manfred’s disappointment.

“Too many people know too much here, anyway,” she muttered. “I have to take over the pawnshop now.” She hurried up the front steps of the pawnshop and the CLOSED sign flipped over to OPEN.

Bobo popped out of Midnight Pawn almost as soon as Olivia went in. “Hey, buddy,” he said easily. “I’m just about to go grab some supper before Home Cookin closes. Sometimes Madonna doesn’t want Dillon around anymore, so she sends him home.”

“Dillon?”

“Dillon Braithwaite. The new kid. The waiter.”

“Only you would know his name,” Manfred said.

“You didn’t ask him who he was?” Bobo seemed surprised and a little reproachful.

“Never occurred to me,” Manfred said with absolute honesty. “I’d never do that in a city, so I never thought of doing it here.”

“Well . . . gosh.” Bobo shook his head and hurried off to get some food. From Dillon the waiter.

As he stopped by his mailbox and retrieved a hefty bundle of envelopes, Manfred wondered if his lack of curiosity about the boy made him a bad person. Did he routinely ignore waitstaff? He shrugged. He couldn’t work up a lot of concern about it.

From the size of the bundle, Manfred did realize he hadn’t opened his mail in a couple of days. He sat at his desk, conveniently handy to a trash basket, to sort through it. He pitched several ads, two offers for credit cards, one letter from a local cemetery offering to give him a tour and sell him a plot at a reasonable cost for his final resting place, and one Hallmark card from his mother, who wanted him to know that she was “Thinking of You.” Though Manfred loved his mother, he couldn’t