“No,” I said, and my voice came out as a growl.
I could feel Bill look down at me with the slight surprise that was a big reaction, coming from him.
“Now it’s gonna happen,” I said furiously.
“You were protecting me,” he said. “You thought the police would suspect me of killing those two women. That’s why you wanted to be sure they were accessible to other vampires. Now you think this Bellefleur will try to blame your grandmother’s death on me.”
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath. We were in the dark, by the trees that lined the yard. Andy bellowed Bill’s name again.
“Sookie,” Bill said gently, “I am sure you were the intended victim, as sure as you are.”
It was kind of a shock to hear someone else say it.
“And I didn’t kill them. So if the killer was the same as their killer, then I didn’t do it, and he will see that. Even if he is a Bellefleur.”
We began walking back into the light. I wanted none of this to be. I wanted the lights and the people to vanish, all of them, Bill, too. I wanted to be alone in the house with my grandmother, and I wanted her to look happy, as she had the last time I’d seen her.
It was futile and childish, but I could wish it nonetheless. I was lost in that dream, so lost I didn’t see harm coming until it was too late.
My brother, Jason, stepped in front of me and slapped me in the face.
It was so unexpected and so painful that I lost my balance and staggered to the side, landing hard on one knee.
Jason seemed to be coming after me again, but Bill was suddenly in front of me, crouched, and his fangs were out and he was scary as hell. Sam tackled Jason and brought him down, and he may have whacked Jason’s face against the ground once for good measure.
Andy Bellefleur was stunned at this unexpected display of violence. But after a second he stepped in between our two little groups on the lawn. He looked at Bill and swallowed, but he said in a steady voice, “Compton, back off. He won’t hit her again.”
Bill was taking deep breaths, trying to control his hunger for Jason’s blood. I couldn’t read his thoughts, but I could read his body language.
I couldn’t exactly read Sam’s thoughts, but I could tell he was very angry.
Jason was sobbing. His thoughts were a confused and tangled blue mess.
And Andy Bellefleur didn’t like any of us and wished he could lock every freaking one of us up for some reason or another.
I pushed myself wearily to my feet and touched the painful spot of my cheek, using that to distract me from the pain in my heart, the dreadful grief that rolled over me.
I thought this night would never end.
THE FUNERAL WAS the largest ever held in Renard Parish. The minister said so. Under a brilliant early summer sky, my grandmother was buried beside my mother and father in our family plot in the ancient cemetery between the Comptons’ house and Gran’s house.
Jason had been right. It was my house, now. The house and the twenty acres surrounding it were mine, as were the mineral rights. Gran’s money, what there was, had been divided fairly between us, and Gran had stipulated that I give Jason my half of the home our parents had lived in, if I wanted to retain full rights to her house. That was easy to do, and I didn’t want any money from Jason for that half, though my lawyer looked dubious when I told him that. Jason would just blow his top if I mentioned paying me for my half; the fact that I was part-owner had never been more than a fantasy to him. Yet Gran leaving her house to me outright had come as a big shock. She had understood him better than I had.
It was lucky I had income other than from the bar, I thought heavily, trying to concentrate on something besides her loss. Paying taxes on the land and house, plus the upkeep of the house, which Gran had assumed at least partially, would really stretch my income.
“I guess you’ll want to move,” Maxine Fortenberry said when she was cleaning the kitchen. Maxine had brought over devilled eggs and ham salad, and she was trying to be extra helpful by scrubbing.
“No,” I said, surprised.
“But honey, with it happening right here . . .” Maxine’s heavy face creased with concern.
“I have far more good memories of this kitchen than bad ones,” I explained.
“Oh, what a good way to look at it,” she said, surprised. “Sookie, you really are smarter than anyone gives you credit for being.”
“Gosh, thanks, Mrs. Fortenberry,” I said, and if she heard the dry tone in my voice she didn’t react. Maybe that was wise.