Read Online Dead Ever After by Charlaine Harris - Free Book Online Page A

hours. The week before, we’d hired tiny, bone-thin Andrea Norr. She liked to be called “An” (pronounced Ahn ). An was curiously prim but attracted men like soda cans attract wasps. Though her skirts were longer and her T-shirts were looser and her boobs were smaller than all the other barmaids, men’s eyes followed the new hire every step she took. An seemed to take it for granted; we’d have known it if she hadn’t, because of all the things she liked (and by now we knew most of them), most of all she liked to talk.
    The minute An came in the back door, I could hear her, and I found myself smiling. I hardly knew the woman, but she was a hoot.
    “Sookie, I seen your car outside, so I know you’re back at work, and I’m real glad you came in,” she called from somewhere back by the lockers. “I don’t know what bug you had, but I hope you’re over it, ’cause I sure don’t want to get sick. If I can’t work, I don’t get paid.” Her voice was getting progressively closer, and then she was standing face-to-face with me, her apron strapped on, looking spic-and-span in a Merlotte’s T-shirt and calf-length yoga tights. An had told me during her job interview that she never wore shorts outside the home because her father was a preacher, that her mother was the best cook in An’s hometown, and that she herself had not been allowed to cut her hair until she’d left home at eighteen.
    “Hi, An,” I said. “How’s it been going?”
    “It’s been going great, though I missed seeing you and I hope you’re all better.”
    “I do feel much better. I have to run over and talk to Sam for a minute. I noticed that the salt and pepper shakers need topping up. You mind?”
    “Let me get right on that! Just show me where the salt and pepper are stored. I’ll fill those up in a jiffy.” I’d say this for An: She was a hard worker.
    Everyone was doing what they should be doing. I had to, myself. I took a deep breath. Before I could chicken out, I marched out the back door of the bar and over to Sam’s trailer, following the path of stepping-stones. For the first time, I registered that a strange car was parked beside Sam’s pickup, a little economy car with dents and dust as its main motif. It had Texas plates.
    I wasn’t completely surprised to find a dog curled up on the welcome mat on the little porch Sam had added outside the front door of his trailer. My approach was no surprise to the dog, either. It was on its feet at the sound of my footsteps, watching intently as I passed through the gate and crossed the green grass on the neat stepping-stones.
    I stopped a respectful distance from the steps and eyed the dog. Sam could transform himself into almost anything warm-blooded, so it was possible this dog was Sam . . . but I didn’t think so. He usually picked a collie form. This sleek Labrador just didn’t have the right feel.
    “Bernie?” I asked.
    The Lab gave a neutral sort of bark, and her tail started wagging.
    “Are you going to let me knock on the door?” I asked.
    She seemed to think about it for a minute. Then she trotted down the steps and out onto the grass. She watched me go up to the door.
    I turned away from her (with a little misgiving) and knocked. After a long, long minute, Sam opened it.
    He looked haggard.
    “Are you okay?” I blurted. It was clear he was not.
    Without speaking, he backed up to let me in. He was wearing a short-sleeved summer shirt and his oldest blue jeans, worn so thin in spots that there were little splits in the fabric. The interior of the trailer was surprisingly gloomy. Sam had tried hard, but he couldn’t make the trailer completely dark—not on a bright, hot day like today. Between the drawn curtains, the light came in in sharp shards, like brilliant glass slivers.
    “Sookie,” Sam said, sounding somehow remote. That scared me more than anything else. I eyed him. Though it was hard to see the details, I could tell Sam was unshaven, and though he was