“No,” I said, startled.

“They let them die,” he said. “They don’t offer them food or water or shelter, if the person can’t seek it for himself or herself.”

I’m sure my horror showed on my face.

“It’s kindest in the end,” he said. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Hotshot has its ways of getting rid of the weak.”

He went on his way, his back stiff.

I patted Jane on the shoulder, but I’m afraid I wasn’t really thinking about her. I was wondering what Mel had done to deserve his exile to a duplex in Bon Temps. If it had been me, I would have been happy to be rid of the multiple ties of kinship and the microscopic hierarchy of the little cluster of houses huddled around the old crossroads, but I could tell that wasn’t the way Mel felt about it.

Mel’s ex-wife had a margarita in Merlotte’s from time to time. I thought I might do a little research on my brother’s new buddy the next time Ginjer dropped by.

Sam asked me a couple of times if I was okay, and I was surprised by the strength of my desire to talk to him about everything that had happened lately. I was astonished to realize how often I confided in Sam, how much he knew about my secret life. But I knew that Sam had enough on his plate right now. He was on the phone with his sister and his brother several times during the evening, which was really unusual for him. He looked harassed and worried, and it would be selfish to add to that load of worry.

The cell phone in my apron pocket vibrated a couple of times, and when I had a free moment, I ducked into the ladies’ room and checked my text messages. One from Eric. “Protection coming,” it said. That was good. There was another message, and this one was from Alcide Herveaux, the Shreveport pack leader. “Tray called. Trouble Ur way?” it read. “We owe U.”

My chances of survival had risen considerably, and I felt much more cheerful as I finished out my shift.

It was good to have stockpiled favors with both vampires and werewolves. Maybe all the shit I’d gone through last fall would prove to have been worth it after all.

All in all, though, I had to say my project for the evening had been a washout. Sure, after asking Sam for permission, I’d filled both the plastic water guns with juice from the lemons in the refrigerator (intended for iced tea). I thought maybe real lemons would somehow be more potent than the bottled lemon juice at home. So I felt a little safer, but the sum total of my knowledge about the death of Crystal had not increased by one fact. Either the murderers hadn’t come in the bar, weren’t fretting over the evil thing they’d done, or weren’t thinking about it at the moment I was looking inside their heads.Or, I thought,all of the above .

Chapter 15

I had vampire protection, of a sort, waiting for me after work. Bubba was standing by my car when I left Merlotte’s. He grinned when he saw me, and I was glad to give him a hug. Most people wouldn’t have been pleased to see a mentally defective vampire with a penchant for cat blood, but I’d become fond of Bubba.

“When did you get back in town?” I asked. Bubba had gotten caught in New Orleans during Katrina, and he’d required a long recovery. The vampires were willing to accommodate him, because he had been one of the most famous people in the world until he’d been brought over in a morgue in Memphis.

“’Bout a week ago. Good to see you, Miss Sookie.” Bubba’s fangs slid out to show me how glad. Just as quickly, they snicked back into concealment. Bubba still had talent. “I’ve been traveling. I’ve been staying with friends. But I was in Fangtasia tonight visiting Mr. Eric, and he asked if I’d like the job of keeping watch over you. I told him, ‘Miss Sookie and me, we’re real good friends, and that would suit me just fine.’ Have you gotten another cat?”

“No, Bubba, I haven’t.” Thank God.

“Well, I got me some blood in a cooler in the back of my car.” He nodded toward a huge old white Cadillac that had been restored with time and trouble and lots of cash.

“Oh, the car’s beautiful,” I said. I almost added, “Did you own it while you were alive?” But Bubba didn’t like references to his former state of existence; they made him upset and confused. (If you put it very carefully, from time to time he’d sing for you. I’d heard him do “Blue Christmas.” Unforgettable.)

“Russell give that to me,” he said.

“Oh, Russell Edgington? The King of Mississippi?”

“Yeah, wasn’t that nice? He said since he was king of my home state, he felt like giving me something special.”

“How’s he doing?” Russell and his new husband, Bart, had both survived the Rhodes hotel bombing.

“He’s feeling real good now. He and Mr. Bart are both healed up.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. So, are you supposed to follow me home?”

“Yes’m, that’s the plan. If you’ll leave your back door unlocked, close to morning I’ll get into that hidey-hole in your guest bedroom; that’s what Mr. Eric said.”

Then it was doubly good that Octavia had moved out. I didn’t know how she would have reacted if I’d told her that the Man from Memphis needed to sleep in her closet all day long.

When I got home, Bubba pulled in right behind me in his amazing car. I saw that Dawson’s truck was there, too. I wasn’t surprised. Dawson worked as a bodyguard from time to time, and he was in the area. Since Alcide had decided he wanted to help, Tray Dawson was an obvious choice, regardless of his relationship with Amelia.

Tray himself was sitting at my kitchen table when Bubba and I came in. For the first time since I’d known him, the big man looked seriously startled. But he was smart enough not to blurt anything out.

“Tray, this is my friend Bubba,” I said. “Where’s Amelia?”

“She’s upstairs. I got some business to talk with you.”

“I figured. Bubba’s here for the same reason. Bubba, this is Tray Dawson.”

“Hey, Tray!” Bubba shook hands, laughing because he’d made a rhyme. He hadn’t translated real well. The spark of life had been so faint by the time a morgue attendant of the fanged persuasion had gotten hold of him, and the drugs in his system so pervasive, that Bubba had been lucky to survive the bringing over as well as he had, which wasn’t too well.

“Hey,” Tray said cautiously. “How are you doing . . . Bubba?”

I was relieved Tray’d picked up on the name.

“I’m real good, thank you. Got me some blood in the cooler out there, and Miss Sookie keeps some TrueBlood in the refrigerator, or at least she used to.”

“Yes, I have some,” I said. “You want to sit down, Bubba?”

“No, ma’am. I think I’ll just grab me a bottle and settle down out in the woods. Bill still live across the cemetery?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Always good to have friends close.”

I wasn’t sure I could call Bill my friend; our history was too complicated for that. But I was absolutely sure that he’d help me if I was in danger. “Yes,” I said, “that’s always good.”

Bubba rummaged around in the refrigerator and came out with a couple of bottles. He raised them to me and Tray, and took his leave smiling.

“Good God Almighty,” Tray said. “That who I think it is?”

I nodded and took a seat opposite him.

“Explains all the sightings,” he said. “Well, listen, you got him out there and me in here. That okay with you?”

“Yes. I guess you’ve talked to Alcide?”

“Yeah. I’m not trying to get in your business, but it would have been better to hear all this from you directly. Especially since you talked to Amelia about this guy Drake, and Amelia’s all upset because apparently she’s been blabbing to the enemy. If we’d known about your troubles, she would have kept her mouth shut. I would have killed him when he first introduced himself. Saved all of us a lot of trouble. You think about that?”