Dead But Not Forgotten (9 page)

“Hey,” he said, sounding about as welcoming as my cousins did when I came over. He's not overly fond of us, but usually he fakes it better. “I brought some food for y'all to have for lunch—figured the boys could use something other than a sandwich for a change.” He held up a paper bag that said
Merlotte's
.

Sookie looked like he'd slapped her and said, “I was going to make them some soup.”

“Now you can save that for later,” he said, maybe sounding kind of sorry. “I didn't know we had company or I'd have brought more food.”

“That's very kind of you,” Uncle Desmond said, “but as a matter of fact Diantha and I were just leaving. We just stopped by to drop off some presents, but I'm afraid we have to be on our way. Christmas is such a bustling time.”

“Too bad,” Sam lied. He put the bag on the table and said, “I gotta get back to work.”

“Can't you stay long enough to eat with us?” Sookie asked. “I thought you and the boys could go out in the woods after lunch and pick out a tree.”

It sounded pathetic, and Sookie isn't like that usually. It made me mad, and from the way Uncle Desmond's jaw tightened, it made him even madder.

But Sam just said, “I can't—we're short a waitress for the lunch rush.” And off he went, not even kissing Sookie good-bye.

I knew Sookie was trying not to cry, so Uncle Desmond and I left so she could be alone.

As we went out to the car, I said, “I could go find a tree and chop it down if you'll tell me what to look for. Wouldn't take long.”

“No, there's more wrong here than a missing Christmas tree.” Uncle Desmond was quiet in the car, not even opening up his laptop. When we were in what passes for downtown Bon Temps, he said, “Diantha, pull into that McDonald's parking lot.”

“Since when do you like McDonald's? Whoever calls it fast food is totally lying.”

“I'm not interested in the menu. I'm concerned about Sookie.”

“Being so big?”

“Her size is normal for her stage of gestation. It's her marriage that concerns me. Sam working long hours, not having the time to assist her in the decoration of her house, the monetary shortfall. I fear that he may be straying.”

“You mean screwing around?”

He nodded. “Normally, of course, Sookie would detect any such activities, even with the unusual thought patterns of a shifter, but while she's pregnant, her powers are not up to their usual level. Sam could easily be concealing a paramour.”

“Then he really is Shifty Sam.”

“We don't know that, but if he is, steps will have to be taken. As Sookie's sponsor, I would be remiss in allowing such disrespect.” Uncle Desmond may be polite, but that doesn't stop him from taking people apart. Literally. “Were it any other time, I would investigate the situation personally, but Eudokia is expecting me at their holiday ball tonight and I would rather not disappoint her. Would you be willing to stay in Bon Temps overnight and see what you can find out?”

“Suresuresure.”

“It would mean missing the ball.”

“Great! Your daughters are asshats and Eudokia's parties suck.”

“I fear that you may be right, but family comes with certain obligations.”

Since I wasn't going to be at the sucky party, Uncle Desmond gave me my present early. It was a leather messenger bag made up of a zillion different-colored pieces, and stuffed with all kinds of things that might come in handy while I was delivering messages and doing the other kinds of work I did for him. Demons aren't big on hugging or fist bumps, so I slugged him on the shoulder to thank him.

Then he gave me a bunch of money and a credit card for expenses, told me to call him as soon as I knew anything, and climbed into the front seat.

My first stop was Merlotte's, the bar that Sookie and Sam owned. Uncle Desmond had offered to drop me off on his way out of town, but I said I'd rather run. The weather was perfect for running—dry and a little chilly—and I could get there faster on foot anyway.

The bar's parking lot was mostly empty—so much for the lunch rush Sam was talking about. The lot itself looked bad, too—it had potholes and the lines that showed the parking places needed to be repainted. The employee lot was even worse, with grass coming up between the gravel. I could have ripped out all the weeds in ten minutes, five if I went really fast, but Uncle Desmond had said I should be discreet.

I found a tree that would give me a good view of the front window and climbed up. My fab messenger bag had been stocked with a pair of binoculars—sturdy in case I dropped them—so I could do the discreet thing. I could see okay, but not as well as I should have been able to. The window was dirty, and the inside of the restaurant looked grubby.

A couple of parties came in, and the waitress was painfully slow to talk to them—not just by my standards, but by human Southerner standards. When they got their food, both parties called the waitress back over. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they didn't look happy. One table took four trips back and forth to get their order right. No wonder Sam wasn't making any money.

But he was there, not climbing into the wrong bed. I could see him the whole time: drawing drinks behind the bar, bringing out food, answering the phone, wiping tables. Poor guy looked dog tired, too. No wonder he hadn't wanted to go tromping in the woods to cut down a tree. I kept watch for a couple of hours, and Sam kept on working. He didn't make any calls, text any pictures of his parts, or do anything else like a man getting some on the side would.

Something was weird.

I thought about calling Uncle Desmond, but he was probably still on the road because he goes like a glacier, and he didn't like to talk on the phone while driving. Besides, I didn't have enough to tell him. What I needed to do was to get inside Merlotte's without Sam knowing it was me.

I put away my binoculars, slipped down the tree, and ran toward town, looking for what I needed. Or rather for
who
I needed.

There! A car with North Carolina plates had just pulled into the Grabbit Kwik for gas, and I saw a curvy redheaded woman in tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and a short leather jacket scooting for the restroom like she'd been holding it in for hours. I waited a minute before following her in, and was standing at the mirror messing with my hair when she came out of the stall and gave me a sideways look that reminded me of my cousins. I stared her down in the mirror, which made her nervous, and while she was edging out of the restroom, I snatched a couple of her hairs so quick she didn't even notice.

I went out of the bathroom long enough to make sure she was gone, then went back to lock myself in a stall while I held the hairs in my hand and said the right words. When I came out again, I looked just like the woman who'd needed to pee so bad. The humans at the Grabbit Kwik didn't even notice that “I” had already left the building once.

Since I looked like I was wearing stupidly high heels even though I was really still in sneakers, I tried to keep it to a normal pace until I was sure nobody was watching, then zipped back to Merlotte's. Sam looked up when I came in the door, but his stuffy nose kept him from recognizing my scent, which the magic hadn't changed.

“Just have a seat wherever you like, ma'am.”

“Suresuresure.”

He gave me a look.

“I sure will,” I said, trying to sound like Sookie. I must have been good enough—he went back to wiping whatever it was he'd been wiping and I sat at the bar where I could keep an eye on him. He gave me a menu but his smile was a professional bartender smile, not a come-hither smile. That was one point for Sam.

I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke, and while I was waiting, I tried to flirt with Sam. Okay, I'm not the biggest flirt around, but I can stick my chest out, make suggestive comments, and give eye-sex. But not only did Sam not respond appreciatively, he seemed too sick to even notice.

Another point for Sam.

At least I was going to get some good food—I've eaten at Merlotte's before. Only when the food came, the fries were cold and greasy, the burger was dry, the lettuce on top was wilted, and I spotted a lipstick stain on my glass. I ate it anyway—I am half demon—but in between bites, I did a little figuring. I couldn't speak for how long that lettuce had been hanging around, but I'd heard the burger hitting the griddle and smelled the fries while they were cooking. The meat hadn't cooked long enough to get that hard and dry, and the fries should still have been hot enough to scorch my tongue.

Something was really, really weird. Plus I was catching the scent of something wrong.

I stuck around for a while and kept trying to flirt, but mostly just watched other customers come in and listened to them complain about food that couldn't have gotten that cold that quick. Not one customer was completely satisfied. One party refused to pay, and Sam didn't even seem to have the energy to argue with them. Those who did pay left lousy tips.

I also saw the waitress on duty drop two glasses that she had a firm grip on, spill more salt than she managed to get into the shakers she was refilling, and wipe tables that were stickier after than before she wiped.

Around five o'clock, the last party grumbled its way through their meal, and Sam sent the waitress and cook home early for Christmas Eve, even though the place was supposed to be open until six. He gave me a hopeful look, too, but I just asked for another refill on my Coke.

As soon as his back was turned, I ran to lock the door and put up the
CLOSED
sign. Then I hopped back on my bar stool and whipped off my vest and tank top. Or maybe it was the leather jacket and shirt worn by the woman whose appearance I was using. Magic is weird. The important thing was that when Sam turned around, he wasn't going to see my boobs, which aren't that big anyway. He was about to see the boobs of that other woman.

That doesn't make much sense, but magic is like the Internet—I don't have to understand how it works to use it.

So Sam turned around, blinked, and backed away with his hands held up as if I was aiming something a lot more lethal than a pair of C cups. “Ma'am, I think you should leave now.”

“Seriously? I'm nearly naked and you've got something better to do than jump my bones?”

“I'm a married man, ma'am. Now, why don't you put your top on and head home?”

“You sure? I'm not looking for a commitment. You give me a quick ride and I'll be on my way, no questions asked.”

“I've got a wife and two kids at home, and they're waiting on me to come put up our Christmas tree. I'm not interested in any quick rides.”

“Oh. Okaythen. MerryChristmas.” I grabbed my stuff off the floor and headed for the door. “Wait, I haven't paid my check.”

“That's okay,” he said. “It's on me.”

“No, no, you've got that wife and kids.” I reached into my pocket to pull out a couple of twenties and put them on the bar. It was Uncle Desmond's money anyway.

“Ma'am?” Sam said as I was unlocking the door.

“You change your mind?”

“No, I just thought you might want to get dressed before you go outside.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

As soon as I was out the door, I zoomed off and ducked behind a tree before Sam could notice that I didn't have a car in the parking lot. He locked the door pretty emphatically, and a few minutes later, I saw him come around the back, look around nervously, then get into his truck and drive away. I didn't bother to follow him to make sure he was going home.

Before I put the rest of my clothes back on, I'd caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window—or rather that other woman's reflection—and I looked pretty damned good. If Sam didn't want a piece of that, then Sookie didn't have anything to worry about.

But something was still hinky at Merlotte's. I broke my spell so I would look like myself again and started sniffing around the parking lot. Uncle Desmond says my sense of smell is better than most weres, which can be good or bad depending on what's around to smell.

The edges of the parking lot were okay other than a couple of spots where drunks had decided to pee before they got into their cars, but the closer I got to the building, the worse it smelled. There were whole layers of stinky, but it wasn't just the garbage in the Dumpster.

Somebody had cast a curse on Merlotte's. Worse! They'd cast a crapload of curses.

I moved away before I barfed up that burger and started counting out the number of curses I thought had to be in effect. First up was something to make food go bad quick. Another must have made clean surfaces sticky even after cleaning. There was also either a clumsiness spell, or a spell to make waitresses tired enough to be clumsy. Maybe something to make people cranky, too, but that could have been a side effect of the other spells. Plus I spotted a colony of rats living around the foundations of Merlotte's that hadn't been there when I'd visited before, and I didn't think it was just because of the bad food. Finally, something was keeping Sam sick enough that he couldn't smell the curses or the rats.

That was somewhere between five and seven curses, and there might be more I hadn't caught. It would have taken days for a witch to cast all those spells, which was bad luck for her. It meant she would have left her scent around. I cast around for a while but with weather and normal outdoor smells, it was too diffuse outside. I was hoping I'd have better luck inside, and fortunately for Sam's windows, one of the other presents in my Christmas bag was a set of lock picks that were better than my old ones and maybe a little enchanted. It didn't take me any time at all to get inside the back door, and I was glad to see I'd flustered Sam so much he'd forgotten to set the alarm.

It took over half an hour of sniffing to finally isolate the scent of a person who'd been around a lot but that didn't match any of the stuff in the employee lockers. On the good side, it gave me the chance to catch a couple of overconfident rats. It had been a long time since lunch.