Living Dead in Dallas (11 page)

“I need to talk to you,” said a familiar voice, somewhat muffled by the thick door.

“No,” I moaned. “Say it isn’t Eric.” The only creature in the world we
had
to admit.

“It’s Eric,” said the voice.

I unlocked my legs from around Bill’s waist, and he gently lowered me to the floor. In a real snit, I stomped into the bedroom to put on my bathrobe. To hell with rebuttoning all those clothes.

I came back out as Eric was telling Bill that Bill had done well this evening.

“And, of course, you were marvelous, Sookie,” Eric said, taking in the pink, short bathrobe with a comprehensive glance. I looked up at him—and up, and up—and wished him at the bottom of the Red River, spectacular smile, golden hair, and all.

“Oh,” I said malignantly, “thanks so much for coming up to tell us this. We couldn’t have gone to bed without a pat on the back from
you
.”

Eric looked as blandly delighted as he possibly could. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Did I interrupt something? Would these—well, this—be yours, Sookie?” He held up the black string that had formerly been one side of my thong.

Bill said, “In a word, yes. Is there anything else you would like to discuss with us, Eric?” Ice would’ve been surprised by how cold Bill could sound.

“We haven’t got time tonight,” Eric said regretfully, “since daylight is so soon, and there are things I need to see to before I sleep. But tomorrow night we must meet. When you find out what Stan wants you to do, leave me a note at the desk, and we’ll make an arrangement.”

Bill nodded. “Good-bye, then,” he said.

“You don’t want a nightcap?” Was he hoping to be offered a bottle of blood? Eric’s eyes went to the refrigerator, then to me. I was sorry I was wearing a thin nylon robe instead of something bulky and chenille. “Warm from the vessel?” Bill maintained a stony silence.

His gaze lingering on me until the last minute, Eric stepped through the door and Bill locked it behind him.

“You think he’s listening outside?” I asked Bill, as he untied the sash of my robe.

“I don’t care,” Bill said, and bent his head to other things.

W
HEN I GOT
up, about one o’clock in the afternoon, the hotel had a silent feel to it. Of course, most of the guests were sleeping. Maids would not come into a room during the day. I had noted the security last night—vampire guards. The daytime would be different, since daytime guarding was what the guests were paying so heavily for. I called room service for the first time in my life and ordered breakfast. I was as hungry as a horse, since I hadn’t eaten last night at all. I was showered and wrapped up in my robe when the waiter knocked on the door, and after I’d made sure he was who he said he was, I let him in.

After my attempted abduction at the airport the day before, I wasn’t taking anything for granted. I held the pepper spray down by my side as the young man laid out the food and the coffeepot. If he took one step toward the door behind which Bill slept in his coffin, I would zap him. But this fellow, Arturo, had been well trained, and his eyes never even strayed toward the bedroom. He never looked directly at me, either. He was thinking about me, though, and I wished I’d put on a bra before I let him in.

When he’d gone—and as Bill had instructed me, I added a tip to the room ticket I signed—I ate everything he’d brought: sausage and pancakes and a bowl of melon balls. Oh gosh, it tasted good. The syrup was real maple syrup, and the fruit was just ripe enough. The sausage was wonderful. I was glad Bill wasn’t around to watch and make me feel uncomfortable. He didn’t really like to see me eat, and he hated it if I ate garlic.

I brushed my teeth and hair and got my makeup situated. It was time to prepare for my visit to the Fellowship Center. I sectioned my hair and pinned it up, and got the wig out of its box. It was short and brown and really undistinguished. I had thought Bill was nuts when he’d suggested I get a wig, and I still wondered why it had occurred to him I might need one, but I was glad to have it. I had a pair of glasses like Stan’s, serving the same camouflaging purpose, and I put them on. There was a little magnification in the bottom part, so I could legitimately claim they were reading glasses.

What did fanatics wear to go to a fanatic gathering place? In my limited experience, fanatics were usually conservative in dress, either because they were too preoccupied with other concerns to think about it or because they saw something evil in dressing stylishly. If I’d been at home I’d have run to Wal-Mart and been right on the money, but I was here in the expensive, windowless Silent Shores. However, Bill had told me to call the front desk for anything I needed. So I did.

“Front desk,” said a human who was trying to copy the smooth cool voice of an older vampire. “How may I help you?” I felt like telling him to give it up. Who wants an imitation when the real thing is under the roof?

“This is Sookie Stackhouse in three-fourteen. I need a long denim skirt, size eight, and a pastel flowered blouse or knit top, same size.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, after a longish pause. “When shall I have those for you?”

“Soon.” Gee, this was a lot of fun. “As a matter of fact, the sooner the better.” I was getting into this. I loved being on someone else’s expense account.

I watched the news while I waited. It was the typical news of any American city: traffic problems, zoning problems, homicide problems.

“A woman found dead last night in a hotel Dumpster
has been identified,” said a newscaster, his voice appropriately grave. He bent down the corners of his mouth to show serious concern. “The body of twenty-one-year-old Bethany Rogers was found behind the Silent Shore Hotel, famous for being Dallas’s first hotel catering to the undead. Rogers had been killed by a single gunshot wound to the head. Police described the murder as ‘execution-style.’ Detective Tawny Kelner told our reporter that police are following up several leads.” The screen image shifted from the artificially grim face to a genuinely grim one. The detective was in her forties, I thought, a very short woman with a long braid down her back. The camera shot swiveled to include the reporter, a small dark man with a sharply tailored suit. “Detective Kelner, is it true that Bethany Rogers worked at a vampire bar?”

The detective’s frown grew even more formidable. “Yes, that’s true,” she said. “However, she was employed as a waitress, not an entertainer.” An entertainer? What did entertainers do at the Bat’s Wing? “She had only been working there a couple of months.”

“Doesn’t the site used to dump her body indicate that there’s some kind of vampire involvement?” The reporter was more persistent than I would’ve been.

“On the contrary, I believe the site was chosen to send a message to the vampires,” Kelner snapped, and then looked as if she regretted speaking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”

“Of course, detective,” the reporter said, a little dazed. “So, Tom,” and he turned to face the camera, as if he could see through it back to the anchor in the station, “that’s a provocative issue.”

Huh?

The anchor realized the reporter wasn’t making any sense, too, and quickly moved to another topic.

Poor Bethany was dead, and there wasn’t anyone I
could discuss that with. I pushed back tears; I hardly felt I had a right to cry for the girl. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to Bethany Rogers last night after she’d been led from the room at the vampire nest. If there’d been no fang marks, surely a vampire hadn’t killed her. It would be a rare vampire who could pass up the blood.

Sniffling from repressed tears and miserable with dismay, I sat on the couch and hunted through my purse to find a pencil. At last, I unearthed a pen. I used it to scratch up under the wig. Even in the air-conditioned dark of the hotel, it itched. In thirty minutes, there was a knock at the door. Once again, I looked through the peephole. There was Arturo again, with garments draped across his arm.

“We’ll return the ones you don’t want,” he said, handing me the bundle. He tried not to stare at my hair.

“Thanks,” I said, and tipped him. I could get used to this in a hurry.

It wasn’t long until I was supposed to be meeting the Ayres guy, Isabel’s honey bun. Dropping the robe where I stood, I looked at what Arturo’d brought me. The pale peachy blouse with the off-white flowers, that would do, and the skirt. . . hmmm. He hadn’t been able to find denim, apparently, and the two he’d brought were khaki. That would be all right, I figured, and I pulled one on. It looked too tight for the effect I needed, and I was glad he’d brought another style. It was just right for the image. I slid my feet into flat sandals, put some tiny earrings in my pierced ears, and I was good to go. I even had a battered straw purse to carry with the ensemble. Unfortunately, it was my regular purse. But it fit right in. I dumped out my identifying items, and wished I had thought of that earlier instead of at the last minute. I wondered what other crucial safety measures I might have forgotten.

I stepped out into the silent corridor. It was exactly as it had been the night before. There were no mirrors and no windows, and the feeling of enclosure was complete. The dark red of the carpet and the federal blue, red, and cream of the wallpaper didn’t help. The elevator snicked open when I touched the call button, and I rode down by myself. No elevator music, even. The Silent Shore was living up to its name.

There were armed guards on either side of the elevator, when I reached the lobby. They were looking at the main doors to the hotel. Those doors were obviously locked. There was a television set mounted by the doors, and it showed the sidewalk outside of the doors. Another television set showed a wider view.

I thought a terrible attack must be imminent and I froze, my heart racing, but after a few seconds of calm I figured out they must be there all the time. This was why vampires stayed here, and at other similar specialty hotels. No one would get past these guards to the elevators. No one would make it into the hotel rooms where sleeping and helpless vampires lay. This was why the fee for the hotel was exorbitant. The two guards on duty at the moment were both huge, and wearing the black livery of the hotel. (Ho, hum. Everyone seemed to think vampires were obsessed with black.) The guards’ sidearms seemed gigantic to me, but then, I’m not too familiar with guns. The men glanced at me and then went back to their bored forward stare.

Even the desk clerks were armed. There were shotguns on racks behind the counter. I wondered how far they would go to protect their guests. Would they really shoot other humans, intruders? How would the law handle it?

A man wearing glasses sat in one of the padded chairs that punctuated the marble floor of the lobby. He was about thirty, tall and lanky, with sandy hair. He was
wearing a suit, a lightweight summer khaki suit, with a conservative tie and penny loafers. The dishwasher, sure enough.

“Hugo Ayres?” I asked.

He sprang up to shake my hand. “You must be Sookie? But your hair . . . last night, you were blond?”

“I am. I’m wearing a wig.”

“It looks very natural.”

“Good. Are you ready?”

“My car’s outside.” He touched my back briefly to point me in the right direction, as if I wouldn’t see the doors otherwise. I appreciated the courtesy, if not the implication. I was trying to get a feel for Hugo Ayres. He wasn’t a broadcaster.

“How long have you been dating Isabel?” I asked as we buckled up in his Caprice.

“Ah, um, I guess about eleven months,” Hugo Ayres said. He had big hands, with freckles on the back. I was surprised he wasn’t living in the suburbs with a wife with streaked hair and two sandy children.

“Are you divorced?” I asked impulsively. I was sorry when I saw the grief cross his face.

“Yes,” he said. “Pretty recently.”

“Too bad.” I started to ask about the children, decided it was none of my business. I could read him well enough to know he had a little girl, but I couldn’t discover her name and age.

“Is it true you can read minds?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“No wonder you’re so attractive to them.”

Well,
ouch,
Hugo. “That’s probably a good part of the reason,” I said, keeping my voice flat and even. “What’s your day job?”

“I’m a lawyer,” Hugo said.

“No wonder you’re so attractive to them,” I said, in the most neutral voice I could manage.

After a longish silence, Hugo said, “I guess I deserved that.”

“Let’s move on past it. Let’s get a cover story.”

“Could we be brother and sister?”

“That’s not out of the question. I’ve seen brother and sister teams that looked less like each other than we do. But I think boyfriend-girlfriend would account for the gaps in our knowledge of each other more, if we get separated and questioned. I’m not predicting that’ll happen, and I’d be amazed if it did, but as brother and sister we’d have to know all about each other.”

“You’re right. Why don’t we say that we met at church? You just moved to Dallas, and I met you in Sunday school at Glen Craigie Methodist. That’s actually my church.”

“Okay. How about I’m manager of a . . . restaurant?” From working at Merlotte’s, I thought I could be convincing in the role if I wasn’t questioned too intensively.

He looked a little surprised. “That’s just different enough to sound good. I’m not much of an actor, so if I just stick to being me, I’ll be okay.”

“How did you meet Isabel?” Of course I was curious.

“I represented Stan in court. His neighbors sued to have the vampires barred from the neighborhood. They lost.” Hugo had mixed feelings about his involvement with a vampire woman, and wasn’t entirely sure he should’ve won the court case, either. In fact, Hugo was deeply ambivalent about Isabel.

Oh, good, that made this errand much more frightening. “Did that get in the papers? The fact that you represented Stan Davis?”

He looked chagrined. “Yes, it did. Dammit, someone at the Center might recognize my name. Or me, from my picture being in the papers.”

“But that might be even better. You can tell them you
saw the error of your ways, after you’d gotten to know vampires.”