"You call Crane your cousin."

"Yeah, he is."

"We got no record of him being related to you."

It would be interesting to know what records they could possibly have about Claude, since he wasn't human. "He comes from an illegitimate birth," I said. "It's private family business."

No matter how many times she asked questions about Claude, I stuck to my guns. She eventually gave in to my determination, since there was really no way she could link Kym to Claude to me. At least, I hoped that was the case. This was something else I needed to talk to Claude about, when I had the chance.

I'd nodded to Mike Coughlin, who was sitting a few desks away. He'd been doing some paperwork, but now he was talking to a young man who sat with his back to me. It was the guy who'd watched the gate to Eric's community on Saturday night.

Ambroselli had been called away by another police officer, one in uniform, so I felt free to listen. And there was nothing wrong with my hearing.

Evidently, Coughlin had asked-and I had a hard time remembering the name he'd had on his shirt-Vince, that was it. Coughlin had asked Vince why he'd been substituting for Dan Shelley the night of Eric's party.

"Dan was sick," Vince said instantly. I could tell his mind was full of agitation, and I wondered what was so scary. "He asked me to sit in for him. Said it was easy work. I needed the money, so I said sure."

"Did Dan tell you what was wrong with him?" Mike Coughlin was persistent and thorough, if not brilliant.

"Sure, he said he'd had too much to drink. I'd keep that to myself, normally, but we're talking about murder here, and I don't want to get into trouble."

Coughlin gave Vince a level stare. "I'm betting it was you called us to the scene," he said. "Why didn't you own up to it?"

"We're not supposed to call the cops," Vince said. "Dan said the vamp tips him big to keep his mouth shut about his doings. The vamp, that is."

"He's seen other girls in trouble?" There was an ominous undertone to Coughlin's voice.

"No, no! Dan woulda called that in. No, the extra money was just to keep Dan quiet about the goings and the comings from the house. There are reporters and just plain snoopy people who'd pay to know who visits a vampire. This vampire, Eric whatever, he didn't want his girlfriend to catch grief about staying over at his place."

I hadn't known that.

"But when I stood up to stretch, I could see the front of his yard, and I saw the body lying there. I didn't know who it was, but she wasn't moving. That's definitely the kind of thing I need to report to the police." Vince was practically glowing with virtue by the time he finished his account.

The detective was regarding Vince with open skepticism, and Vince's glow of civic virtue diminished with every second of Coughlin's stare. "Yeah, buddy," Coughlin said finally, "I find that real interesting, since you couldn't possibly see the girl's body from the guard shack. Unless you did that big stretch while you were hovering over the ground."

I tried to remember the lay of the land in the little gated community, while Vince goggled at the detective. Coughlin was right: Eric's house was higher than the guard shack, and furthermore, the row of crepe myrtles by the walkway would prevent an easy sight line.

I sure wanted to hold Vince's hand. It would make it so much easier to find out what was going on in his head. I sighed. There was simply no casual way to touch flesh with a virtual stranger. Cara Ambroselli returned, looking impatient.

The interview staggered on for thirty more minutes. I gradually understood that Ambroselli had assembled a lot of facts about each of the people present at the scene, but that all these facts might not add up to anything. She appeared to be homing in on the stripper part of Kym Rowe's life, rather than the desperate-and-reckless part ... or the part-Were part.

I had no idea how to make that add up to clues about why Kym Rowe had shown up at Eric's house, or who'd paid her to do so. But to me, it seemed obvious that the girl had been bribed to do her best to seduce Eric. Who'd paid for this and what they hoped to gain ... I was as far from discovering the guilty party as Ambroselli.

While I worked that night, I went over and over the events of Saturday at Eric's house. I served beers on autopilot. By the time I fell into bed, I found I couldn't remember any of the conversations I'd had with customers and co-workers.

Tuesday was another black hole. Dermot came in and out without saying much. He didn't look happy; in fact, he looked anxious. When I asked him a question or two, he said, "The fae at the club, they're worried. They wonder why Claude left, when he'll return, what will happen to them when he does. They wish they had seen Niall."

"I'm sorry about Niall's attitude," I said hesitantly. I didn't know if I should broach the subject or not. It had to be a painful one for Dermot, Niall's son, to be so pushed aside and disregarded.

Dermot looked at me, his eyes as pathetic as a puppy's.

"What's Faery like?" I asked, in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

"It's beautiful," he said immediately. "The forests are green, and they stretch for miles and miles. Not as far as they used to ... but still they're green and deep and full of life. The shoreline is stony; no white sand beaches! But the ocean is green and clear...." He stood, lost in dreaming of his homeland. I wanted to ask a thousand questions: How did the fae pass their time? Did creatures like Bellenos mix with the fairies? Did they get married? What was childbirth like? Were there rich and poor?

But when I saw the grief in my great-uncle's face, I kept my curiosity to myself. He shook himself, gave me a bleak look. Then he turned to go upstairs, probably to seek consolation in House Hunters International.

That night was notable only for what didn't happen. Eric didn't call me. I understood that his out-of-town company had the biggest claim on his time, but I felt almost as shoved aside and disregarded as Dermot. As far as I was concerned, the vampires of Shreveport weren't speaking to me, consulting me, or visiting me. Even Bill was conspicuously absent. Mustapha was presumably still searching for Warren. Ambroselli was presumably searching for the killer of Kym Rowe.

Normally, I was a pretty cheerful person. But I wasn't seeing an end to this complicated situation, and I began to think there might never be one.

I made a creditable effort to leap out of bed with enthusiasm the next morning. I was rested, and I had to go to work, no matter what was happening in the supernatural world.

Not a creature was stirring, not even an elf. I ate some yogurt and granola and strawberries, drank some coffee, and put on some extra makeup since I was still feeling unhappy in general. I took a few minutes to paint my fingernails. A girl's gotta have a little color in her life.

At the bustling post office, I used my key to empty the Merlotte's mailbox, which served Sam for both business and personal use. Sam had gotten three envelopes from his duplex tenants. I riffled through the flyers that had been stuffed in the box and saw that the only bill worth worrying about was the electric bill. It soared in the summer, of course, since we had to keep the bar cool. I was almost scared to open it. I bit the bullet and slit the envelope. The total was bad, but not more than I expected.

Terry Bellefleur pushed open the glass door while I was tossing unwanted mail into the trash. He looked good: more alert, not as skinny, maybe. There was a woman with him. When Terry stopped to speak to me, she smiled. She needed some dental work, but it was a good smile.

"Sook, this here's Jimmie Kearney from Clarice," Terry said. "She raises Catahoulas, too." Terry loved his dogs, and he seemed to have overcome his bad luck with them. His latest bitch, Annie, had had her second litter of puppies. This time they'd been purebred. I'd heard Terry talk about Jimmie when he'd found a match for Annie, but I'd assumed Jimmie was a guy. She very much wasn't.

"I'm pleased to meet you," I said. Jimmie was younger than Terry. I put her at about forty. There were streaks of gray in her long brown hair, which hung nearly down to her waist. She wore baggy khaki shorts with a ruffled white peasant blouse and huaraches.

"I heard a lot about you," Jimmie said shyly. "You should come by Terry's and see the puppies. My Tombo is the daddy. They're just as cute as they can be. And we've got them all sold! We had to check out the homes they would go to, of course."

"Good job," I said. I was getting the information from Jimmie's head that she was over at Terry's a lot of the time. A lot. Just in my little peek, Jimmie seemed like an okay person. Terry deserved someone really nice; he needed someone really, really stable. I hoped she was both. "Well, maybe I'll get a chance to see those puppies before they go to their new homes. I'm glad I got to meet you, Jimmie. Terry, talk to you later."

Before I headed to the bar, I needed to check on Tara, who hadn't returned my calls. Maybe she'd gone to work today, too? Sure enough, her car was parked beside Tara's Togs.

Inside, she was sitting at the wedding table, the one where brides sat to order their invitations and their napkins and anything else a bride could want.

"Tara?" I said, because the expression on her face was very peculiar. "How come you didn't call me back? What's 'effaced' mean? Does that mean you're gonna have the babies soon?"

"Um-hum," she said, but it was clear her attention was on something else entirely.

"Where's McKenna?" Tara's assistant had been working more and more hours as Tara grew more and more great with child. Well, great with children.

"She's at home. She's been run off her feet. I told her to stay home today, that I'd work. Today's my last day."

"You don't look like you can work a whole eight hours," I said cautiously. Tara had gotten pretty snappish during her pregnancy, and the bigger she got, the more likely she'd become to give you her unvarnished opinion on almost anything-but especially if you said something about her stamina or appearance.

"I can't," she said, and my mouth fell open.

"How come?" I said.

"I'm having the babies today."

I felt a thread of panic rise up out of my stomach. "Does ... who all knows this, Tara?"

"You."

"You haven't called anyone else?"

"No. I'm just trying to deal. Having a little moment, here." She tried to smile. "But I guess you better call McKenna and tell her to come in to work, and you better call JB and tell him to get to the hospital in Clarice, and you could call his mama. Oh, and maybe the ambulance."

"Oh my God! You're hurting?" Oh, Shepherd of Judea!

She glared at me, but I don't think she knew she was looking at me like she hoped I'd turn green. "It's not too bad yet," she said with an air of great restraint. "But my water broke just now, and since it's twins ..."

I was already punching in 911. I described the situation to the dispatcher, and she said, "Sookie, we'll be right over to get Tara. You tell her not to worry. Oh, and she can't eat or drink anything, you hear?"

"Yes," I said. I hung up. "Tara, they're coming. Nothing to eat or drink!"

"You see any food around here?" she said. "Not a damn thing. I've been trying to keep my weight gain to a minimum, so Mr. Bare-Naked Booty will have something to keep him home when I get over having his children."

"He loves you! And I'm calling him right now!" Which I did.

After a frozen moment, JB said, "I'm coming! Wait, if you called the ambulance, I'll meet it at the hospital! Have you called the doctor?"

"She didn't put him on my list." I was waving my hands in agitation. I'd made a mistake.

"I'll do it," JB said, and I hung up.

Since there didn't seem to be anything I could do to help Tara (she was sitting absolutely still with an expression of great concentration on her face), I called Mrs. du Rone. Who said very calmly, "All right, if you're going to stay there with Tara, I'll drive straight to the hospital. Thank you, Sookie." Then, without hanging up, she shrieked, "Donnell! Go start the car! It's time!"

I hung up. I called McKenna, who said, "Oh my God! I just got out of bed! Lock up and I'll get there within an hour. Tell her I said good luck!"

Not knowing what else to do, I went to stand by Tara, who said, "Give me your hand." I took her hand, and she got a death grip on mine. She began to pant in a rhythm, and her face turned red. Her whole body tensed. This close to her, I could smell something unusual. It wasn't exactly a bad smell, but it was certainly one I'd never associated with Tara.

Amniotic fluid, I guessed.

I thought all the bones in my hand would snap before Tara finished puffing. We rested a moment, Tara and I, and her eyes remained fixed on some far-distant shore. After a short time, she said, "Okay," as if I'd know what that signaled. I figured it out when we started again with the huffing and puffing. This time Tara turned white. I was incredibly relieved to hear the ambulance approaching, though Tara didn't seem to notice.

I recognized the two EMTs, though I couldn't recall their names. They'd graduated with Jason, or maybe a year ahead of him. As far as I was concerned, they had haloes.

"Hey, lady," the taller woman said to Tara. "You ready to take a ride with us?"

Tara nodded without losing her focus on that invisible spot.

"How close are the contractions, darlin'?" asked the second, a small, stocky woman with wire-rimmed glasses. She was asking me, but I just gaped at her.

"Three or four minutes," Tara said in a monotone, as if she thought she'd pop if she spoke emphatically.

"Well, I guess we better hustle, then," the taller woman said calmly. While she took Tara's blood pressure, Wire Rims set up the gurney, and then they helped Tara up from the chair (which was soaking wet), and they got Tara onto the gurney and into the ambulance very quickly, without seeming to hurry in the least.

I was left standing in the middle of the store. I stared at the wet chair. Finally I wrote a note to McKenna. "You will need to clean the chair," it said. I stuck it to the back door, where McKenna would enter. I locked up and departed.

It was one of those days I regretted having a job. I could have gone to Clarice and waited for the birth of the babies, sitting in the waiting room with the other people Tara cared for.

I went into Merlotte's feeling ridiculously happy. I just had time to put the mail on Sam's desk when Kennedy came in the employee door, and India was hard on her heels. Both of them looked pretty down in the mouth, but I wasn't having any of that. "Ladies," I said. "We are gonna have us a good day here."

"Sookie, I'd like to oblige, but my heart is breaking," Kennedy said pathetically.

"Oh, bullshit, Kennedy! It is not. You just ask Danny to share with you, you tell him what a man he is and how you love his hot body, and he'll tell his heap big secret. You got no reason to be insecure. He thinks you're fabulous. He likes you more than his LeBaron."

Kennedy looked stunned, but after a moment a small smile flickered across her face.

"India, you'll meet a woman who's worthy of you any day now, I just know it," I told India, who said, "Sookie, you are as full of bullshit as a cow is of milk."

"Speaking of milk," I said, "we're going to hold hands and say a prayer for Tara, cause she's having her babies right now."

And that was what we did.

It wasn't until I was halfway through my shift that I realized how much more enjoyable work was when you had a light heart. How long had it been since I'd let go of my worries and simply allowed myself to enjoy the happiness of another person?

It had been way too long.

Today, everything seemed easy. Kennedy was pouring beers and tea and water with lemon, and all the food was ready on time. Antoine was singing in the kitchen. He had a fine voice, so we all enjoyed that. The customers tipped well, and everyone had a good word for me. Danny Prideaux came in to moon longingly at Kennedy, and his face when she gave him a smile-well, it was all lit up.

Just when I was thinking I might glide through this day with happiness all around, Alcide came in. He'd clearly been working; there was a hard hat impression in his thick black hair, and he was sweaty and dirty like most of the men who came in at midday in the summer. Another Were was with him, a man who was just as glad to be in the air-conditioning. They breathed simultaneous sighs of relief when they sank into the chairs at a table in my section.

Truthfully, I was surprised to see Alcide in Merlotte's. There were plenty of places to eat in the area besides our bar. Our last conversation hadn't been exactly pleasant, and he'd never responded to the message I'd left on his cell phone.

Maybe his presence constituted an olive branch. I went over with menus and a tentative smile. "You must have a job close to here," I said, by way of greeting. Alcide had been a partner in his dad's surveying company, and now he owned the whole thing. He was running it well, I heard. I'd also heard there'd been big personnel changes.

"We're getting ready for the new high school gym in Clarice," Alcide said. "We just finished. Sookie, this is Roy Hornby."

I nodded politely. "Roy, nice to meet you. What can I get for you-all to drink?"

"Could we have a whole pitcher of sweet tea?" Roy asked. He gave off the strong mental signature of a werewolf.

I said, "Sure, I'll just go get that." While I carried a cold pitcher and two glasses filled with ice over to the table, I wondered if the new people at AAA Accurate Surveys were all two-natured. I poured the first round of tea. It was gone in a few seconds. I refilled.

"Damn, it's hot out there," Roy said. "You saved my life." Roy was medium: hair a medium brown, eyes a medium blue, height a moderate five foot ten, slim build. He did have great teeth and a winning smile, which he flashed at me now. "I think you know my girlfriend, Ms. Stackhouse."

"Who would that be? Call me Sookie, by the way."

"I date Palomino."

I was so startled that I couldn't think of what to say. Then I had to scramble to get some words out. "She's sure a pretty young woman. I haven't gotten to know her real well, but I see her around."

"Yeah, she works for your boyfriend, and she moonlights at the Trifecta."

For a vampire and a Were to date was very unusual, practically a Romeo and Juliet situation. Roy must be a tolerant kind of guy. Funny, that wasn't the vibe he was giving off. Roy seemed like a conventional Were to me: tough, macho, strong-willed.

There weren't many "granola" Weres. But Alcide, though not exactly beaming at Roy, wasn't scowling, either.

I wondered what Roy thought of Palomino's nestmates, Rubio and Parker. I wondered if Roy knew Palomino had been part of the massacre at Fangtasia. Since Roy was a bit clearer to read than some Weres, I could tell he was thinking of Palomino going to a bar with him. Something clicked inside me, and I knew I'd gotten an idea, but I wasn't sure what it was. There was a connection I should be drawing, but I'd have to wait for it to pop to the top of my brain. Isn't that the most irritating feeling in the world?