The pictures we'd uncovered--framed, in albums, or loose--we placed in a box in the living room. Documents were sorted into another box. I'd found some old dolls, too. I knew from television that people collected dolls, and perhaps these were worth something. There were some old guns, too, and a sword. Where was Antiques Roadshow when you needed it?
Later that evening at Merlotte's, I told my boss Sam about my day. Sam, a compact man who was actually immensely strong, was dusting the bottles behind the bar. We weren't very busy that night. In fact, business hadn't been good for the past few weeks. I didn't know if the slump was due to the chicken processing plant closing or the fact that some people objected to Sam being a shapeshifter. (The two-natured had tried to emulate the successful transition of the vampires, but it hadn't gone so well.) And there was a new bar, Vic's Redneck Roadhouse, about ten miles west off the interstate. I'd heard the Redneck Roadhouse held all kinds of wet T-shirt contests, beer pong tournaments, and a promotion called "Bring in a Bubba Night"--crap like that.
Popular crap. Crap that raked in the customers.
Whatever the reasons, Sam and I had time to talk about attics and antiques.
"There's a store called Splendide in Shreveport," Sam said. "Both the owners are appraisers. You could give them a call."
"How'd you know that?" Okay, maybe that wasn't so tactful.
"Well, I do know a few things besides tending bar," Sam said, giving me a sideways look.
I had to refill a pitcher of beer for one of my tables. When I returned, I said, "Of course you know all kinds of stuff. I just didn't know you were into antiques."
"I'm not. But Jannalynn is. Splendide's her favorite place to shop."
I blinked, trying not to look as disconcerted as I felt. Jannalynn Hopper, who'd been dating Sam for a few weeks now, was so ferocious she'd been named the Long Tooth pack enforcer--though she was only twenty-one and about as big as a seventh grader. It was hard to imagine Jannalynn restoring a vintage picture frame or planning to fit a plantation sideboard into her place in Shreveport. (Come to think of it, I had no idea where she lived. Did Jannalynn actually have a house?)
"I sure wouldn't have guessed that," I said, making myself smile at Sam. It was my personal opinion that Jannalynn was not good enough for Sam.
Of course, I kept that to myself. Glass houses, stones, right? I was dating a vampire whose kill list would top Jannalynn's for sure, since Eric was over a thousand years old. In one of those awful moments you have at random, I realized that everyone I'd ever dated--though, granted, that was a short list--was a killer.
And so was I.
I had to shake this off in a hurry, or I'd be in a melancholy funk all evening.
"You have a name and phone number for this shop?" I hoped the antiques dealers would agree to come to Bon Temps. I'd have to rent a U-Haul to get all the attic contents to Shreveport.
"Yeah, I got it in my office," Sam said. "I was talking to Brenda, the female half of the partnership, about getting Jannalynn something special for her birthday. It's coming right up. Brenda--Brenda Hesterman--called this morning to tell me she had a few things for me to look at."
"Maybe we could go see her tomorrow?" I suggested. "I have things piled all over the living room and some out on the front porch, and the good weather won't last forever."
"Would Jason want any of it?" Sam asked diffidently. "I'm just saying, family stuff."
"He got a piecrust table around a month ago," I said. "But I guess I should ask him." I thought about it. The house and its contents were mine, since Gran had left it to me. Hmmmm. Well, first things first. "Let's ask Ms. Hesterman if she'll come give a look. If there's pieces that are worth anything, I can think about it."
"Okay," Sam said. "Sounds good. Pick you up tomorrow at ten?"
That was a little early for me to be up and dressed since I was working the late shift, but I agreed.
Sam sounded pleased. "You can tell me what you think about whatever Brenda shows me. It'll be good to have a woman's opinion." He ran a hand over his hair, which (as usual) was a mess. A few weeks ago he'd cut it real short, and now it was in an awkward stage of growing back. Sam's hair is a pretty color, sort of strawberry blond; but since it's naturally curly, now that it was growing out it couldn't seem to pick a direction. I suppressed an urge to whip out a brush and make sense out of it. That was not something an employee should do to her boss's head.
Kennedy Keyes and Danny Prideaux, who worked for Sam parttime as substitute bartender and bouncer, respectively, came in to climb on two of the empty barstools. Kennedy is beautiful. She was first runner-up to Miss Louisiana a few years ago, and she still looks like a beauty pageant queen. Her chestnut hair's all glossy and thick, and the ends wouldn't dare to split. Her makeup is meticulous. She has manicures and pedicures on a regular basis. She wouldn't buy a garment at Wal-Mart if her life depended on it.
A few years ago her future, which should have included a country club marriage in the next parish and a big inheritance from her daddy, had been derailed from its path when she'd served time for manslaughter.
Along with pretty nearly everyone I knew, I figured her boyfriend had had it coming, after I saw the pictures of her face swelling black-and-blue in her mug shots. But she'd confessed to shooting him when she called 911, and his family had a little clout, so there was no way Kennedy could walk. She'd gotten a light sentence and time off for good behavior, since she'd taught deportment and grooming to the other inmates. Eventually, Kennedy had done her time. When she'd gotten out, she'd rented a little apartment in Bon Temps, where she had an aunt, Marcia Albanese. Sam had offered her a job pretty much right after he met her, and she'd accepted on the spot.
"Hey, man," Danny said to Sam. "Fix us two mojitos?"
Sam got the mint out of the refrigerator and set to work. I handed him the sliced limes when he was almost through with the drinks.
"What are you all up to tonight?" I asked. "You look mighty pretty, Kennedy."
"I finally lost ten pounds!" she said, and when Sam deposited her glass in front of her, she lifted it to toast with Danny. "To my former figure! May I be on the road to getting it back!"
Danny shook his head. He said, "Hey! You don't need to do anything to look beautiful." I had to turn away so I wouldn't say, Aw.w.ww. Danny was one tough guy who couldn't have grown up in a more different environment than Kennedy--the only experience they'd had in common was jail--but boy, he was carrying a big torch for her. I could feel the heat from where I stood. You didn't have to be telepathic to see Danny's devotion.