Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter One

I was doing my best to lose myself in a book when I heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway. Not that it was that easy to concentrate, even when the book was just one of those lightweight bodice rippers from the library. Knowing that there's a serial killer running around plays havoc on a girl's concentration. Usually I appreciated the isolation of Gran's old house – my house, now – but for the past week or so I'd definitely been getting the jitters.

And I'd known both Dawn and Maudette, which made the whole thing even worse. Of course, everybody practically knew everybody in a small town like Bon Temps, and I wasn't really friends with either of the women. Maudette I saw occasionally over at the Wal-Mart or sometimes on a Sunday at church, and even though Dawn and I had worked together we didn't have much in common. So they were more acquaintances than friends, but the thought of what had happened to them was enough to have me double-checking my locks at night and jumping at every groaning floorboard and creaking windowpane in the place.

I put my novel face-down on the table when the sound of the tires drew around to the rear of the house. Only one person came in through the back door, so it had to be Jason.

When he tugged open the screen door and nodded to me before heading to the fridge, I steeled myself for bad news. First, it was the middle of the afternoon, so my brother should have been at work, supervising the road crew and working on his tan. Second, he bypassed the pitcher of lemonade and pulled out a beer. Jason never drank during work hours, so he obviously wasn't going to be heading back to the Renard Parish crew today. Guess Hoyt or Rene'd be filling in as foreman for the rest of the afternoon.

I waited until he'd downed half the bottle of Bud just standing in the middle of the kitchen, then got up and started pulling the makings of a sandwich out of the fridge. Not that food made everything better, but Gran had always said that it was easier to talk about things over a family meal. I piled yesterday's leftover meatloaf and some lettuce on a couple of thick slices of Texas toast smothered in mayonnaise for Jason and pulled out a small bowl of strawberries for myself.

Jason had slumped into one of the kitchen chairs, eaten half the sandwich and started on a second bottle of beer before he finally leaned back and met my eyes.

"Feel any better?" I asked.

"Honestly?" Jason said. "Not really, Sook. Not that I don't appreciate the effort."

I folded my hands on the table and successfully resisted using my curse to poke around in his head. Jason hated that, and I took extra special care not to rummage around in the heads of my family and friends. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

If he'd gotten fired, it wouldn't be good. I love my brother but he's not exactly the sharpest knife in the cutlery drawer, and there's not an abundance of jobs out there for someone with his skill set. And neither of us made enough money to set some aside for a rainy day. I was half worrying myself into a state of panic over how on earth he'd afford his mortgage and property taxes when Jason sighed.

"I just spent the last four hours down at the police station," he said.

Okay, completely not what I was expecting. "Again?"

"They keep haulin' me down there every couple of days, askin' the same damn questions. How close was I to them girls, when did I see 'em last, what do I know about their… well, their sexual … particularities."

He gave me a sheepish look, well aware that the last thing I wanted to hear about was what Dawn and Maudette used to do in the privacy of their bedrooms, especially when some of those things involved my own brother. I got enough information about that sort of stuff sneaking past my shields when I wasn't expecting it, thank you very much.

Jason hung his head. "By the time they get through with me these days I'm half believin' I actually did kill poor Dawn and Maudette."

I crossed my arms at my chest. The idea of Jason killing anybody was ludicrous. My brother loved women – maybe a bit too much and a bit too often, but still. He'd never lift a hand to a woman in anger, and I didn't have to peek into his head to know it. He might love 'em and leave 'em, like the song said, but he'd never, ever get physical. Gran was the strongest woman I ever knew and she raised him better than that.

"Well, that's just crazy, Jason," I said.

"Andy's got a way of messin' with my head, Sook," Jason said. He looked sadder than a coon dog at the end of hunting season. "He's sure I did it and he ain't gonna give up 'til I'm behind bars at Angola."

The thought of my brother in the Louisiana State Penitentiary made me shiver, even in the midst of a summer heatwave. Not just because I was sure he was innocent, but because… well, Jason's a good looking fella. He's a fighter, sure, but he'd last about ten minutes before somebody bigger and brawnier with one of them teardrop tattoos had him face-down on a cot. I've never gotten those kinds of images out of anybody's heads, thank goodness – the violent kind of images, I mean, not the male sex kind, 'cause I sure don't have any problem with people loving each other, no matter what gender they are – but I did have cable for a while. Had to stop watching Oz when it gave me nightmares.

I shook my head and pushed the bowl of strawberries away. I wasn't hungry anymore. I'd been the one who found poor Dawn, sprawled out on her bed all lifeless and broken… and thanks to my little gift, I knew exactly what Maudette looked like when the police got to her house as well. Andy Bellefleur was a strong broadcaster even when I had my shields up. Of course, Andy and Bud hadn't exactly been discreet about talking out loud about the case either, so half of Bon Temps knew that both girls had "spent time" with vampires. Seems to me that the investigation should be focused on that and not my hapless brother.

"Anybody with more than five brain cells would know you've got nothin' to do with those murders, Jason," I told him. I watched him pluck a couple of strawberries from the bowl and pop them into his mouth – not even being suspected of double homicide could hamper Jason's appetite – and thought about what I'd seen at Dawn's house; what I'd seen in Andy's head about Maudette. "What are Bud and Andy doin' about the… the bite marks? And the vampire with the tattoos?"

Jason threw up his hands. "Nothin'! Least as far as I can tell."

"But it's their job to investigate—"

"Andy's so sure it was me," Jason interrupted glumly, "he probably plain forgot Maudette and Dawn ever even had sex with vampirs. 'Sides, that video tape I told you about? It's missin', so it's ain't like they got more than my say-so that that big deader with the tattoos ever existed."

"It's the best lead they've got, and they're blowing it," I said. I might favour historical fiction of the rough and tumble antihero and the innocent maiden sort – hey, a girl's gotta get some action, and when you're like me and can't date without hearing all the rude and unwelcome thoughts in a guy's head then novels are the next best thing – but I read all sort of other books, too. And mysteries are about my second favourite kind of story. And the one thing detectives do in all those books is find the common denominator between the victims.

Now fine, both Dawn and Maudette had dated my brother – if 'dated' was the right word, and I was absolutely sure it wasn't. But they'd also both had fang marks in very intimate places, and Jason sure as heck didn't have fangs. And another thing…

"Didn't somebody say Maudette and Dawn both hung out at that vampire bar in Shreveport?"

"Fangtasia," Jason filled in. "Yup."

I rolled my eyes. Fangtasia. Just about the stupidest name I ever heard. "Well, why aren't Bud and Andy gettin' their butts down there and askin' around? Or at least callin' the Shreveport PD and—"

"Don't ask me, sis. I'm just the dumb fuck who got caught in the middle of this mess 'cause I couldn't keep my dick in my pants." He reached across the table to pat my hand briefly in apology for his language, then snatched up the remainder of his sandwich. He waved a hand in the air, sending a glob of mayo-coated lettuce splatting on my clean floor. Jason didn't notice. "Thanks for this, and for listenin'. I'm gonna head home and maybe do some fishin'. Get some peace and quiet for a change."

"That'll do you good, Jase," I said as I rose to see him out the back door. He still looked unsettled, his eyes darting around and a sheen of sweat on his skin that made him look feverish. Sitting on his old deck with a pole would relax him, I hoped. I watched until his taillights vanished around the side of the house, then slid the flimsy bolt home on the door. Not that a lock would do much good when the screen was open to let in the fresh air, but it still made me feel a little better.

After I cleaned the floor and washed and dried Jason's plate, I tried to get back into my book. But my mind wouldn't focus on swordplay and derring-do. It kept circling back to the shocked, scared look on Dawn's face when I found her, and the way her naked body was just splayed out on her bed for anybody to see, and the tiny set of fang marks on her inner thigh.

Fangtasia.

I set my novel aside and absently ate a couple of strawberries as I thought. Tina did her best to distract me – first by meowing around her already full bowl of food in hopes of getting some of the meat loaf, and then by jumping into my lap and curling up contentedly while I stroked her glossy fur. By the time she'd fallen asleep I'd come to a decision.

If Andy Bellefleur and Bud Dearborne weren't going to do their jobs, maybe it was time that I did a little investigating of my own.