Dead Reckoning Read Free Page A

extinguisher.
    I found myself looking through the serving hatch into the kitchen. Antoine, the cook, was shutting down all the appliances. Smart. I could hear the fire engine in the distance, but I was too busy looking for yellow flickers to feel much relief. My eyes, streaming with tears from the smoke and the chemicals, were darting around like pinballs as I tried to spot flames, and I was coughing like crazy. Sam had run to retrieve the second extinguisher from his office, and he returned holding it ready. We rocked from side to side on our feet, ready to leap into action to extinguish the next flicker.
    Neither of us spotted anything else.
    Sam aimed one more blast at the bottle that had caused the fire, and then he put down the extinguisher. He leaned over to plant his hands on his thighs and inhaled raggedly. He began coughing. After a second, he bent down to the bottle.
    “Don’t touch it,” I said urgently, and his hand stopped halfway down.
    “Of course not,” he said, chiding himself, and he straightened up. “Did you see who threw it?”
    “No,” I said. We were the only people left in the bar. I could hear the fire engine getting closer and closer, so I knew we had only a minute more to talk to each other alone. “Coulda been the same people who’ve been demonstrating out in the parking lot. I don’t know that the church members are into firebombs, though.” Not everyone in the area was pleased to know there were such creatures as werewolves and shapeshifters following the Great Reveal, and the Holy Word Tabernacle in Clarice had been sending its members to demonstrate at Merlotte’s from time to time.
    “Sookie,” Sam said, “sorry about your hair.”
    “What about it?” I said, lifting my hand to my head. The shock was setting in now. I had a hard time making my hand mind my directions.
    “The end of your ponytail got singed,” Sam said. And he sat down very suddenly. That seemed like a good idea.
    “So that’s what smells so bad,” I said, and collapsed on the floor beside him. We had our backs against the base of the bar, since the stools had gotten scattered in the melee of the rush out the back door. My hair was burned off. I felt tears run down my cheeks. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help it.
    Sam took my hand and gripped it, and we were still sitting like that when the firefighters rushed in. Even though Merlotte’s is outside the city limits, we got the official town firefighters, not the volunteers.
    “I don’t think you need the hose,” Sam called. “I think it’s out.” He was anxious to prevent any more damage to the bar.
    Truman La Salle, the fire chief, said, “You two need first aid?” But his eyes were busy, and his words were almost absentminded.
    “I’m okay,” I said, after a glance at Sam. “But Jane’s out back with a cut on her head, from the glass. Sam?”
    “Maybe my right hand got a little burned,” he said, and his mouth compressed as if he was just now feeling the pain. He released my hand to rub his left over his right, and he definitely winced this time.
    “You need to take care of that,” I advised him. “Burns hurt like the devil.”
    “Yeah, I’m figuring that out,” he said, his eyes squeezing shut.
    Bud Dearborn came in as soon as Truman yelled, “Okay!” The sheriff must have been in bed, because he had a thrown-together look and was minus his hat, a reliable part of his wardrobe. Sheriff Dearborn was probably in his late fifties by now, and he showed every minute of it. He’d always looked like a Pekinese. Now he looked like a gray one. He spent a few minutes going around the bar, watching where his feet went, almost sniffing the disarray. Finally he was satisfied and came up to stand in front of me.
    “What you been up to now?” he asked.
    “Someone threw a firebomb in the window,” I said. “None of my doing.” I was too shocked to sound angry.
    “Sam, they aiming for you?” the sheriff asked. He wandered off