"Omigosh, did your date put something in your drink?" In genuine horror, Tara squeezed my hand. "That Rohypnol? But Alcide looked like such a nice guy!"
"Forget it," I said, trying to sound gentler. "It doesn't really have anything to do with Jason, after all."
Her face still troubled, Tara pressed my hand again.
All of a sudden, I was certain I didn't believe her. Tara knew vampires could remove memory, and she was pretending Franklin Mott had erased hers. I thought Tara remembered quite well what had happened at Club Dead, but she was pretending she didn't to protect herself. If she had to do that to survive, that was okay. I took a deep breath.
"Are you still dating Franklin?" I asked, to start a different conversation.
"He got me this car."
I was a little shocked and more than a little dismayed, but I hoped I was not the kind to point fingers.
"It's a wonderful car. You don't know any witches, do you?" I asked, trying to change the subject before Tara could read my misgivings. I was sure she would laugh at me for asking her such a question, but it was a good diversion. I wouldn't hurt her for the world.
Finding a witch would be a great help. I was sure Jason's abduction—and I swore to myself it was an abduction, it was not a murder—was linked to the witches' curse on Eric. It was just too much coincidence otherwise. On the other hand, I had certainly experienced the twists and turns of a bunch of coincidences in the past few months. There, I knew I'd find a third hand.
"Sure I do," Tara said, smiling proudly. "Now there I can help you. That is, if a Wiccan will do?"
I had so many expressions I wasn't sure my face could fit them all in. Shock, fear, grief, and worry were tumbling around in my brain. When the spinning stopped, we would see which one was at the top.
"You're a witch?" I said weakly.
"Oh, gosh, no, not me. I'm a Catholic. But I have some friends who are Wiccan. Some of them are witches."
"Oh, really?" I didn't think I'd ever heard the word Wiccan before, though maybe I'd read it in a mystery or romance novel. "I'm sorry, I don't know what that means," I said, my voice humble.
"Holly can explain it better than I can," Tara said.
"Holly. The Holly who works with me?"
"Sure. Or you could go to Danielle, though she's not going to be as willing to talk. Holly and Danielle are in the same coven."
I was so shocked by now I might as well get even more stunned. "Coven," I repeated.
"You know, a group of pagans who worship together."
"I thought a coven had to be witches?"
"I guess not—but they have to, you know, be non-Christian. I mean, Wicca is a religion."
"Okay," I said. "Okay. Do you think Holly would talk to me about this?"
"I don't know why not." Tara went back to her car to get her cell phone, and paced back and forth between our vehicles while she talked to Holly. I appreciated a little respite to allow me to get back on my mental feet, so to speak. To be polite I got out of my car and spoke to the woman in red, who'd been very patient.
"I'm sorry to meet you on such a bad day," I said. "I'm Sookie Stackhouse."
"I'm Claudine," she said, with a beautiful smile. Her teeth were Hollywood white. Her skin had an odd quality; it looked glossy and thin, reminding me of the skin of a plum; like if you bit her, sweet juice would gush out. "I'm here because of all the activity."
"Oh?" I said, taken aback.
"Sure. You have vampires, and Weres, and lots of other stuff all tangled up here in Bon Temps—to say nothing of several important and powerful crossroads. I was drawn to all the possibilities."
"Uh-huh," I said uncertainly. "So, do you plan on just observing all this, or what?"
"Oh, no. Just observing is not my way." She laughed. "You're quite the wild card, aren't you?"
"Holly's up," Tara said, snapping her phone shut and smiling because it was hard not to with Claudine around. I realized I was smiling from ear to ear, not my usual tense grin but an expression of sunny happiness. "She says come on over."
"Are you coming with me?" I didn't know what to think of Tara's companion.
"Sorry, Claudine's helping me today at the shop," Tara said. "We're having a New Year's sale on our old inventory, and people are doing some heavy shopping. Want me to put something aside for you? I've got a few really pretty party dresses left. Didn't the one you wore in Jackson get ruined?"
Yeah, because a fanatic had driven a stake through my side. The dress had definitely suffered. "It got stained," I said with great restraint. "It's real nice of you to offer, but I don't think I'll have time to try anything on. With Jason and everything, I've got so much to think about." And precious little extra money, I told myself.
"Sure," said Tara. She hugged me again. "You call me if you need me, Sookie. It's funny that I don't remember that evening in Jackson any better. Maybe I had too much to drink, too. Did we dance?"
"Oh, yes, you talked me into doing that routine we did at the high school talent show."
"I did not!" She was begging me to deny it, with a half smile on her face.
"'Fraid so." I knew damn well she remembered it.
"I wish I'd been there," said Claudine. "I love to dance."
"Believe me, that night in Club Dead is one I wish I'd missed," I said.
"Well, remind me never to go back to Jackson, if I did that dance in public," Tara said.
"I don't think either of us better go back to Jackson." I'd left some very irate vampires in Jackson, but the Weres were even angrier. Not that there were a lot of them left, actually. But still.
Tara hesitated a minute, obviously trying to frame something she wanted to tell me. "Since Bill owns the building Tara's Togs is in," she said carefully, "I do have a number to call, a number he said he'd check in with while he was out of the country. So if you need to let him know anything . . . ?"
"Thanks," I said, not sure if I felt thankful at all. "He told me he left a number on a pad by the phone in his house." There was a kind of finality to Bill's being out of the country, unreachable. I hadn't even thought of trying to get in touch with him about my predicament; out of all the people I'd considered calling, he hadn't even crossed my mind.
"It's just that he seemed pretty, you know, down." Tara examined the toes of her boots. "Melancholy," she said, as if she enjoyed using a word that didn't pass her lips often. Claudine beamed with approval. What a strange gal. Her huge eyes were luminous with joy as she patted me on the shoulder.
I swallowed hard. "Well, he's never exactly Mr. Smiley," I said. "I do miss him. But . . ." I shook my head emphatically. "It was just too hard. He just . . . upset me too much. I thank you for letting me know I can call him if I need to, and I really, really appreciate your telling me about Holly."
Tara, flushed with the deserved pleasure of having done her good deed for the day, got back in her spanky-new Camaro. After folding her long self into the passenger seat, Claudine waved at me as Tara pulled away. I sat in my car for a moment longer, trying to remember where Holly Cleary lived. I thought I remembered her complaining about the closet size in her apartment, and that meant the Kingfisher Arms.
When I got to the U-shaped building on the southern approach to Bon Temps, I checked the mailboxes to discover Holly's apartment number. She was on the ground floor, in number 4. Holly had a five-year-old son, Cody. Holly and her best friend, Danielle Gray, had both gotten married right out of high school, and both had been divorced within five years. Danielle's mom was a great help to Danielle, but Holly was not so lucky. Her long-divorced parents had both moved away, and her grandmother had died in the Alzheimer's wing of the Renard Parish nursing home. Holly had dated Detective Andy Bellefleur for a few months, but nothing had come of it. Rumor had it that old Caroline Bellefleur, Andy's grandmother, had thought Holly wasn't "good" enough for Andy. I had no opinion on that. Neither Holly nor Andy was on my shortlist of favorite people, though I definitely felt cooler toward Andy.