Free The Sookie Stackhouse Companion by Charlaine Harris Page B

the welcome I’d received from his family and friends. I had to stop in amazement when we went in the front door. The little house was a beehive of activity inside as well as out.
    There were some bouquets of carnations on the occasional tables in the living room. One had balloons attached, which made the atmosphere weirdly cheerful. While we’d been gone, not only had the florist van stopped by, but someone had delivered a platter of cold cuts and cheese, and bread. Sliced tomatoes and everything else that might conceivably go on a sandwich were set out beside the platter, along with some “wedding” paper plates. Sam and I helped ourselves, as everyone else had done. Mindy’s children were running around in high excitement.
    The house felt very small, very full of life, and all the brains were buzzing with excitement and happiness.
    While Sam and I ate in the living room, sitting side by side on the couch, Mason brought me a glass of sweet tea, carrying it very carefully. “Here, Aunt Sookie,” he said proudly, and though I opened my mouth to correct the title, I just said, “Thank you, darlin’.” Mason grinned, looked instantly bashful, and dashed away.
    Sam put his arm around me and kissed me on the cheek.
    I took a sip of the tea because I didn’t know what else to do. I thought Sam was getting a little too into his role-playing.
    “After all, you are my girlfriend this weekend,” he said close to my ear, and I stifled a laugh because it tickled.
    “Uh-huh,” I said, infusing the words with a little hint of warning.
    He didn’t remove his arm until he needed it to pick up his sandwich, and I shook my head at him . . . but I was smiling. I couldn’t help it. I was so uplifted at the community rallying around the Merlottes and the Lisles. I hadn’t felt this hopeful in . . . forever.
    That lasted about five more minutes. The brains outside grew jangled with agitation. It began about the same time that I noticed an increased number of vehicles passing in front of the house. Given the general turmoil, I didn’t think much of it. However, I glimpsed movement out the front window, and I half stood to look through Bernie’s sheers. There were four cars parked across the street and at least twenty newcomers standing around, blocking the cars of the volunteers, and the family cars, too.
    Sister was yelling, poking her finger at the chest of a man three times as big around as she was. He was yelling back. And finally, he shoved her and she went sprawling.
    Sam had jumped to his feet to look out the window. When he saw his friend fall, he yelled and shot out of the house, Doke and Craig following him. Bernie zipped through the living room soon after, pelting out the front door like the strong woman she was.
    There was lots of shouting, lots of commotion, and I wondered if I should join them, if I could be of any help. Then I thought twice. There was something contrived about the whole incident. Why would a confrontation be staged in front of the house?
    So something could happen at the back.
    Mindy and her children were standing in the hall, and I understood that Mindy didn’t want the kids to see any violence through the front or back windows. I nodded at her, held my finger over my lips, and eased into the kitchen. The small wooden bat the men had been using to lob balls to Mason the day before was by the back door, and I picked it up and hefted it. I was glad it was wood and not plastic. I looked out the window cautiously. Yes, someone was creeping through the backyard. A teenage boy, lean and lanky and angry. He had something in his hand.
    My heart was pounding a mile a minute, and I had to make myself calm down so I could read his thoughts. He had some kind of a bomb, and he was planning on opening the back door and tossing it in and running like hell. I had no idea what kind of device it was. It might be a stink bomb or a smoke bomb . . . or a firebomb.
    I felt a movement behind me, and I glanced over my