But as I watched my great-uncle work, I reconsidered. Dermot had his own problems. Claude had left with Nial , and there was no way of knowing when he’d return or in what condition. Until Claude’s return, Dermot was supposed to make sure al was running smoothly at Hooligans. What would that motley crew be capable of, without Claude’s control? I had no idea if Dermot could keep them in line or if they’d ignore his authority.
I started to launch a boatful of worry about that, but I gave myself a reality check. I couldn’t assume responsibility for Hooligans. It was none of my business. For al I knew, Claude had a system in place and al Dermot had to do was fol ow it. I could only worry about one bar, and that was Merlotte’s. Kind of alternating with Fangtasia. Okay, two bars.
Speaking of which, my cel phone buzzed me to remind me we were getting a beer delivery that morning. It was time for me to hustle in to work.
“If you need me, you cal me,” I told Dermot.
With a proud air, as if he’d learned a clever phrase in a foreign language, Dermot said, “You have a nice day, you hear?”
I took a hasty shower and pul ed on some shorts and a Merlotte’s T-shirt. I didn’t have time to blow-dry my hair completely, but at least I put on some eye makeup before I hustled out the door. It felt excel ent to shed my supernatural worries and to fal back on thinking about what I had to do at Merlotte’s, especial y now that I’d bought into it.
The rival bar opened by the now-deceased Victor, Vic’s Redneck Roadhouse, had taken a lot of customers away. To our relief, the newness of our rival was wearing off, and some of our regulars were returning to the fold. At the same time, the protests against patronizing a bar owned by a shapeshifter had stopped since Sam had started attending the church that had supplied most of the protesters.
It had been a surprisingly effective countermove, and I am proud to say I thought of it. Sam had blown me off at first, but he’d reconsidered when he’d cooled off. Sam had been pretty nervous the first Sunday, and only a handful of people talked to him. But he’d kept it going, if irregularly, and the members were getting to know him as a person first, a shapeshifter second.
I’d loaned Sam some money to float the bar through the worst time. Instead of repaying me bit by bit as I’d imagined he would, Sam now regarded me as a part owner. After a long and cautious conversation, he’d upped my paycheck and added to my responsibilities. I’d never had something that was kind of my own before. There was no other word for it but “awesome.”
Now that I handled some of the administrative work at the bar and Kennedy could come in as bartender, Sam was enjoying a little more wel -
earned time off. He spent some of it with Jannalynn. He went fishing, a pastime he’d enjoyed with his dad and mom when he was a kid. Sam also worked on his double-wide inside and out, trimming his hedge and raking his yard, planting flowers and tomatoes in season, to the amusement of the rest of the staff.
I didn’t think it was funny. I thought it was real nice that Sam liked to take care of his home, even if it was parked behind the bar.
What gave me the most pleasure was seeing the tension ease out of his shoulders now that Merlotte’s was on an even keel again.
I was a little early. I had the time to make some measurements in the storeroom. I figured if I had the right to accept beer shipments, I had the right to institute a few changes, too—subject to Sam’s approval and consent, of course.
The guy who drove the truck, Duff McClure, knew exactly where to put the beer. I counted the cases as he unloaded them. I’d offered to help the first time we’d dealt together, and Duff had made it clear it would be a cold day in Hel before a woman helped him do physical work. “You been sel ing more Michelob lately,” he remarked.
“Yeah, we got a few guys who’ve decided that’s al they’re gonna drink,” I said. “They’l be back to Bud Light before too long.”
“You need any TrueBlood?”
“Yeah, the usual case.”
“You got a regular vamp clientele.”
“Smal but regular,” I agreed, my mind on writing the check for the shipment. We had a few days to pay it, but Sam had always paid on delivery. I thought that was a good policy.
“They take three, four cases at Vic’s,” Duff said conversational y.
“Bigger bar.” I began writing the check.
“I guess vamps are everywhere now.”
“Um-hum,” I muttered, fil ing it out careful y. I was serious about my check-writing privileges. I signed with a flourish.
“Even that bar in Shreveport, that one that turned out to be for werewolves, they take some blood drinks now.”
“Hair of the Dog?” Hadn’t Mustapha mentioned a vamp who was hanging out at the Were bar?
“Yeah. I delivered there this morning.”
“Huh.” This news was unsettling, but husky Duff was a huge gossip, and I didn’t want him to know he’d shaken me. “Wel , everybody’s got to drink,” I said easily. “Here’s your check, Duff. How’s Dorothy?” Duff tucked the check into the zippered pouch he kept in a locked box in the passenger floorboard. “She’s good,” he said with a grin. “We’re having another young’un, she says.”
“Oh my gosh, how many does that make?”
“This’l be number three,” Duff said, shaking his head with a rueful grin. “They gonna have to take out some col ege loans, do it themselves.”
“It’l be fine,” I said, which meant almost nothing except that I felt goodwil toward the McClure family.
