Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [367]
I used a calling card to phone Bud Dearborn’s office, to hear there was no news about Jason.
Following Alcide’s directions very carefully, I arrived at Herveaux and Son in about twenty minutes. It was not too far off I-30, on the eastern edge of Shreveport, actually on my way back to Bon Temps.
The Herveauxes owned the building, and their surveying company was its sole occupant. I parked in front of the low brick building. At the rear, I spotted Alcide’s Dodge Ram pickup in the large parking lot for employees. The one in front, for visitors, was much smaller. It was clear to see that the Herveauxes mostly went to their clients, rather than the clients coming to them.
Feeling shy and more than a little nervous, I pushed open the front door and glanced around. There was a desk just inside the door, with a waiting area opposite. Beyond a half wall, I could see five or six workstations, three of them occupied. The woman behind the desk was in charge of routing phone calls, too. She had short dark brown hair that was carefully cut and styled, she was wearing a beautiful sweater, and she had wonderful makeup. She was probably in her forties, but it hadn’t lessened her impressiveness.
“I’m here to see Alcide,” I said, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious.
“Your name?” She was smiling at me, but she looked a little crisp around the edges, as if she didn’t quite approve of a young and obviously unfashionable woman showing up at Alcide’s workplace. I was wearing a bright blue-and-yellow knit top with long sleeves under my old thigh-length blue cloth coat, and aged blue jeans, and Reeboks. I’d been worried about finding my brother when I dressed, not about standing inspection by the Fashion Police.
“Stackhouse,” I said.
“Ms. Stackhouse here to see you,” Crispy said into an intercom.
“Oh, good!” Alcide sounded very happy, which was a relief.
Crispy was saying into the intercom, “Shall I send her back?” when Alcide burst through the door behind and to the left of her desk.
“Sookie!” he said, and he beamed at me. He stopped for a second, as if he couldn’t quite decide what he should do, and then he hugged me.
I felt like I was smiling all over. I hugged him back. I was so happy to see him! I thought he looked wonderful. Alcide is a tall man, with black hair that apparently can’t be tamed with a brush and comb, and he has a broad face and green eyes.
We’d dumped a body together, and that creates a bond.
He pulled gently on my braid. “Come on back,” he said in my ear, since Ms. Crispy was looking on with an indulgent smile. I was sure the indulgent part was for Alcide’s benefit. In fact, I knew it was, because she was thinking I didn’t look chic enough or polished enough to date a Herveaux, and she didn’t think Alcide’s dad (with whom she’d been sleeping for two years) would appreciate Alcide taking up with a no-account girl like me. Oops, one of those things I didn’t want to know. Obviously I wasn’t shielding myself hard enough. Bill had made me practice, and now that I didn’t see him anymore, I was getting sloppy. It wasn’t entirely my fault; Ms. Crispy was a clear broadcaster.
Alcide was not, since he’s a werewolf.
Alcide ushered me down a hall, which was nicely carpeted and hung with neutral pictures—insipid landscapes and garden scenes—which I figured some decorator (or maybe Ms. Crispy) had chosen. He showed me into his office, which had his name on the door. It was a big room, but not a grand or elegant one, because it was just chock-full of work stuff—plans and papers and hard hats and office equipment. Very utilitarian. A fax machine was humming, and set beside a stack of forms there was a calculator displaying figures.
“You’re busy. I shouldn’t have called,” I said, instantly cowed.
“Are you kidding? Your call is the best thing that’s happened to me all day!” He sounded so sincere that I had to smile again. “There’s something