Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [510]
I nodded. I’d at least seen her and talked to her when I’d dropped by Alcide’s office in Shreveport.
“She got arrested this morning for stealing from Herveaux and Son.”
“What did she take?” I was all ears.
“This is what I don’t understand. She was caught sneaking some papers out of Jackson Herveaux’s office. Not business papers, but personal, the way I heard it. She said she’d been paid to do it.”
“By?”
“Some guy who owns a motorcycle dealership. Now, does that make sense?”
It did if you knew that Connie Babcock had been sleeping with Jackson Herveaux, as well as working in his office. It did if you suddenly realized that Jackson had taken Christine Larrabee, a pure Were and influential, to the funeral of Colonel Flood, instead of taking the powerless human Connie Babcock.
While Delia elaborated on the story, I stood, lost in thought. Jackson Herveaux was without a doubt a clever businessman, but he was proving to be a stupid politician. Having Connie arrested was dumb. It drew attention to the Weres, had the potential to expose them. A people so secretive would not appreciate a leader who couldn’t manage a problem with more finesse than that.
As a matter of fact, since Alcide and Randall were still discussing the rebuilding of my house with each other instead of with me, a lack of finesse appeared to run in the Herveaux family.
Then I frowned. It occurred to me that Patrick Furnan might be devious and clever enough to have engineered the whole thing—bribing the spurned Connie to steal Jackson’s private papers, then ensuring she was caught—knowing that Jackson would react with a hot head. Patrick Furnan might be much smarter than he looked, and Jackson Herveaux much stupider, at least in the way that mattered if you wanted to be packmaster. I tried to shake off these disturbing speculations. Alcide hadn’t said a word about Connie’s arrest, so I had to conclude that he considered it none of my business. Okay, maybe he thought I had enough to worry about, and he was right. I turned my mind back to the moment.
“You think they’d notice if we left?” I asked Delia.
“Oh, yeah,” Delia said confidently. “It might take Randall a minute, but he’d look around for me. He’d get lost if he couldn’t find me.”
Here was a woman who knew her own worth. I sighed and thought about getting in my borrowed car and driving away. Alcide, catching sight of my face, broke off his discussion with my contractor and looked guilty. “Sorry,” he called. “Habit.”
Randall came back to where I was standing quite a bit faster than he’d wandered away. “Sorry,” he apologized. “We were talking shop. What did you have in mind, Sookie?”
“I want the same dimensions for the kitchen as before,” I said, having dropped visions of a larger room after seeing the estimate. “But I want the new back porch to be just as wide as the kitchen, and I want to enclose it.”
Randall produced a tablet, and I sketched what I wanted.
“You want the sinks where they were? You want all the appliances where they were?”
After some discussion, I drew everything I wanted, and Randall said he’d call me when it was time to pick out the cabinets and the sinks and all the other incidentals.
“One thing I wish you’d do for me today or tomorrow is fix the door from the hall into the kitchen,” I said. “I want to be able to lock the house.”
Randall rummaged around in the back of his pickup for a minute or two and came up with a brand-new doorknob with a lock, still in its package. “This won’t keep out anyone really determined,” he said, still in the apologetic vein, “but it’s better’n nothing.” He had it installed within fifteen minutes, and I was able to lock the sound part of the house away from the burned part. I felt much better, though I knew this lock wasn’t worth much. I needed to put a dead bolt on the inside of the door; that would be even better. I wondered if I could do it myself, but I recalled that would entail cutting away some of