Down by the Bayou
Chapter 2
"Are you almost ready?" Eric called through the bathroom door. I was washing the last remnants of conditioner out of my hair. The dye had washed out so fast that I'd had to color it anew. The whole bathroom smelled like ammonia and flowery fragrance. It was rank. I opened the little window over the shower to air things out.
"I'm still washing my hair!" I yelled over the sound of rushing water. He probably would have heard me if I'd whispered.
"It's almost eight," Eric reminded me. I sighed and yanked my butt out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around my body, tucked the corner between my breasts, and wrung out my hair over the sink. I pulled open the bathroom door to find my lover standing in the bedroom. He was holding out my uniform, a small black mini-skirt and a red cap-sleeved tee shirt with Caterwaul Bar and Grill printed on the breast. I took the shirt from him and grabbed a bra out of the dresser drawer.
"It looks good, almost natural," Eric complimented me. He kissed my neck gently.
"The girls are going to know I'm dyeing it." I sighed. I put on a pair of black boy short panties, and then pulled my skirt up around my hips.
"So? Most women dye their hair, Sookie," Eric shrugged. He placed a gold chain around my neck, my wedding band hanging from the end of it. I looked down at the band, fingered it, and then tucked it inside my shirt.
"I don't know why we bother with it. They're not even supposed to see it." I shrugged.
"It's part of the character, lover." He kissed my throat again, ran his fingers through my medium brown hair, brushed his hips against my backside.
"Oh stop, would you? Weren't you just complaining about how I was late for work?" But I didn't want him to stop, not really. I leaned back into his chest, and I wiggled my ass against his groin. We'd been working non-stop on the stupid case, and even though I was worried about Jenna, I was more worried about where my next orgasm was coming from.
"You are going to be late for work," he growled near my ear. His hand slipped up under my skirt, rolled around my front, and touched the triangle of flesh that met the tips of my thighs. I shivered with pleasure. "I'll make sure of it."
It turned out that I was only about five minutes late, and when I hopped behind the bar with flushed cheeks and blood-red lips, Brewer just winked at me and offered me a glass of ice water. I pressed a few cubes against my neck, which was practically burning. It was hot out on the banks of the Buffalo Bayou, all lined with cypress trees and oleander bushes. I could have contributed my blushing cheeks to the weather, but I wouldn't have gotten past Brewer. He was a Cajun, a werewolf, and a lover of women. Brewer liked to call the girls 'chere' and he could get away with it too. He was one adorable, well-built down-home boy.
"Evenin' Abby," he grinned at me, dropping a kiss on my cheek.
"Hiya Brewer, sorry I'm late!" I grinned at him. I'd tied my hair back into a ponytail, hoping that the move, plus the darkness of the bar, would hide the fact that I'd just colored it again. I should have known better. Supes have a pretty keen sense of smell.
"You dyed your hair, chere. Someday you'll have to tell me what color you really are." He waggled his brows at me, and even though it was hard to read Were minds, I knew Brewer was wondering if the carpet matched the drapes. I forgave his curiosity though. Brewer wasn't the type of guy to actually check on that sort of thing. Besides, he knew that Abby's husband, James, was a vampire.
"Heya Abby!" Angela Lange called to me as she carried a tray of beers to a table in the back of the bar. I waved to her, and took that as my cue to get around to my own tables. I had the front of the bar tonight, about four tables and three booths. I stopped over as one high table was filling up with two Weres I'd seen before. These guys, Jared and Casper, were some of my regulars. I cocked my head to one side, smiled that plaster-cast smile, and flipped open my little order pad.
"Heya boys, what can I get you tonight?"
"Just a couple of brewskies," Casper smiled. He held out his hand and I put mine into it. He kissed my knuckles. Casper and Jared were Southern Texans, and they're been brought up with Southern manners. Casper was a Were-dog, a German Shepard. Jared was a Were-coyote. They were pretty good friends, and I rarely saw them apart.
"How's James doin'?" Jared asked. The boys knew I was married. They'd both asked about the wedding ring I wore around my neck.
"He's good. Working tonight, of course."
"Of course," Jared nodded. "Man's gotta do what he gotta do to provide for his woman."
"Luckily I'm pretty good at providing for myself, honey," I reminded him gently. After all, I may be under an alias but I'm still an independent sort of girl.
"Right you are, Abby!" Casper laughed. I went to put their orders in, delivered them, and drifted off to the next table.
At a wide booth beside the front door, I found a family of werewolves, all friends with Brewer. Close friends, I figured, based on the way they looked over my shoulder at the owner, and the way Brewer smiled beatifically to show them I was a great waitress and an all around good person too. The family included an older man with graying hair, his wife, a small woman with auburn hair and bright green eyes, and their three children. The oldest of those children looked like his mother. He'd have the only werewolf capabilities in the family, assuming both parents were pure-blooded werewolves. The other two children, twin girls, would only have some traits, sort of like a recessive gene.
"Howdy y'all," I smiled. "I'm Abby Pearson, and I'll be your server tonight. What can I start y'all off with?"
"Can I have lemonade?" The oldest child asked. He was missing his two front teeth, so his high voice lisped a little. I grinned at him.
"You surely can. What about you girls?"
"Milk, please!" They said in perfect sync. I wondered if I could rustle up some milk. We had skim milk for White Russians. Hopefully that would be okay.
"I'll have an iced tea," their mother nodded, looking at the menu. Caterwaul's grill menu was significantly longer than the menu at Merlotte's, so it required a bit more time to make a good decision. Brewer even had specials on weekend nights.
"I'll take a Budweiser," the husband finished.
"I'll get those right to you. Let me just take a minute to tell you our specials. Tonight, we're serving fried catfish with French fries and coleslaw, and we also have fresh local crawdads, either fried or grilled with garlic, also with French fries and coleslaw. Now, y'all take your time lookin' at the menu, and I'll be right back with your drinks."
I walked back to the bar to put in drink orders, and Brewer leaned over to chat while he worked. His hazel eyes shone brightly in the low-lit restaurant, and his teeth were bright white and sharper than a human's. Still, he was such a sweetheart; I couldn't imagine him being anything more than a puppy, even under the full moon.
"That there's Arles Johnston, and his wife Becky. The son is Geoffrey, and he'll grow up to be a full wolf. The girls, Tessa and Tara, are twins. They were both born with tails, which was a bit unusual. Had them surgically altered when they were infants. They're a great family. The twins were an accident. Most Were families don't have more than the one child."
"They seem nervous," I frowned. I was lining up the drinks on a tray.
"They don't get around humans much. Geoffrey is getting to that stage where he changes randomly, a paw here or a tail there, or whiskers. They worry about getting judged. This is a pretty small area. I mean, Houston's big, but people talk."
"Yeah. I know how that is." I sighed and carried the drinks back. I took orders: catfish for Geoffrey, crawdads in garlic for Becky, steak for Arles, and grilled cheese for the twins.
I went around to more tables, topping off beers, taking orders, and keeping my thoughts fresh for any incoming sound bytes. That was the purpose of working at Caterwaul's. I wasn't here to make friends with the customers, or even to flirt with my boss. I was here to listen, intently, for anything that could lead us to Jenna. Maybe I'd get lucky. Maybe tonight would be the night. I'd been working at the bar for three weeks, and I missed Merlotte's something awful. I missed Amelia and George, our six month old tabby kitten. I missed visiting Gran's grave on weekends to have our little talks, mostly about my love life, and I even missed Bill Compton standing out in the graveyard, watching the house, as if he didn't think I knew he was there. You know that when you're missing your slightly creepy ex-boyfriend's stalkerish activities that it's time to go home.
I hovered in the midst of my section. Jamie Lynn walked by me and gave me a sour look. One of her eyes had dark purple circles around it, and it looked like she'd been punched. I frowned. Poor girl. She was a bayou girl, a swamp rat some folks called them. She'd grown up in the seedier parts of Houston, right along the water's edge, in the swamp that got really flooded during the rainy season. Still, she was a fairly nice girl. Her thoughts almost always drifted toward her boyfriend, a white trash boy named Ted. Ted came into the bar sometimes, at least so I heard. He didn't like vampires, so I assumed he wouldn't like Weres if he knew they existed. He didn't though. He was clueless. He figured Brewer was just a regular guy, and he liked him just fine. Ted did like to beat on his girlfriend though. That meant he was a sick son of a bitch in my book.
I turned back to the bar to get a drink of water when I heard it. Were thoughts are pretty difficult to read, but when you've spent three weeks in a Were bar trying to hear them, the thoughts become clearer. Sometimes they're just pictures, or feelings, or just random words that don't make much sense without context. If the mind is sharp, like a Werewolf mind, then the thoughts are never strung together in any rational way. If the mind isn't so sharp or well-protected, I could get whole sentences if I concentrated really hard. I took the glass of water from Brewer and shut my eyes. I sipped the drink slowly, the ice cubes rubbing up against my lip.
She's almost dry. We need to get rid of the body. I stopped drinking and put the glass down. I began to see pictures. Jenna was a pretty girl with dark brown hair and brown eyes with yellow flecks. Her skin was tan, her lips a rosy pink. She was thin but buxom. I saw her in the mind's eye of a patron in a booth in my section, dipped into the corner. Then I saw a residence. It was a little house beside a gigantic apartment building. There were two cars parked in the driveway, a big white Astro van without windows in the back, and a sport utility vehicle with Louisiana plates. I strained to see the numbers on the house. I listened for the voice again. I shut my eyes. I waited.
17 Winona Place. It was as clear as day in my brain. I looked at Brewer across the bar. I patted my side. I nodded to my tables. He shooed me toward the back. Essentially, I'd told him I had a call from my husband, James. He would watch my tables for me while I went outside to call James back. I skirted around the tables, tipping my head to Angela, Janine, and Jamie Lynn. I pushed on the employee door and broke out into the sweltering heat of Southeast Texas.
My heels wobbled uneasily as I skipped across the parking lot to stand behind the bright beams of two street lights.