A/N: Old Home Week is a town-wide homecoming celebration.

Chapter 12: Messages

Sam left early the next morning to get back to the diner for the breakfast crowd. He'd thrown a load of wet laundry into the dryer and started another load in the washer before he left. Not too much later, Amelia showed up in the kitchen to get her day started too. She'd taken the day off to get herself settled.

After stepping outside to grab the paper, Amelia returned to the kitchen, practically breathless. "What a morning! Have I told you lately how lucky I am to be living on the ocean?"

I enjoyed the way her enthusiasm glommed me, making me feel it too. I just couldn't work up the energy to say it so passionately. "It never grows old."

"Hearing those waves last night made me sleep like a baby."

I would never think of that expression the same way again, but who was I to burst her bubble?

Amelia, still looking invigorated, had started rummaging through the cupboard I had cleared for her and pulled out a new package of coffee. "Want some?"

Coffee. I wanted nothing more than to harness the warm liquid energy in my hands. I would suck it down and lick every last drop out of the bottom of the mug. Could I nurse and have caffeine? The thought was squashed without a second thought.

"I would pay you a month's rent to make me a cup of coffee, Amelia." Just the anticipation put a new spring in my step. Simply the hissing sound of the vacuum pack releasing gave me another jolt. I watched her scoop big heaping spoonfuls of the stuff into the coffee maker. My nose twitched.

"Don't worry. I'm not holding back," she laughed.

Energized, I started poking around in my pantry, looking for something to fix that would be quick and wouldn't entail much clean up. I had managed to put E.J. down in his bouncy seat, but there was no telling when he'd wake up. Most likely, it would be as soon as I had that steaming mug of goodness in my hands. I settled on toast and jam and then sat at the table with Amelia to glance through the Globe while we waited for the pot to brew.

"Hey, look at this!" Amelia was holding up the People and Places section of the paper.

"Pamela Ravenscroft! My dad mentioned that he left a message for you about her. Did you get it?"

I nodded, chewing.

"Look, here's her picture." She folded the paper back and pushed it over to me.

"Pamela Ravenscroft," I read. "Chief Building Commissioner of the Cape Cod Historic Preservation Society, standing next to George Cabot, District 10 State Representative at the Cape Wind Energy silent auction. Now that's a mouthful."

Inwardly, I scoffed. The photos at these events were always the same—a semi-circle of dressed-up people mugging for the camera, wine glasses in hand. They'd gamely posed, jockeying for a position with someone important (and not controversial) and hoping their photo would be selected for publication. It was all about advancing their own organizations or whatever cause was on their list.

So there was Pamela, posing with a state rep. I looked again. Her hair was pulled back softly off her face, looking styled, but not overdone. She was elegantly dressed in a strapless, sparkly gown with a shawl draped across her shoulders. She was quite beautiful in a girlish kind of way, with smooth, rounded cheeks.

And she looked familiar.

"Amelia," I mused out loud. "I know I've seen this woman before."

"I wouldn't be surprised. She's fairly well-known and connected around here. Not always liked. She can ruffle peoples' feathers. You definitely don't want to get on her bad side."

I looked again. "Oh, this is going to drive me nuts. Where have I seen her?"

"That's the problem with working at the diner. Nearly everyone looks like someone we've seen before, probably because at one time or another, we have seen them."

I pictured myself in Merlotte's which seemed like ages ago, scanning the tables for customers, trying to remember anything unusual or someone who might have stood out from the regular crowd. I was drawing a big blank.

"No, I don't think it's the diner."

"Someone from school?"

I paused, considering teachers, other students, librarians… "No…"

"One of the social service agencies in the area?"

Elder Services? Department of Children and Family? Department of Mental Health?

"No…" I hesitated.

"DAR?"

I was vaguely familiar with the women of the Daughters of the American Revolution. There were Maxine and Jane, of course. They'd been kind of snippy with Gran because sometimes her independent contributions to the community outshone their own. Gran hadn't acted competitively, but they had reacted that way.

"No, she's not a member of DAR, at least not that I know of. Last time I went to anything DAR-related was last summer when they were one of the sponsors of the town's Old Home Week celebration, when..."

The sound of the dryer buzzer going off startled me and jogged my memory at the same time.

"Wait a minute!"

We were waiting for Maxine to start the ceremony. Sitting there on stage, next to Councillor Davis, on that rainy, muggy day in July, I felt the crowd start to stir, impatient. I squirmed too, unusually bothered by the heat. I knew the little bit of makeup I had patted on my face had probably smeared under the buzzing, scrutinizing, shine of the spotlights.

I didn't want to be there. I hated any of these kinds of public appearances. Gran had handled them with aplomb in her own sweet, friendly, well-mannered, but down-to-earth way. She was the kind of person who could come off as unpolished, but charming all at once. I wasn't Gran. I just wanted to go about doing my work on the sidelines, but as Gran had pointed out, sometimes you have to put yourself out there to do the work you really want to do. "Sometimes you have to play the game," she'd coached me. "You don't have to like the rules to follow them."

I was in high demand soon after Gran had died. The library, the school, the police and fire departments, the YMCA, every blessed civic group—the Elks, the Moose, the Sons of Italy, the Viking Club (I'm not making that one up)—all of them wanted me to come to their events so they could recognize her contributions to their organizations. Gran hadn't discriminated, cheerfully sharing the money she had acquired upon the death of her friend. More than that, she'd rolled up her sleeves and pitched in to help whenever she could. She wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty.

"I scrimped and saved all of my life, Sookie," she'd told me. "I've learned to make do and I don't need fancy. I have everything I could possibly need. And now that I'm sure you and Jason will be taken care of, I'm going to enjoy paying it forward."

Anyway, even after her death, it had been popular to be associated with her. Maybe they were hoping for more money, but once it was gone, it was gone. The Stackhouse family was no endless coffer of wealth. No Boston Brahmin.

"What's Maxine up to now?" Councillor Davis complained, ending a cell phone call. "The world does not revolve around that woman." He tucked the phone into its holder, clipped to his belt, and then from his breast pocket pulled out a bundle of used empty envelopes, all of which had been neatly opened with a letter opener and then bound together with a rubber band. On the backs of one of those envelopes, he jotted a note before stuffing the whole wad back into his pocket. I watched this entire operation with great interest, thinking about all of the energy that had gone into taking that single note. "Let's get this show on the road."

We couldn't start the ceremony until Maxine, representing DAR as a gold sponsor, was on stage. Feeling a little woozy under the hot lights, I offered to go look for her. Backstage, I ran into Sam, who was bringing in some food for the event.

"Hey, Sookie. Aren't you supposed to be in the ceremony?" He turned back to kick the wooden wedge that was propping the door open.

Hearing a faint buzzing noise, I rubbed my head. "Yeah, but we're waiting for Maxine. Have you seen her?"

"Nope. Sorry. Just got here. I'll let her know if I see her. Do you know where I should set up this food?"

"Check out in the lobby at the sign-in table. They should be able to help you."

With no clue where I was going, I started ducking around corners and curtains and doors until I felt fairly lost. These old buildings were always strange. Originally divided into small rooms, they were often opened up into larger rooms, only to be partitioned again into small rooms. The result was often a crazy, mishmash of hallways and rooms. "Remuddling," Eric would have called it.

How hard could this be? Annoyed that something seemingly so simple had become so complicated, I started following an odd buzzing noise. Or was that noise just in my head? I rubbed my forehead again, feeling like I had entered some kind of surreal other world. I half expected to bump right into the ghost of Gran.

I called out, "Maxine? Maxine, where are you?" The sound of my own voice kept me grounded.

"Is that you, Sookie?"

I turned to see Patty O'Riordan, from the Delanna Center for Families.

"How long has it been? Ten years?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "I saw your name in the program book and immediately thought of our first concert fundraiser, the one your Gran helped organize."

Time to patch it together. I smiled brightly. "That was a winner, wasn't it?"

"You have no idea. Adele led us in all kinds of new fundraising directions, and we're still growing. Did you hear we've been able to hire that full-time child abuse specialist?"

"That's wonderful news. Gran would have been happy too."

"She's still with us, dear."

"She sure is. Listen, Patty, I'm sorry I can't chat. I need to find Maxine Fortenberry yesterday. Have you seen her?"

"I saw her with Jane Bodehouse not too long ago. They were heading that way." She pointed down the hall.

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you at the reception later?"

"Yes, good! I look forward to catching up with you." She patted my shoulder as she headed off in the opposite direction.

I walked down the hallway, hearing that damn buzzing noise again. The hallway opened into a storage room of sorts, full of boxes and crates and cabinets. I started to turn back and wouldn't have even stepped foot in there had I not heard the moan. That's when I noticed the feet sticking out from behind the boxes. Gasping, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled around the corner to see if I could help.

A quick glance told me my assistance was not needed.

I ducked back, unnoticed. Strangely enough, the first thought that popped into my head was, "Really? Pantyhose?" I didn't think anyone wore them anymore. Even Gran had chucked them. I crept away.

But enough with that. Maybe you can guess what I saw behind those crates. Maybe you would think it was an interesting piece of gossip that you would share with your friends. Maybe you would laugh about it. Or maybe it would titillate you. Or maybe you would stuff your hands over your ears and screw your eyes closed. Whatever the case, I don't tell secrets. So that's all I'm saying.

I walked back down the hallway a ways before calling out again loudly, "Maxine! Councillor Davis is threatening to start without you. Come quick!"

I wound my way back out onto the stage, somehow, and wiped clammy sweat from my forehead, still wondering why the summer heat I normally enjoyed was bothering me like this. I bumped right into Sam.

"Did you find her?"

"I think she's coming."

"Hey, are you all right? You look a little pale." His hand lightly grazed the bottom of my chin.

"Yeah, yeah." Annoyed, I brushed him away, attempting to head out toward the stage area to give word that Maxine was on her way. Somehow I ended up exiting into the side of the main lobby area.

I would have blundered straight through the crowd if I hadn't noticed a tall figure hovering over the rest of them. I'd spot him anywhere.

Eric.

I hadn't told Eric I'd be here today, knowing that he had his own business to attend to. What was he doing here? Was this his business?

He was talking to a pretty woman. She was dressed from head to toe in clothes that looked like they came from Talbot's. Once Gran had tried to treat me to a special outfit from there, but it just hadn't been my style. This woman looked classic. Her straight, blond glossy hair was pulled back in a headband. She wore a string of pearls and a sleeveless linen dress that actually looked pressed.

Eric had greeted her with a peck on each cheek, the kind of kiss you might give to a dear friend, but then their conversation seemed to quickly turn more businesslike. Eric's face showed little expression—no surprise there—so I looked to the woman for a clue. She shook her head a few times and shrugged her shoulders. The conversation seemed to be going in fits and stops, with long pauses. Several times, Eric looked off to the side, right in my direction, straight through me. After a few minutes, they parted with a hug. He left out the front door, while she entered into the auditorium.

I found my way backstage to check on Maxine when I nearly ran smack into her hulking body. That helmet hair of hers had barely dented.

"Oh! Maxine! Better hurry!"

"What's all the fuss about?" she snapped. "Councillor Davis can just cool his heels."

I bit my tongue. Hard.

I peeked around the curtains out into the crowd. There she was—whoever she was—sitting about halfway back, presumably alone. Who was she?

Turning, I had the urge to swat at the persistent noise still buzzing my head. It had gotten louder. I started to stumble, just as firm hands gripped my shoulders.

"Sookie, sit down," Sam was instructing me, guiding me into a chair and pushing my head between my knees. I felt the brush of a bar towel fanning my face.

...And then I was in the side yard, where Gran's clothesline swagged between two trees, helping her fold white sheets, glaring with life in the sun. A sudden whipping breeze off the ocean snapped one of them right out of my hands. It billowed and flapped and twisted across the yard before finally landing right in Gran's garden. Startled and uncertain how to react, I looked to her, but before I could find her face, her laughter clued me. She grabbed a sheet, waited for a stiff wind, and did the same thing. "Let go!" By the time we were finished, the whole lawn was strewn with linens. And then we simply piled them up and took them inside in big shapeless bales. Jumbled heaps of sheets. I helped her put them straight back on the beds. I might have slept in grass that night...

"Sookie, what's the matter?"

"Sookie! Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"A ghost? No."

She looked at me quizzically. "Did you figure it out? Where you've seen her?"

"At the Old Home Week last summer." I paused, wrapping my hands around my warm coffee mug for comfort, the implications of this new knowledge settling in. I'd identified someone in Eric's life who seemed to know him well and who could very well know his whereabouts right now. And I had her contact information.

"She knows my fr...architect." I rolled my eyes at myself. The weight of this charade was taking up too much of my energy. "She knows my friend."

Amelia was silent for a moment.

"So what are you going to do?"

For all of the reasons that I might consider calling or not calling, only one popped into my mind. And there it wedged itself.

I wanted to know the connection between Eric and Pam. Curiosity had gotten the best of me.

And that's when I knew what I would do.

"I'm going to call her right now." There was no sense in mulling over my decision and wasting any more of my energy. It was time to give myself a little snap-out-of-it therapy. The coffee hadn't hurt, either. Ditto Amelia.

I shuffled through some scraps of paper on the counter, quickly finding the pad on which I had written Pam's number. And then before I started doubting myself, I dialed.

A woman's voice answered on the first ring. "Cape Cod Historic Preservation Society, Ginger speaking."

"Hello, may I speak to Pamela Ravenscroft?"

"One moment please."

"Pam speaking."

Ah-oh. I hadn't actually planned on what I was going to say.

"Uh…hello…I'm calling for some information about an architect I believe you might know. I'm trying to get in touch with him.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Sookie Stackhouse."

"Sookie…" she paused for the briefest of moments. "You're Eric's little friend, aren't you?" Yep. Amelia had gotten her right.

I swallowed hard. E.J. took that unfortunate moment to let out a wail. Cringing, I reached out a foot to rock his bouncy seat, which calmed him for the moment.

"Is that a baby?"

"Oh, it's just the TV." I knew he'd be crying to be fed again soon and wondered whether I'd be able to manage the phone and my nursing bra and a baby at the same time.

"So, you're looking for Eric?"

"Yes. Eric Northman."

"And you don't have his number?"

"No. Well, yes…I mean, I did have his number, but it's changed."

"Yes it has. He didn't give you his new contact information?"

"No. We've been out of touch for...a few months."

"You work at Merlotte's Diner in North Dormer, right?"

"Right." I doubt I was able to keep the surprise out of my voice. She wasn't pretending she didn't know about me.

"I'm heading that way this afternoon. I can stop by around 2."

"Today? At 2?" I was working double time now to keep my voice steady. There was no way I was meeting her at Merlotte's. Amelia, meanwhile, was nodding her head vigorously while pantomiming driving.

I took a deep breath and pushed back. "I'm not working there today. Could you give me his number over the phone?"

"No. We have more to discuss."

More? If I could have reached through the phone lines to smack her across the face, I just might have done it at that moment. Nobody tells me what I'm talking about. I forced a smile into my voice, hoping it would cancel out the vitriol. "Is there somewhere else we could meet? I could stop by your office." I hated the idea of going to her, but I had no other option.

I heard her clicking on her keyboard.

"Okay. Come by at noon."

"Noon?" Even earlier? Amelia was still nodding her head vigorously.

"I don't have any other time today and I'm heading out of town tomorrow for a week-long convention. Do you want to meet or not?"

"Okay. Noon. Where exactly are you?"

"Main St. in Clareham, right across from the Dunkin' Donuts." Inwardly, I snickered. It was a long-standing joke between Tara and me that nearly any business could be described in relation to a Dunkin' Donuts, so numerous were their locations. She sounded like a Starbuck's kind of gal, and I wondered what her reaction would be if I showed up with an iced caramel swirl latte and a chocolate frosted. "We share an office space with Clareham Community Action Programs."

"Oh, I know where the C-CAP building is," I blurted out. "Thank you."

I started to say, "I'll see you at noon," but she had already hung up.

"Cripes, Amelia. How am I going to get ready to go there? I'm not exactly in the best of conditions."

She hesitated. "You do want to do this, right? I mean, are you well enough to go?"

I nodded. Hell yes. The caffeine was cruising through my veins.

"How about a shower? And I'll help you pick out some clothes."

I started to waver, realizing the full scope of my problem now. Nearly six days after giving birth, I still looked pregnant, only doughy now too. And I was pale, with darkness circling my eyes like I had just been dealt a double whammy. And I still waddled in pain. Oh, and did I mention that my girls had acquired their own zip codes? And they leaked anytime I even thought about E.J.. Hoo boy.

Amelia must have seen the inner workings of my mind. "Come on." She helped pull me off the kitchen chair. "I'll watch E.J. while you take a shower and see what I can find for you to wear. Between the two of us, there must be something."

"Let me feed him first."

"No. You go ahead and take your shower. I'll keep him calm if he wakes up. That way you can tank him up right before we leave."

I took a quick shower and met Amelia in my bedroom. She had managed to find a stretchy pair of black yoga pants whose elastic wasn't shot to hell. I could make them work if I pushed them under my pooch and covered all of the extra offending flesh with a maternity top. Then we covered up everything with a nice sweater coat from Amelia's collection and added a scarf with a red print.

"There!" she said, pulling me over to the mirror.

I took one look and scrambled to prop myself up inside.

She leaned over to give me a hug. "Whatever you want to do, I'll help you however I can."

I felt really lucky to have her there at that moment. "I need to go through with this today. She's going out of town for a week, and I can't stand the idea of sitting around and waiting."

"All right then. Let me know when you and E.J. are ready. I'll get a diaper bag packed."

"Oh, right." Flustered, I had forgotten.

"Let's throw your stroller in the trunk too, and I'll take him for a walk while you're having your meeting."

I appreciated Amelia's being on the ball, but I was starting to feel inept. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

With all of the diaper and clothing changes, packing of gear and supplies, and feeding requirements, it was amazing we got out the door in time to get to Clareham by noon. Then we hit another snafu trying to get the damn stroller collapsed.

Finally easing myself into the car, I felt like I needed to give Amelia a victory high five. She must have felt the same way, because after getting herself buckled in, she paused for a moment and looked over at me, laughing and letting out a "Whew!" before heading out my driveway.

The Cape Code Historic Preservation Society was located in a drab brown government-y kind of building, easily missed as it was pressed right between two other equally drab brown buildings. Main St. of Clareham clearly didn't have the same vibrancy as North Dormer. Amelia and E.J. headed down the sidewalk while I stepped into the small mint green lobby and read the kiosk. Pamela was on the second floor.

I opted for the elevator.

Stepping inside the office, I was greeted by more mint green walls, a color I'd seen so many times in these kinds of settings that it could probably be described as non-profit green. Heh. This place had recently been spruced up a bit, or so I gathered by the smell of new industrial-grade carpet, which had probably taken a big chunk out of their budget for the year. There were the standard fake silk plants scattered about the reception area, along with a few photographs, presumably of some of their past events. Two vinyl-covered chairs along with a table with magazines lined the wall adjacent the entryway.

All-in-all, the only remarkable thing about this place was how unremarkable it was. I'd been in places like this countless times.

The heavily-accented voice of Ginger, the same woman who had answered the phone earlier in the day, greeted me. Ginger's long, strawberry-blond hair had been hairsprayed so much it fell in rope-like chunks down her back. She was standing in front of a whole wall of divided slots, each one presumably holding its own special form. Yep. Typical government agency. From a big stack of forms in front of her, she was stuffing them into the slots, filling in the holes. She had a ways to go.

"Good moahning!" Then glancing at the clock, she added, "Well, I guess it isn't moahning anymoah is it?"

I forced a smile back. "I'm Sookie Stackhouse. I have…"

"I am Pam Ravenscroft," Pam interrupted, appearing suddenly out of a nearby doorway. There was no doubt who she was. This was the same woman I'd seen at Old Home Week and in the Globe, now within striking distance of me, in the flesh.

She didn't extend her hand and gave me a once over with her eyes. "Come back this way, please."

I followed her, feeling dowdy in my sweater coat. She, of course, looked impeccable in her silk sweater set and tailored pants. Forcing myself to walk with a normal gait, I felt the sweat starting to bead on my forehead. She led me down a hallway to her office, which overlooked the main street. Briefly, I noticed Amelia pushing E.J. on the opposite side of the street.

She gestured toward a seat. I took a gulp, steeling myself to take the pain as I forced myself to sit as quickly as a normal person would, one who wasn't still sporting stitches.

She was watching me, I knew, appraising me. "So, you're looking for Eric."

"Yes."

"Why."

"I need to find him for some home renovations."

"Home renovations?" Incredulity oozed out of her voice.

"Yes." I could feel my jaw tensing in place.

"Let's just cut the bullshit," she snapped at me.

"Stay away from that woman," L.L.'s voice echoed in my head.

I felt something inside of me snap too. "Fine with me. I'm looking for Eric, and it's none of your damn business why. I just am. Either you have his number or you don't. So let's not waste any more time with each other."

The expression on her face barely changed. Outside, I heard E.J. start to scream. Sweet Jesus, how had I picked up such super strong hearing? Immediately, I felt a warm tingly rush as my milk let down. Hello? Message to boobs: Trying to have an adult conversation here.

"I'll let Eric know you are looking for him."

"What are you, his personal assistant?"

She ignored my question. "I'm going to give you a big piece of advice that you would do well following."

She paused, adding emphasis as she scrutinized me again. And in that moment, it was as if she was really seeing me for the first time. Really seeing the dark, tired look on my face, my baggy, shapeless clothes, and my now crooked posture, leaning as I was toward one hip.

Her tone softened the slightest bit. "Know your neighbors, Sookie."

She stood up, which was the first indication that the meeting was now over. Grasping at her desk, I pushed up. She was still watching me.

"What?"

"I'll let Eric know," she repeated.

It was clear, then, that I was supposed to let myself out. Know your neighbors? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Why the hell had I driven all the way to Clareham? She'd wanted to see me in person, to get a good look at me. To find out more about who I was. Nosey little bitch. Unless Eric contacted me, I'd have no way of knowing whether she'd given my contact information to him. And I knew she was going out of town, so who knew when she'd follow up with him, if ever. I was essentially back to square one. L.L. had been right. I should have stayed far away from her.

Know your neighbors?

Groan.

A/N: Ooh...we're getting really close to fitting together some of these puzzle pieces. If I can post the next chapter by Monday, I will, but otherwise, I'll be taking some extra time to enjoy Dead Reckoning. (I can't wait!) ;)

~Thanks for reading!~

Thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!

Disclaimer: All SVM characters belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just taking them on a tour of New England.