Recap of Previous Chapter: Sookie recalls where she's seen Pam Ravenscroft, at last summer's Old Home Week Celebration with Eric. Having made the connection between Eric & Pam, she decides to call her, and ends up meeting with her. Pam tells Sookie she will pass along her message to Eric and gives her this cryptic message: "Know your neighbors."

A/N: All righty, then...

Chapter 13: When the ** Hits the Fan

Stepping out of the C-CAP office building onto Main St. in Clareham, the first thing that hit me was the sound of E.J.'s angry wailing echoing off the concrete surfaces, making it sound like he was crying at me from all directions. It felt good, actually. I had to admire the little guy for his ability to cut loose and let everyone know just how he felt, in no uncertain terms. Hearing him made me want to stand there in the middle of everything and publicly declare just how I felt at that moment, how freaking pissed off I was about all of the opaque messaging and puzzle talking. Why couldn't I? Really, what was there to stop me? Why couldn't I let out a primal scream? Maybe beat my chest, whip my hair around a bit, stomp my feet, launch myself at someone. Pam. I really wanted to haul my ass up on her desk—I could still do that, you know—grind my feet around her pristine work surface, and just fling my body at her. Heh. Flying through the air could be fun.

Or I could throw something. At home, I might throw a hairbrush, but why should I limit myself? There was so much more to be had in the world, so many bigger hairbrushes to throw. A trash barrel! That would be good. I could easily take down one of these trash barrels here on Main Street. They weren't bolted down or anything, just bungee'd to trees, which was pretty pathetic if you ask me. If I really rocked them around, they'd make a nice bang, like a crazed, out-of-tune steel drum. The trash would spew all over the place—the stinkier, the better—and I'd just fucking leave it there as evidence of my pure and utter fury. Other people would have to walk around it. Hell, some would even step right in it. They could share in my anger, walk around with it a bit and see how it felt. Maybe they would even track it home and grind it into their carpets. All the better. Let them deal with it.

Looking up and down Main Street, a whole line of trashcans was ripe for the picking.

So many trashcans.

So many screaming infants to feed. I'd have to throw something later.

"There you are!" Amelia laughed nervously. "So, I found out he doesn't take to pacifiers. He liked that little rumble-y strip of sidewalk over there for a while, but then he decided he was done with that."

"It's okay. He knows what he wants, and nothing gets in his way. It's a good thing too, isn't it?"

Amelia was looking at me strangely, probably wondering what was up. Her car chirped as she unlocked the doors. "I'll hand him to you."

Speaking of hauling asses, that's what I did as I climbed up into Amelia's gas-guzzling vehicle. Must be nice to not give a fuck about the planet.

I shushed into E.J.'s ear as I reached up my shirt to do the one-handed miracle maneuver of unhooking my nursing bra. Amelia started to hand me a blanket, then apparently thought better of it, setting it down between us. The screaming devil cherub in my arms took a few hits off my exposed nipple, wailed again, panted, and then latched on for good, grunting before letting out a big fart. Or more. Yeah. That was probably a diaper blow-out.

I started to laugh my crazy laugh, but E.J.'s strong tugs pulled me in another direction. Tears. Cripes.

Amelia had had the courtesy to look away, but I didn't know how long she'd be able to keep her mouth shut. A blur of motion on the sidewalk drew both of our attentions to a man riding by on a bicycle contraption, outfitted with a frame on which he'd hung voluminous trashbags crammed with returnable cans. He stopped at the trashcan just in front of our car to dig through it.

"What a shame...the extremes people need to go to to save a buck or two. What are those worth? Five cents a pop?" Amelia continued to natter on about how people needed to develop skills to become more employable and improve their lot in life. If I had to guess, I'd say the man was likely an illegal immigrant with poor English skills and few job prospects. Those cans probably meant the difference between a hungry family and a less hungry family. But this illuminating conversation would need to be shelved for another day.

I sniffled and took a heaving breath to chase the quiver out of my voice. "It didn't go so well in there. She wouldn't give me Eric's number."

"What?" Amelia's attentions were easily diverted.

I shook my head. "Nope. Only said she'd pass along the message that I was trying to get in touch with him."

"So she knows where he is!"

"Apparently."

"And she won't give it to you?"

"Nope. Which makes me really pissed off that no one is telling me what I need to know. Everyone seems to be withholding some vital piece of information, lording it over me."

"The nerve!"

"Right, and then she said, 'Know your neighbors.'" I snorted.

"Know your neighbors? Just that?"

I nodded. "And when I tried to ask her what she meant, she cut me off and just told me she'd tell Eric I was looking for him."

"Know your neighbors," Amelia repeated. Silence passed between us. I knew it was only a matter of time. She would not be able to hold out.

"The obvious person who comes to mind is William."

"How did I know you'd say that?" Truth was, he came to my mind too. How could he not? He'd been so vehement about my not going to Pam, and now she was pointing a finger, I could only imagine, in his direction. What could she possibly have against my other neighbor, the professor? Plus regardless of whatever Pam had meant by her cloaked message, there was no doubt L.L. was hiding something. But I wasn't ready to admit that yet, at least not out loud to people who were all too willing to scapegoat him.

E.J. squirmed. Looking down, I wondered if I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing, that his cheeks looked a little fuller than they had yesterday. Before I'd know it, he'd be grown, and I'd be looking back and wondering how I could have ever wished this all away. Cue the tearworks. Again.

I shook myself. "Aw, dammit!" The way my emotions were whipsawing around, it was hard to hold onto any single thought for longer than a moment. "Amelia, could you ask me some questions? Help me talk this out?"

"All right." She seemed to flounder for a moment. I'm sure she was trying to decide whether L.L. was off limits. "Tell me what you know about the professor, the one who rents the house on the other side of your house."

"He's quiet. He only comes here during school breaks, and I think he uses it mainly as a place to work on his papers." This was old news to her, but it was a starting point and got my brain back on track.

"What kind of work does he do?"

"Music. Jazz. He's published a few books on Louis Armstrong."

"Nothing controversial, right?"

"Not by most peoples' standards. I mean, I'm no musicologist, so I don't know how well he's regarded within his field."

"Does he ever have any friends over?"

"I've met his grandchildren. He's divorced. Maybe once a summer, he has a big picnic with a lot of family. I let him park on my property, and he always sends over a thank you gift. I called him once while he was away because one of his windows got broken in a storm. He took care of it, but gave me another number to call in case anything else happened."

"Who owns the property?"

"I don't know. The number he gave me was for a property management company."

"And he's been there for a long time?"

"Yeah. He's not the original renter, but he's been there for as long as I can remember. I don't even know who was there before him."

Amelia drummed her hands on the steering wheel. I wondered whether she'd have the patience to ask me anything else about the professor. What kind of car he drove. (A white sedan of one kind or another, safe and conservative). His political affiliation (Democratic, if his bumper sticker meant anything). His preference in laundry detergent (Tide; the bottles showed up in his recycling bin).

But none of this mattered. It was all useless odds and ends, trivial facts, floating out in space, disconnected. I blew out a puff of air in frustration. "All right, all right. Ask me some questions about L.L.?"

Amelia was ready. "How long has he been there?"

"He moved in shortly after Gran died, so that's roughly three years ago."

"And it's just him?"

"He'll have the occasional friend or two over, but nothing steady."

"Where is his law practice?"

"Plymouth."

"And what kind of law does he practice?"

"Real estate. Mostly commercial stuff."

"Does he do anything besides work?"

"Gardening. And he belongs to the Y." If there was anything else, I was unaware of it.

Feeling wetness seeping through E.J.'s sleeper, I grabbed the blanket between Amelia and me and wrapped it around his backside. It was, at best, a temporary patch.

"I don't know, Sookie."

Had she run out of questions already? His shoe size (11). His favorite movie (Alien). His favorite musician (Kenny G). Sweet Jesus, I should have gone through this exercise while we were dating and saved ourselves a whole heap of trouble. Maybe Amelia had more tact than I gave her credit for.

My head drooped against the window. Within moments, sitting there with E.J. smoothed the remaining jagged edges of my anger and lulled me into a sense of complacency. I could drift with him into a woozy, cozy dreamland. No. Forcibly, I straightened up again, pushing myself back to some level of alertness.

Know your neighbors.

It's not like L.L. would tell me anything. It's not like I could torture it out of him by making him eat a plate of macaroni salad, even if I added garlic and extra mayonnaise to make it really slimy. And anyway, what would I ask him? What information was I supposed to get out of him? I'd make a pretty lame torturer.

Maybe I should put Pam and L.L. in a room together and make them duke it out. He was strong, but she looked pretty scrappy. She'd have to lose the pearls, though, and pull her hair back. L.L. would definitely make a cheap play and go for her hair.

Know your neighbors.

Gran and I had been pretty lucky with our neighbors, all things considered. My only complaint about the professor was that it would have been nice to have someone a little more social and friendly. But at least he wasn't like that woman on the other side...what was her name...Lorna, maybe, who bought the Quigleys' house when they had moved out. Poor Mrs. Quigley. She'd had a rough time of it when Mr. Quigley developed Alzheimer's. She hadn't really wanted to move, but there was no way she could care for Mr. Quigley and the house all on her own. Gran had really missed them when they had to leave. They'd been good friends. And that woman Lorna was nothing like them. So pushy. She'd even tried to buy Gran's house. When Gran refused, she kind of left in a huff and kept to herself. She made another offer to me after Gran died, and then soon after that, sold her house to L.L.. I guess since she couldn't have what she wanted, she didn't want to stick around. Some people are really sore losers.

Know your neighbors. Blah, blah, fucking blah.

E.J. was starting to wrap it up. I pulled him upright to burp him, not even bothering to put a cloth on my shoulder. Agitated all over again by Pam's message, I was itching to do something. Anything.

If I went to L.L. right now and relayed Pam's message to him, he'd just point his finger straight back at Pam. I doubt he'd bother with the professor since he probably knew him even less than I did. I knew next to nothing about Pam, which would put me at a really bad disadvantage with L.L.. He'd be able to talk his way out of just about anything I threw at him. No, it would be a bad idea to confront him blindly like that.

The way I saw it, I needed to do a little digging about three people here—the professor, L.L., and Pam.

"Amelia, can we go to the library?"

"In North Dormer?"

"Mm-hmm. To search some of their databases."

"What do you have in mind?"

My mind was reeling from all of the countless possibilities I was imagining. Pam was a public figure who'd probably turned up quite a few times in the media. Hell, she'd been in the Globe just that morning. And as an attorney, L.L.'s name would likely crop up quite a few times too. I'd need to keep this manageable or else I'd just add more frustration to my growing pile.

"I was thinking I'd start with the most obvious and easy searches, like I'd do a quick check to see if Pam and L.L. come up in the same search. Then if that didn't turn up anything, I'd start with the easiest rule-out, which would probably be the professor. It wouldn't take much poking to confirm his story. And then after that..." Here is where I'd start to feel overwhelmed.

"You know, you can also look up deeds."

"At the library?"

"Yeah, I think the records are now online, though I don't know how far back they go."

"You're thinking about looking up the owner of the professor's home?"

"Can't hurt while we're at it. Probably wouldn't take too long."

Any plan was a plan. I'd consider the day a success if I could check some things off the list, starting with a pit stop for E.J. and me. "I need to stop in Dunkin' Donuts first. Help me carry in E.J.?" Those carriers were heavy.

I grabbed the diaper bag, knowing E.J. would need full wardrobe change. Once I got him cleaned up, Amelia took him so I could use the facilities on my own. Just like a day at the spa. Small perks in life can do wonders, and coming out, I suddenly found myself standing right in front of a whole counter full of donuts.

They were calling to me.

I realized I could have my pick. Any donut I wanted could be mine, no questions asked.

"I'll have a chocolate frosted, please."

The young boy who couldn't have been a day beyond legal working age reached for a plain chocolate frosted.

"Oh, the kind with sprinkles please. And I'll have a strawberry shortcake. And...a Boston cream...and..."

Variety was always good. I had three of the major food groups represented: chocolate, fruit, and dairy. All I was missing was something from the powdered group. "A dozen powdered donut holes." Nah. They were kinda boring. I wanted something new. "Make that a dozen chocolate butternut donut holes instead."

The little punk rolled his eyes. He was lucky I had my eyes set on my donuts or I would have given him a stern talking to about manners while serving the public. I didn't tip.

We headed back outside, the brown paper bag of donuts weighing heavy and plump with promise in my hands. I held the bag up to Amelia. "Would you like one?"

"No, thanks. I know better than to get between a woman and her donuts," she joked.

I figured if she really meant that, she wouldn't stop me from eating them in her car, but I offered her the out anyway. "Do you mind if I have them now?"

Amelia hesitated for the slightest moment before giving me the nod. I knew she was a neat freak, so this was probably a major concession for her. I might have to offer to vacuum out her car later because I didn't know whether I could hold back. I plunged my hand into the bag, not even knowing what I'd come up with. Didn't matter. It was all good. I pulled out a chocolate frosted. See what I mean? But first I picked off a sprinkle or two. Then I decided the Boston cream was feeling left out, so I took a big bite of it and struck pay dirt. (It's a lucky day when you get filling on your first bite.) And when my mouth wrapped around the strawberry shortcake, I was hit with a sudden inspiration: if I sampled the strawberry shortcake, immediately followed by a bite of the chocolate frosted, it would be like eating a chocolate-dipped strawberry.

Oooh. For good measure, I popped a whole chocolate butternut donut hole in and confirmed that you could never go wrong trying something new. My head was swimming with excitement.

Or maybe I was starting to crash. It occurred to me at that moment that while I had always thought of mental health as a continuum, ranging from rock-solid sane to off-my-rocker crazy, there might just be a tipping point, a very fine edge, the moment at which I would flip.

I licked my fingers as we pulled into the library parking lot. Donut carcasses lay in the bottom of the bag. I would scavenge from them later. For now, I needed to make myself presentable. There was more licking to be done.

"Are you all right?" Amelia looked at me uncertainly.

I flashed her a jelly smile. "I'm just great, Amelia."

Once in the library, we started with a quick-and-dirty search, yielding no hits with Pam and L.L.. The reference librarian showed us some databases we could use to search for the professor, which easily turned up a dozen or more papers written by him, all if not on Louis Armstrong, then on a related subject in his field. We'd even been able to locate his Armstrong biography on the shelves and looked inside the flap for the author blurb and accompanying photo. Everything matched up with what I knew about him. For added measure, I went back online and pulled up his course syllabi for this semester to confirm he was still teaching.

"All right, so here's the Registry of Deeds website," Amelia indicated. "Looks like it goes back only five years."

"Let's give it a try anyway," I prompted. "It's 12368 Hummingbird Lane." I supposed it was still possible that ownership had changed at any time unbeknownst to me.

"Look," Amelia pointed. "Does the name Lorena Ball ring a bell?"

"Lorena? Yes!" I knew Lorna wasn't right. "Ball, is that her last name?"

"Mm-hmm."

"There was a woman named Lorena who owned L.L.'s house before he did."

"She bought the professor's house just under three years ago. And according to this record, she's still the owner."

"That's strange. If she's the same woman I think she is, why would she sell her house to L.L. and then buy this one? They're pretty much the same." Mine was the only antique. The other two had been built in the late 50s. Fairly standard stock. The most interesting thing about them was their location.

I considered. Was it the same woman? Maybe I had gotten the name wrong. No. Lorena sounded right. "Can we look for the deed to L.L.'s house and see if it shows her name?"

While Amelia clacked away at the keyboard, E.J. started to stir. I reached out with my foot to jostle his carrier. The day was officially wearing on me, grinding itself into me with the heel of its dusty boot. I pulled Amelia's sweater coat around me, suddenly chilled.

"Sookie, look. According to this record, Lorena still owns William's house."

"What do you mean?"

"There's a record here showing Lorena bought the house about four years ago."

"Right. That would have been when the previous owners, the Quigleys, moved out. There must be another record after that."

"Nope. That's the last sale that's registered."

Know your neighbors.

For a brief moment, I paused, waiting for the familiar feeling of protective numbness to wash over me. Then, I rubbed my hands over my bleary eyes, sloughing off the film of disbelief.

I paused again. Was I seeing this correctly? If so, then Lorena owned all the property around mine.

"Amelia, why do I get the feeling that I'm a sitting duck?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet. I know it looks bad, but maybe there's just a missed record. They've only recently gone online."

"Let's go." I was done.

Before heading out to the car, I stopped by the restroom once more, no spa retreat this time. I was finally and ultimately exhausted. Even the donuts had lost their appeal. Dried out, they rattled like loose bones inside their desiccated flesh of a bag. A deep and heavy queasiness had settled low within me.

"Could you drop me off at L.L.'s?"

"Oh...hey, Sookie, you look really beat. Kinda gray, even. Why not wait until tomorrow? It's already been a full day."

"No. I need to know what's going on." There would be one more item to check off my list.

"Well then at least let me watch E.J. for you."

"All right. I won't be long." Amelia dropped me off at L.L.'s house and then headed for my driveway.

He was surprised to see me at his door.

"What are you doing out?" He reached out for my arm in alarm.

I shrugged him away and got right to the point.

"Who owns your house?"

L.L. said nothing. His silence said everything.

"You didn't want me to go to Pam Ravenscroft. You were afraid of what she would say."

That annoying vibrating hum I had heard at Old Home Week was buzzing my ears. By sheer will, I forced my attention back to L.L..

"Sookie, let's sit down and talk about this. It's not what it seems. I'm worried about you."

"What do you know about Lorena Ball?"

His continued silence was infuriating me. In my head, I was taking that flying leap toward him, wrapping my hands around his neck, and wringing the living daylights out of him. But my leaden body would not obey me.

"Lorena wanted to buy my property too, and now she owns everything but mine. You're connected with her. I just know it! What's going on here? I feel like the vultures are circling, and you're one of them."

"It's not like that, Sookie! I'm trying to help. How many times have I offered to pay your real estate taxes for you?"

"Some help! You wouldn't need to offer if I had the money to pay for them myself!"

As soon as I said the words, I shocked even myself into silence. For a moment, anyway.

"You! That was no accident I lost all of that money, was it?"

"No! Come inside and listen. It's not like that, I swear. I know it looks bad, but it's not like that."

"God, I was the only one who trusted you, L.L.! Do you know how many times I stood up for you, even after I lost all of my money? I feel like such a fool!"

"Listen to me Sookie…"

"No, I'm done."

I turned around, the world spinning with me and continuing its wild circuit even as I stopped. L.L. grabbed me, his fingers digging in the tender part of my arm harshly.

"It's not me you need to be worried about."

I yanked my arm out of his grasp and threw my hands up in disgust, waiting for another coded message to puzzle over. This oughta be good. But when his lips formed a hard sneer, I knew his words would sink into soft flesh and hit bone.

"You know the name Leclerq?" Inside, I scrambled, tugging on the frayed edges of a cotton batting-like consciousness that I sought to wind around and around myself. If I could have muffled out his words at that moment, I would have. He was looking to maim.

"Leclerq has submitted a development proposal for this property."

And then the world finally stopped its wobbling orbit, and the humming shushed, and I sank deep, welcoming the peaceful darkness.

A/N: You still with me? Thanks for reading. ;)

And thanks, makesmyheadspin & peppermintyrose!

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