"My name?" Miss Caroline sounded pleased, though her voice was a little weaker.
"Yes, your name. My granddaughter Caroline married a cousin, Matthew Phillips Holliday."
"Why, those are my mother and father." She smiled, which did drastic things to her scores of wrinkles. "So you are ... Really?" To my amazement, Caroline Bellefleur laughed.
"Your great-grandfather. Yes, I am."
Portia made a sound as though she were choking on a stink-bug. Miss Caroline disregarded her granddaughter entirely, and she didn't look over at Andy - which was lucky, because he was turkey-wattle red.
"Well, if this isn't funny," she said. "I'm as wrinkled as unironed linen, and you're as smooth as a fresh peach." She was genuinely amused. "Great-granddaddy!"
Then a thought seemed to occur to the dying lady. "Was it you arranged for that timely windfall we got?"
"The money couldn't have been put to better use," Bill said gallantly. "The house looks beautiful. Who will live in it after you die?"
Portia gasped, and Andy looked a little taken aback. But I glanced at the nurse. She gave me a brief nod. Miss Caroline's time was very near, and the lady was fully aware of it.
"Well, I think Portia and Glen will stay here," Miss Caroline said slowly. It was evident she was tiring fast. "Halleigh and Andy want to have their baby in their own home, and I don't blame them one bit. You're not saying you're interested in the house?"
"Oh, no, I have my own," Bill reassured her. "And I was glad to give my own family the wherewithal to repair this place. I want my descendants to keep on living here through the years and have many happy times in this place."
"Thank you," Miss Caroline said, and now her voice was barely a whisper.
"Sookie and I must go," Bill said. "You rest easy, now."
"I will," she said, and smiled, though her eyes were closing.
I rose as quietly as I could and slipped out of the room ahead of Bill. I thought Portia and Andy might want to say a few things to Bill. Sure enough, they didn't want to disturb their grandmother, so they followed Bill out onto the gallery.
"Thought you were dating another vampire now?" Andy asked me. He didn't sound as snarky as he usually did.
"I am," I said. "But Bill is still my friend."
Portia had briefly dated Bill, though not because she thought he was cute or anything. I was sure that added to her embarrassment as she stuck out her hand to Bill. Portia needed to brush up on her vampire etiquette. Though Bill looked a little taken aback, he accepted the handshake. "Portia," he said. "Andy. I hope you don't find this too awkward."
I was busting-at-the-seams proud of Bill. It was easy to see where Caroline Bellefleur had gotten her graciousness.
Andy said, "I wouldn't have taken the money if I'd known it came from you." He'd evidently come straight from work, because he was wearing all his gear: a badge and handcuffs clipped to his belt, a holstered gun. He looked pretty formidable, but he was no match for Bill, even as sick as Bill was.
"Andy, I know you're not a fan of the fang. But you're part of my family, and I know you were raised to respect your elders."
Andy looked completely taken aback.
"That money was to make Caroline happy, and I think it did," Bill continued. "So it served its purpose. I've gotten to see her and to tell her about our relationship, and she has the Bible. I won't burden you with my presence any longer. I would ask that you have the funeral at night so I can attend."
"Who ever heard of a funeral at night?" Andy said.
"Yes, we'll do that." Portia didn't sound warm and welcoming, but she did sound absolutely resolved. "The money made her last few years very happy. She loved restoring the house to its best state, and she loved giving us the wedding here. The Bible is the frosting on the cake. Thank you."
Bill nodded to both of them, and without further ado we left Belle Rive.
Caroline Bellefleur, Bill's great-granddaughter, died in the early hours of the morning.
Bill sat with the family during the funeral, which took place the next night, to the profound amazement of the town.
I sat at the back with Sam.
It wasn't an occasion for tears; without a doubt, Caroline Bellefleur had had a long life - a life not devoid of sorrow, but at least full of moments of compensatory happiness. She had very few remaining contemporaries, and those who were still alive were almost all too tottery to come to her funeral.
The service seemed quite normal until we drove out to the cemetery, which didn't have night lighting - of course - and I saw that temporary lights had been set up around the perimeter of the grave in the Bellefleur plot. That was a strange sight. The minister had a hard time reading the service until a member of the congregation held his own flashlight to the page.
The bright lights in the dark night were an unpleasant reminder of the recovery of Basim al Saud's body. It was hard to think properly about Miss Caroline's life and legacy with all the conjecture rattling around in my head. And why hadn't anything already happened? I felt as though I were living waiting for the other shoe to drop. I wasn't aware my hand had tightened on Sam's arm until he turned to look at me with some alarm. I forced my fingers to relax and bowed my head for the prayer.
The family, I heard, was going to Belle Rive for a buffet meal after the service. I wondered if they'd gotten Bill his favorite blood. Bill looked awful. He was using a cane at the grave site. Something had to be done about finding his sibling, since he wasn't taking action himself. If there was a chance his sibling's blood might cure him, the effort had to be made.
I'd driven to the funeral with Sam, and since my house was so close, I told Sam I'd walk back from the grave site. I'd stuck a little flashlight in my purse, and I reminded Sam I knew the cemetery like the back of my hand. So when all the other attendees took off, including Bill, to go to Belle Rive for the buffet meal, I waited in the shadows until the cemetery employees started filling in the hole, and then I walked through the trees to Bill's house.
I still had a key.
Yes, I knew I was being a terrible busybody. And maybe I was doing the wrong thing. But Bill was wasting away, and I just couldn't sit by and let him do it.
I unlocked the front door and went to Bill's office, which had been the Compton formal dining room. Bill had all his computer gear set up on a huge table, and he had a rolling chair he'd gotten at Office Depot. A smaller table served as a mailing station, where Bill prepared copies of his vampire database to send to purchasers. He advertised heavily in vampire magazines - Fang, of course, and Dead Life, which appeared in so many languages. Bill's newest marketing effort involved hiring vampires who spoke many different languages to translate all the information so he could sell foreign-language editions of his worldwide vampire listing service. As I remembered from a previous visit, there were a dozen CD copies of his database in cases by his mailing station. I double-checked to make sure I had one that was in English. Wouldn't do me much good to get one in Russian.