By the time the crime scene tape was down, Sam had returned to Bon Temps. I was so glad to see my boss that my eyes got weepy. Managing Merlotte’s was a lot harder than I’d ever realized. There were decisions to make every day and a huge crowd of people who needed to be kept happy: the customers, the workers, the distributors, the deliverymen. Sam’s tax guy had called with questions I couldn’t answer. The utility bill was due in three days, and I didn’t have check-writing privileges. There was a lot of money that needed to be deposited into the bank. It was almost payroll time.

Though I felt like blurting out all these problems the minute Sam walked in the back door of the bar, I drew in a calming breath and asked about his mother.

After giving me a half hug, Sam had thrown himself into his creaking chair behind his desk. He swiveled to face me directly. He propped his feet up on the edge of the desk with an air of relief. “She’s talking, walking, and mending,” he said. “For the first time, we don’t have to make up a story to cover how fast she can heal. We took her home this morning, and she’s already trying to do stuff around the house. My brother and sister are asking her a million questions now that they’ve gotten used to the idea. They even seem kind of envious I’m the one who inherited the trait.”

I was tempted to ask about his stepfather’s legal situation, but Sam seemed awful anxious to get back into his normal routine. I waited a moment to see if he would bring it up. He didn’t. Instead, he asked about the utility bill, and with a sigh of relief I was able to refer him to the list of things that needed his attention. I’d left it on his desk in my neatest handwriting.

First on the list was the fact that I’d hired Tanya and Amelia to come in some evenings to make up for Arlene’s defection.

Sam looked sad. “Arlene’s worked for me since I bought the bar,” he said. “It’s going to be strange, her not being here. She’s been a pain in the butt in the past few months, but I figured she’d swing around to being her old self sooner or later. You think she’ll reconsider?”

“Maybe, now that you’re back,” I said, though I had severe doubts. “But she’s gotten to be so intolerant. I don’t think she can work for a shifter. I’m sorry, Sam.”

He shook his head. His dark mood was no big surprise, considering his mom’s situation and the not-completely-ecstatic reaction of the American populace to the weird side of the world.