A couple came in and glanced around before heading to an empty table in my section. They looked a little familiar. After a moment, I recognized them: Jack and Lily Leeds, private detectives from somewhere in Arkansas. The last time I’d seen them, they’d come to Bon Temps to investigate Debbie Pelt’s disappearance, having been hired by her parents. I’d answered their questions in what I now knew was sort of fairy-style—I’d stuck to the letter of the truth without its spirit. I myself had shot Debbie Pelt dead in self-defense, and I hadn’t wanted to go to jail for it.

That had been over a year ago. Lily Bard Leeds was still pale, silent, and intense, and her husband was still attractive and vital. Her eyes had found me instantly, and it was impossible to pretend I hadn’t noticed. Reluctantly, I went over to their table, feeling my smile growing more brittle with every step.

“Welcome back to Merlotte’s,” I said, grinning for all I was worth. “What can I get you two this evening? We put French-fried pickles on the menu, and our burgers Lafayette are real good.”

Lily looked as if I’d suggested she eat breaded worms, though Jack looked a bit regretful. He wouldn’t have minded the pickles, I could tell.

“A hamburger Lafayette for me, I guess,” Lily said unenthusiastically. As she turned to her companion, her T-shirt shifted and I caught a glimpse of a set of old scars that rivaled my own new ones.

Well, we had always had things in common.

“The hamburger for me, too,” Jack said. “And if you have a moment to spare, we’d like to talk to you.” He smiled at me, and the long, thin scar on his face flexed as his eyebrows rose. Was this personal-mutilation evening? I wondered if his light jacket, unnecessary on so warm a day, covered something even worse.

“We can have a talk. I figured you didn’t come back to Merlotte’s because of the great cuisine,” I said, and took their drink order before I went over to the window to hand the slip to Antoine.

With their iced teas and a dish of lemon, I returned to the table. I looked around to make sure no one needed me before I sat down opposite Jack with Lily to my left. She was pretty to look at, but so controlled and muscular I felt like I could bounce a dime off her. Even her mind was sort of tidy and strict.

“What shall we talk about?” I asked, and opened up my mind to them. Jack was thinking about Lily, some concern about her health, no, her mother’s health—a recurrence of breast cancer. Lily was thinking about me, puzzling over me, suspecting I was a killer.

That hurt.

But it was true.