Night Shift by Charlaine Harris Read Free Book Online

sister turn up, on top of suicides and a suicide attempt, is enough,” she said, after a pause that was just a little too long.
    “Okay,” he said, hoping his relief didn’t show. “But you know where I am if you need me.”
    The adrenaline that had fueled his great tackle of the about-to-be suicide had long faded, leaving him dragging and dull. Now that they’d gotten rid of this last body (fortunately, still breathing), Manfred found himself longing for his computer and his telephone and his privacy.
    “If your sister stays for any length of time, I’ll take you two out to dinner one night,” Manfred offered as Fiji dropped him at his house. “And not at Home Cookin. All the way to Davy, or even Marthasville. I spare no expense!”
    “Thanks, Manfred,” she said, sounding surprised. Fiji threw the surprise back over to his side of the fence by giving him a hug.
    Manfred knew his return of the hug was a bit awkward, but it was sincere. He was pleased. Unfortunately, as soon as he touched her, he knew what Fiji’s secret was. She had had a falling-out with Bobo—or rather, with her dream of the possibility of a relationship with Bobo. That made him sad, but he was not about to comment on it.
    Fiji let go and leaned back in her seat. “Oh, I just remembered!” she said.
    “Remembered what?”
    “Where I’d seen Francine Owens before.”
    “Where was it?”
    “The last time I went to the grocery store in Davy. She was ahead of me in line.”
    “How can you possibly remember who was ahead of you in line at the grocery store?” Manfred shook his head disbelievingly.
    “You’d remember her, too,” Fiji said, though she wasn’t completely sure about that. In her limited experience, men remembered different things than women did, at least sometimes. “She was one of those shoppers who had a coupon for every item. And she asked the cashier about a dozen questions. Like if the second package of napkins had to be the same style as the first one for the coupon to be good.” She’d also waited until the items had been tallied to begin writing a check, which was one of Fiji’s pet peeves. If you’re gonna use a debit card, fine. If you’re gonna write a check, by golly, start filling it out.
    If Fiji hadn’t been in a hurry (she couldn’t remember why) she would never have recalled the little incident, which had irritated her quite a bit.
    She explained all this to Manfred, who said, “So you disliked her, based on that incident.”
    “Well, yeah. Of course, today I just felt sorry for her. But she was definitely on my shit list for about five whole minutes.” Fiji smiled to make sure Manfred understood that being on her “shit list” was not a permanent thing.
    “That’s interesting.”
    “I don’t see why! At least now I can lose that nagging feeling you get when you can’t quite remember something.”
    “Fiji,” Manfred said, and stopped dead. He’d been about to explain his tentative theory, but he thought better of it. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He smiled at her. “I’m glad you remembered, and I’m glad the lady’s okay, and I hope your sister leaves soon.”
    “Those all sound like good wishes to me.”
    “And whatever else is wrong, I think it’s gonna be okay, too,” Manfred said, and turned to go in his house before she could ask him any questions.

4

    T hat night, Lemuel was back at his task of puzzling out the translation of the book—the most important one, the one about the origin of magical sites in the United States. The only one in Texas he’d seen mention of so far was the Devil’s Sinkhole, south of Midnight. It would have been more accurate to call it “ a Devil’s Sinkhole,” according to the author of The New World and Its Places of Interest .
    Lemuel had seen older books than the one to which he was paying so much attention, but he was sure this was the right book. He’d come across the first pawnshop owner’s notes in his second year of working