Andy's still yelling at the customers, this time about the trashbags they found in his car, and when he leaves the lady turns back to her over-the-booth neighbor and continues gossiping. It would seem that the conventional wisdom, or at the least this meanspirited lady, are saying that Rene Lenier or Marshall or whatever, the American Vampire League wanted to teach him a lesson so they dug him up and turned him into one of their own. So maybe he was the one that killed Miss Jeanette. Apparently you can still smell the blood back there. Gosh. Bon Temps is a hard motherfucker. I can't even talk about blood at the blood bank. I make them call it transmission fluid.
"Better be careful, Rene Marshall might still get you!" They laugh, high-pitched squeals that belie their earlier, and later, panic. But sadly, of course, Arlene's standing right there. She slams down their orders. "Don't you people have any shame? His name was Drew Marshall. And he's dead, and he's buried, and he ain't never coming back." Arlene bursts into tears. He's dead, and she loved him, or she loved a man who looked like him, and spoke with a Cajun accent. But is she crying because she's an idiot, or so desperate that she could have in retrospect dealt with the serial killer thing, or married him in jail? Or because any of us are larger than our greatest sin? Terry appears, and throws down money from his wallet on both tables, kicking the bitches out, hiding behind his nutty reputation the same way Sookie always does -- "Keep walking! Don't eyeball me!" -- and when Arlene throws her arms around him gratefully, he very deliberately and carefully takes one lock of her hair, and smells it delightedly. Like a sunset, after a bomb went off.
Sookie asks what church this leadership conference is for, and Jason lies, saying the first word he sees over his sister's shoulder: "Marlboro. Baptist. In Baton Rouge. It's only for a week. Just give me a chance to get away from everything..." She can identify; she tells him about cleaning out Gran's room, how hard it was to pack up anything at all. He nods, a million miles away. "I know. I miss her too. And I'm hoping maybe God'll tell me why he had to take good people away, like Gran. And Amy..." She's shocked. "Jason, Amy was a V addict."
(The metaphor from the forums I liked best is that V is like kiddie porn: just by doing it, you take part directly in something awful. Tobacco, pot, even coke you have to follow the blood and death back a bit before you get implicated, but V is not like that. V comes directly from the bodies of a minority that couldn't legally marry until a couple of days ago, usually through torture, and usually ending in a sunshiny morning. V addict means the Rattrays; she's not calling Amy a pothead. She's calling Amy a murderer, which is what she is.)