All Together Dead

2

“HALLEIGH, SINCE YOU’RE MARRYING A POLICEMAN, maybe you’ll be able to tell me…just how big is a cop’s nightstick?” Elmer Claire Vaudry asked.

I was sitting beside the bride-to-be, Halleigh Robinson, since I’d been given the all-important task of recording each gift and its giver as Halleigh opened all the white-and-silver wrapped boxes and flowered gift bags.
No one else seemed the least surprised that Mrs. Vaudry, a fortyish grade school teacher, was asking a bawdy question at this firmly middle-class, church lady event.
“Why, I wouldn’t know, Elmer Claire,” Halleigh said demurely, and there was a positive chorus of disbelieving sniggers.
“Well, now, what about the handcuffs?” Elmer Claire asked. “You ever use those handcuffs?”
A fluttering of southern lady voices rose in the living room of Marcia Albanese, the hostess who’d agreed to let her house be the sacrificial lamb: the actual shower site. The other hostesses had had the lesser problems of bringing the food and the punch.
“You are just something, Elmer Claire,” Marcia said from her spot by the refreshments table. But she was smiling. Elmer Claire had her role as the Daring One, and the others were glad to let her enjoy it.
Elmer Claire would never have been so vulgar if old Caroline Bellefleur had been present at the shower. Caroline was the social ruler of Bon Temps. Miss Caroline was about a million years old and had a back stiffer than any soldier. Only something extreme would keep Miss Caroline home from a social event of this importance to her family, and something extreme had happened. Caroline Bellefleur had suffered a heart attack, to the amazement of everyone in Bon Temps. To her family, the event had not been a tremendous surprise.
The grand Bellefleur double wedding (Halleigh and Andy’s, Portia and her accountant’s) had been set for the previous spring. It had been organized in a rush because of Caroline Bellefleur’s sudden deterioration in health. As it happened, even before the hurried-up wedding could be held, Miss Caroline had been felled by the attack. Then she’d broken her hip.
With the agreement of Andy’s sister, Portia, and her groom, Andy and Halleigh had postponed the wedding until late October. But I’d heard Miss Caroline was not recovering as her grandchildren had hoped, and it seemed unlikely she ever would be back to her former self.
Halleigh, her cheeks flushed, was struggling with the ribbon around a heavy box. I handed her a pair of scissors. There was some tradition about not cutting the ribbon, a tradition that somehow tied into predicting the number of children the bridal couple would produce, but I was willing to bet that Halleigh was ready for a quick solution. She snipped the ribbon on the side closest to her so no one would notice her callous disregard for custom. She flashed me a grateful look. We were all in our party best, of course, and Halleigh looked very cute and young in her light blue pantsuit with pink roses splashed on the jacket. She was wearing a corsage, of course, as the honoree.
I felt like I was observing an interesting tribe in another country, a tribe that just happened to speak my language. I’m a barmaid, several rungs below Halleigh on the social ladder, and I’m a telepath, though people tended to forget about it since it is hard to believe, my outside being so normal. But I’d been on the guest list, so I’d made a big effort to fit in sartorially. I was pretty sure I’d succeeded. I was wearing a sleeveless tailored white blouse, yellow slacks, and orange-and-yellow sandals, and my hair was down and flowing smoothly past my shoulder blades. Yellow earrings and a little gold chain tied me all together. It might be late September, but it was hot as the six shades of hell. All the ladies were still dressed in their hot-weather finery, though a few brave souls had donned fall colors.
I knew everyone at the shower, of course. Bon Temps is not a big place, and my family has lived in it for almost two hundred years. Knowing who people are is not the same as being comfortable with them, and I’d been glad to be given the job of recording the gifts. Marcia Albanese was sharper than I’d given her credit for being.
I was certainly learning a lot. Though I was trying hard not to listen in, and my little task helped in that, I was getting a lot of mental overflow.
Halleigh was in hog heaven. She was getting presents, she was the center of attention, and she was getting married to a great guy. I didn’t think she really knew her groom that well, but I was certainly willing to believe that there were wonderful sides to Andy Bellefleur that I’d never seen or heard. Andy had more imagination than the average middle-class man in Bon Temps; I knew that. And Andy had fears and desires he’d buried deeply; I knew that, too.
Halleigh’s mother had come from Mandeville to attend the shower, of course, and she was doing her smiling best to support her daughter. I thought I was the only one who realized that Halleigh’s mother hated crowds, even crowds this small. Every moment she sat in Marcia’s living room was very uncomfortable for Linette Robinson. At this very moment, while she was laughing at another little sally by Elmer Claire, she was wishing passionately that she was home with a good book and a glass of iced tea.
I started to whisper to her that it would all be over in (I cast a glance at my watch) another hour, hour-fifteen at the outside—but I remembered in time that I’d just freak her out worse than she already was. I jotted down “Selah Pumphrey—dish towels,” and sat poised to record the next gift. Selah Pumphrey had expected me to give her a Big Reaction when she’d sailed in the door, since for weeks Selah had been dating that vampire I’d abjured. Selah was always imagining I’d jump on her and whack her in the head. Selah had a low opinion of me, not that she knew me at all. She certainly didn’t realize that the vampire in question was simply off my radar now. I was guessing she’d been invited because she’d been Andy and Halleigh’s real estate agent when they’d bought their little house.
“Tara Thornton—lace teddy,” I wrote, and smiled at my friend Tara, who’d selected Halleigh’s gift from the stock at her clothing store. Of course, Elmer Claire had a lot to say about the teddy, and a good time was had by all—at least on the face of it. Some of the assembled women weren’t comfortable with Elmer Claire’s broad humor, some of them were thinking that Elmer Claire’s husband had a lot to put up with, and some of them just wished she would shut up. That group included me, and Linette Robinson, and Halleigh.
The principal at the school where Halleigh taught had given the couple some perfectly nice place mats, and the assistant principal had gotten napkins to match. I recorded those with a flourish and stuffed some of the torn wrapping paper into the garbage bag at my side.
“Thanks, Sookie,” Halleigh said quietly, as Elmer Claire was telling another story about something that had happened at her wedding involving a chicken and the best man. “I really appreciate your help.”
“No big,” I said, surprised.
“Andy told me that he got you to hide the engagement ring when he proposed,” she said, smiling. “And you’ve helped me out other times, too.” Then Andy had told Halleigh all about me.
“Not a problem,” I said, a little embarrassed.
She shot a sideways glance at Selah Pumphrey, seated two folding chairs away. “Are you still dating that beautiful man I saw at your place?” she asked rather more loudly. “The handsome one with the gorgeous black hair?”
Halleigh had seen Claude when he dropped me off at my temporary lodging in town; Claude, the brother of Claudine, my fairy godmother. Yes, really. Claude was gorgeous, and he could be absolutely charming (to women) for about sixty seconds. He’d made the effort when he’d met Halleigh, and I could only be thankful, since Selah’s ears had pricked up just like a fox’s.
“I saw him maybe three weeks ago,” I said truthfully. “But we’re not dating now.” We never had been, actually, because Claude’s idea of a good date was someone with a little beard stubble and equipment I’d never possess. But not everyone had to know that, right? “I’m seeing someone else,” I added modestly.
“Oh?” Halleigh was all innocent interest. I was getting fonder of the girl (all of four years younger than me) by the second.
“Yes,” I said. “A consultant from Memphis.”
“You’ll have to bring him to the wedding,” Halleigh said. “Wouldn’t that be great, Portia?”
This was another kettle of fish entirely. Portia Bellefleur, Andy’s sister and the other bride-to-be in the double Bellefleur wedding, had asked me to be there to serve alcohol, along with my boss, Sam Merlotte. Now Portia was in a bind. She would never have invited me other than as a worker. (I sure hadn’t been invited to any showers for Portia.) Now I beamed at Portia in an innocent, I’m-so-happy way.
“Of course,” Portia said smoothly. She had not trained in the law for nothing. “We’d be delighted if you’d bring your boyfriend.”
I had a happy mental picture of Quinn transforming into a tiger at the reception. I smiled at Portia all the more brightly. “I’ll see if he can come with me,” I said.
“Now, y’all,” Elmer Claire said, “a little bird told me to write down what Halleigh said when she unwrapped her gifts, cause you know, that’s what you’ll say on your wedding night!” She waved a legal pad.
Everyone fell silent with happy anticipation. Or dread.
“This is the first thing Halleigh said: ‘Oh, what pretty wrapping!’” A chorus of dutiful laughter. “Then she said, let’s see: ‘That’s going to fit; I can hardly wait!’” Snickers. “Then she said, ‘Oh, I needed one of those!’” Hilarity.
After that, it was time for cake and punch and peanuts and the cheese ball. We’d all resumed our seats, carefully balancing plates and cups, when my grandmother’s friend Maxine opened a new topic of discussion.
“How’s your new friend, Sookie?” Maxine Fortenberry asked. Maxine was clear across the room, but projecting was no problem for Maxine. In her late fifties, Maxine was stout and hearty, and she’d been a second mother to my brother, Jason, who was best friends with her son Hoyt. “The gal from New Orleans?”
“Amelia’s doing well.” I beamed nervously, all too aware I was the new center of attention.
“Is it true that she lost her house in the flooding?”
“It did sustain quite a bit of damage, her tenant said. So Amelia’s waiting to hear from the insurance company, and then she’ll decide what to do.”
“Lucky she was here with you when the hurricane hit,” Maxine said.
I guess poor Amelia had heard that a thousand times since August. I think Amelia was pretty tired of trying to feel lucky. “Oh, yes,” I said agreeably. “She sure was.”
Amelia Broadway’s arrival in Bon Temps had been the subject of lots of gossip. That’s only natural.
“So for right now, Amelia’ll just stay on with you?” Halleigh asked helpfully.
“For a while,” I said, smiling.
“That’s just real sweet of you,” Marcia Albanese said approvingly.
“Oh, Marcia, you know I got that whole upstairs that I never use. She’s actually improved it for me; she got a window air conditioner put in up there, so it’s much nicer. It doesn’t put me out one bit.”
“Still, lots of people wouldn’t want someone living in their home that long. I guess I should take in one of the poor souls staying at the Days Inn, but I just can’t bring myself to let someone else in my house.”
“I like the company,” I said, which was mostly true.
“Has she been back to check on her house?”
“Ah, only once.” Amelia had to get in and out of New Orleans real quick, so none of her witch friends could track her down. Amelia was in a bit of hot water with the witch community of the Big Easy.
“She sure loves that cat of hers,” Elmer Claire said. “She had that big old tom at the vet the other day when I took Powderpuff in.” Powderpuff, Elmer Claire’s white Persian, was about a million years old. “I asked her why she didn’t get that cat neutered, and she just covered that cat’s ears like he could hear me, and she asked me not to talk about it in front of Bob, just like he was a person.”
“She’s real fond of Bob,” I said, not quite knowing whether I wanted to gag or laugh at the idea of the vet neutering Bob.
“You know that Amelia how?” Maxine asked.
“You remember my cousin Hadley?”
Everyone in the room nodded, except newcomer Halleigh and her mother.
“Well, when Hadley lived in New Orleans, she rented the upstairs of Amelia’s house from her,” I said. “And when Hadley passed away”—here there were solemn nods all around—“I went down to New Orleans to clean out Hadley’s things. And I met Amelia, and we became friends, and she just decided she’d visit Bon Temps for a while.”
All the ladies looked at me with the most expectant expressions, as if they couldn’t wait to hear what would come next. Because there had to be more explanation, right?
There was indeed a lot more to the story, but I didn’t think they were ready to hear that Amelia, after a night of great loving, had accidentally turned Bob into a cat during a sexual experiment. I’d never asked Amelia to describe the circumstances, because I was pretty sure I didn’t want to get a visual on that scene. But they were all waiting for a little more explanation. Any explanation.
“Amelia had a bad breakup with her boyfriend,” I said, keeping my tone low and confidential.
All the other ladies’ faces were both titillated and sympathetic.
“He was a Mormon missionary,” I told them. Well, Bob had looked like a Mormon missionary, in dark slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt, and he’d even arrived at Amelia’s on a bicycle. He was actually a witch, like Amelia. “But he knocked on Amelia’s door and they just fell in love.” Actually, into bed. But you know—same thing, for the purposes of this story.
“Did his parents know?”
“Did his church find out?”
“Don’t they get to have more than one wife?”
The questions crowded in too thick for me to deal with, and I waited until the attendees had subsided into their waiting mode again. I was not used to making up fabrications, and I was running out of truth to base the rest of the story on. “I really don’t know much about the Mormon church,” I told the last questioner, and that was the absolute truth. “Though I think modern Mormons aren’t supposed to have more than one wife. But what happened to them was his relatives found out and got real mad because they didn’t think Amelia was good enough for the man, and they snatched him away and made him go home. So she wanted to leave New Orleans to get a change of scene, forget about the past, you know.”
They all nodded, absolutely fascinated by Amelia’s big drama. I felt a twinge of guilt. For a minute or two, everyone gave her opinion about the sad story. Maxine Fortenberry summed it all up.
“Poor girl,” said Maxine. “He should’ve stood up to them.”
I passed Halleigh another present to open. “Halleigh, you know that won’t happen to you,” I said, diverting the conversation back to its proper topic. “Andy is just nuts about you; anyone can tell.”
Halleigh blushed, and her mother said, “We all love Andy,” and the shower was back on track. The rest of the conversation veered from the wedding to the meals each church was taking in turn to cook for the evacuees. The Catholics had tomorrow night, and Maxine sounded a little relieved when she said the number to cook for had dropped to twenty-five.
As I drove home afterward, I was feeling a little frazzled from the unaccustomed sociability. I also faced the prospect of telling Amelia about her new invented background. But when I saw the pickup standing in my yard, all such thoughts flew out of my head.
Quinn was here—Quinn the weretiger, who made his living arranging and producing special events for the world of the weird—Quinn, my honey. I pulled around back and practically leaped out of my car after an anxious glance in my rearview mirror to make sure my makeup was still good.
Quinn charged out of the back door as I hurried up to the steps, and I gave a little jump. He caught me and whirled me around, and when he put me down he was kissing me, his big hands framing my face.
“You look so beautiful,” he said, coming up for air. A moment later, he gasped. “You smell so good.” And then he was back into the kissing.
We finally broke it off.
“Oh, I haven’t seen you in so long!” I said. “I’m so glad you’re here!” I hadn’t seen Quinn in weeks, and then I’d been with him only briefly as he’d passed through Shreveport on his way to Florida with a load of props for the coming-of-age ceremony for a packleader’s daughter.
“I’ve missed you, babe,” he said, his big white teeth gleaming. His shaved head shone in the sunlight, which was coming at quite an angle this late in the afternoon. “I had a little time to catch up with your roomie while you were at the shower. How’d it go?”
“Like showers usually do. Lots of presents and lots of gossip. This was the second shower I’ve been to for this gal, plus I gave them a plate in their everyday china for a wedding present, so I’ve done them proud.”
“You can go to more than one shower for the same person?”
“In a small town like this, yeah. And she went home to have a shower and a dinner party in Mandeville during the summer. So I guess Andy and Halleigh are set up pretty well.”
“I thought they were supposed to get married last April.”
I explained about Caroline Bellefleur’s heart attack. “By the time she was getting over that and they were talking wedding dates again, Miss Caroline fell and broke her hip.”
“Wow.”
“And the doctors didn’t think she’d get over that, but she survived that, too. So I think Halleigh and Andy and Portia and Glen are actually going to have the most-anticipated wedding of the Bon Temps year sometime next month. And you’re invited.”
“I am?”
We were heading inside by this time, since I wanted to take off my shoes and I also wanted to scout out what my housemate was up to. I was trying to think of some long errand I could send her off on, since I so seldom got to see Quinn, who was kind of my boyfriend, if at my age (twenty-seven), I could use that term.
That is, I thought he would be my boyfriend if he could ever slow down enough to latch on to me.
But Quinn’s job, working for a subsidiary of Extreme(ly Elegant) Events, covered a lot of territory, literally and figuratively. Since we’d parted in New Orleans after our rescue from Were abductors, I’d seen Quinn three times. He’d been in Shreveport one weekend as he passed through on his way to somewhere else, and we’d gone out to dinner at Ralph and Kacoo’s, a popular restaurant. It had been a good evening, but he’d taken me home at the end of it since he had to start driving at seven the next morning. The second time, he’d dropped into Merlotte’s while I was at work, and since it was a slow night, I’d taken an hour off to sit and talk to him, and we’d held hands a little. The third time, I’d kept him company while he was loading up his trailer at a U-RENT-SPACE storage shed. It had been in the middle of summer, and we’d both been sweating up a storm. Streaming sweat, lots of dust, storage sheds, the occasional vehicle trolling through the lot…not a romantic ambience.
And even though Amelia was now obligingly coming down the stairs with her purse over her shoulder and clearly planning to head into town to give us some privacy, it hardly seemed promising that we’d have to grab an instant to consummate a relationship that had had so little face time.
Amelia said, “Good-bye!” She had a big smile all over her face, and since Amelia has the whitest teeth in the world, she looked like the Cheshire cat. Amelia’s short hair was sticking out all over (she says no one in Bon Temps can cut it right) and her tan face was bare of makeup. Amelia looks like a young suburban mom who has an infant seat strapped into the back of her minivan; the kind of mom who takes time off to run and swim and play tennis. In point of fact, Amelia did run three times a week and practiced tai chi out in my backyard, but she hated getting in the water and she thought tennis was for (and I quote) “mouth-breathing idiots.” I’d always admired tennis players myself, but when Amelia had a point of view, she stuck to it.
“Going to the mall in Monroe,” she said. “Shopping to do!” And with an I’m-being-a-good-roommate kind of wave, she hopped into her Mustang and vanished…
…leaving Quinn and me to stare at each other.
“That Amelia!” I said lamely.
“She’s…one of a kind,” Quinn said, just as uneasy as I was.
“The thing is—” I began, just as Quinn said, “Listen, I think we ought—” and we both floundered to a halt. He made a gesture that indicated I should go first.
“How long are you here for?” I asked.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he said. “I could stay in Monroe or Shreveport.”
We did some more staring. I can’t read Were minds, not like regular humans. I can get the intent, though, and the intent was…intent.
“So,” he said. He went down on one knee. “Please,” he said.
I had to smile, but then I looked away. “The only thing is,” I began again. This conversation would come much more easily to Amelia, who was frank to a very extreme point. “You know that we have, uh, a lot of…” I gestured back and forth with my hand.
“Chemistry,” he said.
“Right,” I said. “But if we never get to see any more of each other than we have the past three months, I’m not really sure I want to make that next step.” I hated to say it, but I had to. I didn’t need to cause myself pain. “I have big lust,” I said. “Big, big lust. But I’m not a one-night-stand kind of woman.”
“When the summit is over, I’m taking a long time off,” Quinn said, and I could tell he was absolutely sincere. “A month. I came here to ask you if I could spend it with you.”
“Really?” I couldn’t help sounding incredulous. “Really?”
He smiled up at me. Quinn has a smooth, shaved head, an olive complexion, a bold nose, and a smile that makes these little dimples in the corners of his mouth. His eyes are purple, like a spring pansy. He is as big as a pro wrestler, and just as scary. He held up a huge hand, as if he were swearing an oath. “On a stack of Bibles,” he said.
“Yes,” I said after a moment’s scan of my inner qualms to make sure they were minor. And also, I may not have a built-in truth detector, but I could have told if he’d been thinking, I’m saying that to get in her pants. Shifters are very hard to read, their brains are all snarly and semiopaque, but I would’ve picked up on that. “Then…yes.”
“Oh, boy.” Quinn took a deep breath and his grin lit up the room. But in the next moment, his eyes got that focused look men get when they’re thinking about sex very specifically. And then, lickety-split, Quinn was on his feet and his arms were around me as tightly as ropes tying us together.
His mouth found mine. We picked up where we’d left off with the kissing. His mouth was a very clever one and his tongue was very warm. His hands began examining my topography. Down the line of my back to the curve of my hips, back up to my shoulders to cup my face for a moment, down to brush my neck teasingly with the lightest of fingertips. Then those fingers found my breasts, and after a second he tugged my top out of my pants and began exploring territory he’d only visited briefly before. He liked what he found, if “Mmmmm” was a statement of delight. It spoke volumes to me.
“I want to see you,” he said. “I want to see all of you.”
I had never made love in the daytime before. It seemed very (excitingly) sinful to be struggling with buttons before the sun had even set, and I was so grateful I’d worn an extra-nice white lace bra and little bitty panties. When I dress up, I like to dress up all the way down to the skin.
“Oh,” he said when he saw the bra, which contrasted nicely with my deep summer tan. “Oh, boy.” It wasn’t the words; it was the expression of deep admiration. My shoes were already off. Luckily that morning I’d dispensed with handy-but-totally-unsexy knee-high hose in favor of bare legs. Quinn spent some quality time nuzzling my neck and kissing his way down to the bra while I was struggling to undo his belt, though since he would bend while I was trying to deal with the stiff buckle, that wasn’t working out fast enough.
“Take off your shirt,” I said, and my voice came out as hoarse as his. “I don’t have a shirt, you shouldn’t have a shirt.”
“Fine,” he said, and presto, the shirt was off. You’d expect Quinn to be hairy, but he isn’t. What he is, is muscular to the nth degree, and right at the moment his olive skin was summer-tan. His nipples were surprisingly dark and (not so surprisingly) very hard. Oh, boy—right at my eye level. He began dealing with his own damn belt while I began to explore one hard nub with my mouth, the other with my hand. Quinn’s whole body jerked, and he stopped what he was doing. He ran his fingers into my hair to hold my head against him, and he sighed, though it came out more like a growl, vibrating through his body. My free hand yanked at his pants, and he resumed working on the belt but in an unfocused and distracted way.
“Let’s move into the bedroom,” I said, but it didn’t come out like a calm and collected suggestion, more a ragged demand.
He swooped me up, and I latched my arms around his neck and kissed him on his beautiful mouth again.
“No fair,” he muttered. “My hands are full.”
“Bed,” I said, and he deposited me on the bed and then simply fell on top of me.
“Clothes,” I reminded him, but he had a mouthful of white lace and breast, and he didn’t reply. “Oh,” I said. I may have said “Oh” a few more times; and “Yes,” too. A sudden thought yanked me right out of the flow of the moment.
“Quinn, do you have, you know…” I had never needed to have such items before, since vamps can’t get a girl pregnant or give her a disease.
“Why do you think I still have my pants on?” he said, pulling a little package out of his back pocket. His smile this time was far more feral.
“Good,” I said from my heart. I would have thrown myself from a window if we’d had to quit. “And you might take the pants off now.”
I’d seen Quinn naked before but under decidedly stressful circumstances—in the middle of a swamp, in the rain, while we were being pursued by werewolves. Quinn stood by the bed and took off his shoes and socks and then his pants, moving slowly enough to let me watch. He stepped out of his pants, revealing boxer briefs that were suffering their own kind of stress. In one quick movement he eased them off, too. He had a tight, high butt, and the line from his hip to his thigh was just mouthwatering. He had fine, thin white scars striping him at random, but they seemed like such a natural part of him that they didn’t detract from his powerful body. I was kneeling on the bed while I admired him, and he said, “Now you.”
I unhooked my bra and slid it off my arms, and he said, “Oh, God. I am the luckiest man alive.” After a pause, he said, “The rest.”
I stood by the bed and eased the little white lacey things off.
“This is like standing in front of a buffet,” he said. “I don’t know where to begin.”
I touched my breasts. “First course,” I suggested.
I discovered that Quinn’s tongue was just a bit raspier than a regular man’s. I was gasping and making incoherent noises when he moved from my right breast to my left as he tried to decide which one he liked best. He couldn’t make up his mind immediately, which was fine with me. By the time he settled on the right breast, I was pushing against him and making sounds that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but desperate.
“I think I’ll skip the second course and go right to dessert,” he whispered, his voice dark and ragged. “Are you ready, babe? You sound ready. You feel ready.”
“I am so ready,” I said, reaching down between us to wrap my hand around his length. He quivered all over when I touched him. He rolled on the condom.
“Now,” he growled. “Now!” I guided him to my entrance, thrust my hips up to meet him. “I dreamed of this,” he said, and shoved inside me up to the hilt. That was the last thing either of us was able to say.
Quinn’s appetite was as outstanding as his equipment.
He enjoyed dessert so much, he came back for seconds.