Definitely dead - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,53

east. “Not even the bugs, as you see. The ground will not digest her, as it does humans.”

“You don’t want to take her home? To her people?”

“Diantha and I are her people. It’s not our custom to take the dead back to the place where they were living.”

“But what killed her?”

Mr. Cataliades raised an eyebrow.

“No, of course she was killed by something cutting through her middle, I’m seeing that! But what wielded the blade?”

“Diantha, what do you think?” Mr. Cataliades said, as if he were conducting a class.

“Something real, real strong and sneaky,” Diantha said. “It got close to Gladiola, and she weren’t no fool. We’re not easy to kill.”

“I have seen no sign of the letter she was carrying, either.” Mr. Cataliades leaned over and peered at the ground. Then he straightened. “Have you got firewood, Miss Stackhouse?”

“Yessir, there’s a good bit of split oak in the back by the toolshed.” Jason had cut up some trees the last ice storm had downed.

“Do you need to pack, my dear?”

“Yes,” I said, almost too overwhelmed to answer. “What? What for?”

“The trip to New Orleans. You can go now, can’t you?”

“I . . . I guess so. I’ll have to ask my boss.”

“Then Diantha and I will take care of this while you are getting permission and packing,” Mr. Cataliades said, and I blinked.

“All right,” I said. I didn’t seem to be able to think very clearly.

“Then we need to leave for New Orleans,” he said. “I’d thought I’d find you ready. I thought that Glad had stayed to help you.”

I wrenched my gaze from the body to stare up at the lawyer. “I’m just not understanding this,” I said. But I remembered something. “My friend Bill wanted to go to New Orleans when I went to clean out Hadley’s apartment,” I said. “If he can, if he can arrange it, would that be all right with you?”

“You want Bill to go,” he said, and there was a tinge of surprise in his voice. “Bill is in favor with the queen, so I wouldn’t mind if he went.”

“Okay, I’ll have to get in touch with him when it’s full dark,” I said. “I hope he’s in town.”

I could have called Sam, but I wanted to go somewhere away from the strange funeral on my driveway. When I drove off, Mr. Cataliades was carrying the limp small body out of the woods. He had the bottom half.

A silent Diantha was filling a wheelbarrow with wood.

12

SAM," I SAID, KEEPING MY VOICE LOW, “I NEED A FEW days off.” When I’d knocked on his trailer door, I’d been surprised to find he had guests, though I’d seen the other vehicles parked by Sam’s truck. JB du Rone and Andy Bellefleur were perched on Sam’s couch, beer and potato chips set handily on the coffee table. Sam was engaging in a male bonding ritual. “Watching sports?” I added, trying not to sound astonished. I waved over Sam’s shoulder to JB and Andy, and they waved back: JB enthusiastically, and Andy less happily. If you can be said to wave ambivalently, that was what he did.

“Uh, yeah, basketball. LSU’s playing . . . oh, well. You need the time off right now?”

“Yes,” I said. “There’s kind of an emergency.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“I have to go to New Orleans to clean out my cousin Hadley’s apartment,” I said.

“And that has to be right now? You know Tanya is still new, and Charlsie just quit, she says for good. Arlene’s not as reliable as she used to be, and Holly and Danielle are still pretty shaky since the school incident.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “If you want to let me go and get someone else, I’ll understand.” It broke my heart to say that, but in fairness to Sam, I had to.

Sam shut the trailer door behind him and stepped out on the porch. He looked hurt. “Sookie,” he said, after a second, “you’ve been completely reliable for at least five years. You’ve only asked for time off maybe two or three times total. I’m not going to fire you because you need a few days.”

“Oh. Well, good.” I could feel my face redden. I wasn’t used to praise. “Liz’s daughter might be able to come help.”

“I’ll call down the list,” he said mildly. “How are you getting to New Orleans?”

“I have a ride.”

“Who with?” he asked, his voice gentle. He didn’t want me to get mad at his minding my business. (I could tell that much.)

“The

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