Definitely Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #6)(34)
Author: Charlaine Harris

"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 queen’s lawyer," I said, in an even quieter voice. Though tolerant of vampires in general, the citizens of Bon Temps might get a little excitable if they knew that their state had a vampire queen, and that her secret government affected them in many ways. On the other hand, given the disrepute of Louisiana politics, they might just think it was business as usual.

"You’re going to clean out Hadley’s apartment?"

I’d told Sam about my cousin’s second, and final, death.

"Yes. And I need to find out about whatever she left me."

"This seems real sudden." Sam looked troubled. He ran a hand over his curly red-gold hair until it stood out from his head in a wild halo. He needed a haircut.

"Yes, to me, too. Mr. Cataliades tried to tell me earlier, but the messenger was killed."

I heard Andy yelling at the television as some big play roused his excitement. Strange, I’d never thought of Andy as a sports guy, or JB either, for that matter. I’d never added up all the time I’d heard men thinking about assists and three-pointers when the women with them were talking about the need for new kitchen drapes or Rudy’s bad grade in algebra. When I did add it up, I wondered if the purpose of sports wasn’t to give guys a safe alternative to thornier issues.

"You shouldn’t go," Sam said instantly. "It sounds like it could be dangerous."

I shrugged. "I have to," I said. "Hadley left it to me; I have to do it." I was far from as calm as I was trying to look, but it didn’t seem to me like it would do any good to kick and scream about it.

Sam began to speak, then reconsidered. Finally, he said, "Is this about money, Sook? Do you need the money she left you?"

"Sam, I don’t know if Hadley had a penny to her name. She was my cousin, and I have to do this for her. Besides…" I was on the verge of telling him the trip to New Orleans had to be important in some way, since someone was trying so hard to keep me from going.

But Sam tended to be a worrier, especially if I was involved, and I didn’t want to get him all worked up when nothing he could say would dissuade me from going. I don’t think of myself as a stubborn person, but I figured this was the last service I could perform for my cousin.

"What about taking Jason?" Sam suggested, taking my hand. "He was Hadley’s cousin, too."

"Evidently, he and Hadley were on the outs toward the end," I said. "That’s why she left her stuff to me. Besides, Jason’s got a lot on his plate right now."

"What, something besides bossing Hoyt around and screwing every woman who’ll stand still long enough?"

I stared at Sam. I’d known he was not a big fan of my brother’s, but I hadn’t known his dislike went this deep.

"Yes, actually," I said, my voice as cold and frosty as a beer mug. I wasn’t about to explain my brother’s girlfriend’s miscarriage while I was standing on a doorstep, especially given Sam’s antagonism.

Sam looked away, shaking his head in disgust with himself. "I’m sorry, Sookie, I’m really sorry. I just think Jason should pay more attention to the only sister he’s got. You’re so loyal to him."

"Well, he wouldn’t let anything happen to me," I said, bewildered. "Jason would stand up for me."

Before Sam said, "Of course," I caught the flicker of doubt in his mind.

"I have to go pack," I said. I hated to walk away. No matter his feelings about Jason, Sam was important to me, and leaving him with this unhappiness between us shook me a bit. But I could hear the men roaring at some play inside the trailer, and I knew I had to let him get back to his guests and his Sunday afternoon pleasure. He gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"Call me if you need me," he said, and he looked as if he wanted to say a lot more. I nodded, turned away, and went down the steps to my car.

"Bill, you said you wanted to go to New Orleans with me when I went to close out Hadley’s estate?" Finally it was full dark, and I was able to call Bill. Selah Pumphrey had answered the phone and called Bill to talk to me in a very chilly voice.

"Yes."

"Mr. Cataliades is here, and he wants to leave real shortly."

"You could have told me earlier, when you knew he was coming." But Bill didn’t sound truly angry, or even surprised.

"He sent a messenger, but she was killed in my woods."

"You found the body?"

"No, a girl who came with him did. Her name’s Diantha."

"Then it was Gladiola who died."

"Yes," I said, surprised. "How did you know?"

Bill said, "When you come into a state, it’s only polite to check in with the queen or king if you’re staying for any length of time. I saw the girls from time to time, since they function as the queen’s messengers."

I looked at the telephone in my hands with as much thoughtfulness as if it’d been Bill’s face. I couldn’t help but think all these thoughts in quick succession. Bill wandered in my woods… Gladiola had been killed in my woods. She’d been killed without noise, efficiently and accurately, by someone well versed in the lore of the supernatural, someone who’d known to use a steel sword, someone who’d been strong enough to sweep a sword through Gladiola’s entire body.

These were characteristics of a vampire – but any number of supernatural creatures could do the same.

To get close enough to wield the sword, the killer had been super quick or quite innocuous-looking. Gladiola hadn’t suspected she was going to be killed.

Maybe she had known the murderer.

And the way Gladiola’s little body had been left, tossed in the bushes carelessly… the killer hadn’t cared if I found her body or not, though of course the demonic lack of putrefaction had played a role there. Her silence was all the killer had wanted. Why had she been killed? Her message, if I was getting the whole story from the heavy lawyer, had simply been for me to prepare for my trip to New Orleans. I was going, anyway, though she hadn’t had a chance to deliver it. So what had been gained by silencing her? Two or three more days of ignorance on my part? It didn’t seem to me that was much motivation.