Definitely Dead (Sookie Stackhouse #6)(9)
Author: Charlaine Harris

I happened to know that Eric’s pistol was more of a .357 Magnum than a snub-nose.

Somehow I’d never gotten past looking at January.

"Oh, I’ll let him know," Pam said. "Eric said many people wouldn’t like it if I were in the calendar made for women… so I’m in the one for men. Would you like me to send you a copy of my picture, as well?"

"That surprises me," I told her. "It really does. I mean, that you wouldn’t mind posing." I had a hard time imagining her participation in a project that would pander to human tastes.

"Eric tells me to pose, I pose," she said matter-of-factly.

Though Eric had considerable power over Pam since he was her maker, I have to say that I’d never known Eric to ask Pam to do anything she wasn’t ready to do. Either he knew her well (which, of course, he did) or Pam was willing to do just about anything.

"I have a whip in my picture," Pam said. "The photographer says it’ll sell a million." Pam had wide-ranging tastes in the area of sex.

After a long moment while I contemplated the mental image that raised, I said, "I’m sure it will, Pam. But I’ll give it a pass."

"We’ll all get a percentage, all of us who agreed to pose."

"But Eric will get a bigger percentage than the rest."

"Well, he’s the sheriff," Pam said reasonably.

"Right. Well, bye." I started to hang up.

"Wait, what am I to tell Eric?"

"Just tell him the truth."

"You know he’ll be angry." Pam didn’t sound at all scared. In fact, she sounded gleeful.

"Well, that’s his problem," I said, maybe a bit childishly, and this time I did hang up. An angry Eric would surely be my problem, too.

I had a nasty feeling I’d taken a serious step in denying Eric. I had no idea what would happen now. When I’d first gotten to know the sheriff of Area Five, I’d been dating Bill. Eric had wanted to use my unusual talent. He’d simply held hurting Bill over my head to get me to comply. When I’d broken up with Bill, Eric had lacked any means of coercion until I’d needed a favor from him, and then I’d supplied Eric with the most potent ammunition of all – the knowledge that I’d shot Debbie Pelt. It didn’t matter that he’d hidden her body and her car and he couldn’t himself remember where; the accusation would be enough to ruin the rest of my life, even if it was never proved. Even if I could bring myself to deny it.

As I carried out my duties in the bar the rest of that night, I found myself wondering if Eric really would reveal my secret. If Eric told the police what I’d done, he’d have to admit he’d had a part in it, wouldn’t he?

I was waylaid by Detective Andy Bellefleur when I was on my way to the bar. I’ve known Andy and his sister Portia all my life. They’re a few years older than me, but we’d been through the same schools, grown up in the same town. Like me, they’d been largely raised by their grandmother. The detective and I have had our ups and downs. Andy had been dating a young schoolteacher, Halleigh Robinson, for a few months now.

Tonight, he had a secret to share with me and a favor to ask.

"Listen, she’s going to order the chicken basket," he said, without preamble. I glanced over to their table, to make sure Halleigh was sitting with her back to me. She did. "When you bring the food to the table, make sure this is in it, covered up." He stuffed a little velvet-covered box into my hand. There was a ten-dollar bill under it.

"Sure, Andy, no problem," I said, smiling.

"Thanks, Sookie," he said, and for once he smiled back, a simple and uncomplicated and terrified smile.

Andy had been right on the money. Halleigh ordered the chicken basket when I went to their table.

"Make that extra fries," I said to our new cook when I turned in the order. I wanted plenty of camouflage. The cook turned from the grill to glare at me. We’ve had an assortment of cooks, of every age, color, gender, and sexual preference. We even had a vampire, once. Our current cook was a middle-aged black woman named Callie Collins. Callie was heavy, so heavy I didn’t know how she could get through the hours she spent standing on her feet in the hot kitchen. "Extra fries?" Callie said, as if she’d never heard of such a thing. "Uh-huh. People get extra fries when they pay for them, not because they friends of yours."

It could be that Callie was so sharp-edged because she was old enough to remember the bad old days when blacks and whites had different schools, different waiting rooms, different water fountains. I didn’t remember any of those things, and I was not willing to take into account Callie’s bundle of baggage every time I talked to her.

"They paid extra," I lied, not wanting to call an explanation through the service pass-through that anyone close enough could overhear. I’d put a dollar of my tip into the till, instead, to make up the money. Despite our differences, I wished Andy and his schoolteacher well. Anyone who was going to be Caroline Bellefleur’s granddaughter-in-law deserved a romantic moment.

When Callie called up the basket, I trotted over to get it. Slipping the little box under the fries was harder than I imagined, and it required a bit of surreptitious rearrangement. I wondered if Andy had realized that the velvet would get greasy and salty. Oh well, this wasn’t my romantic gesture, but his.

I carried the tray to the table with happy anticipation. In fact, Andy had to warn me (with a severe glance) to pull my face into more neutral lines as I served their food. Andy already had a beer in front of him, and she had a glass of white wine. Halleigh wasn’t a big drinker, as befitted an elementary school teacher. I turned away as soon as the food was on the table, even forgetting to ask them if they needed anything else, like a good waitress should.

It was beyond me to try to stay detached after that. Though I tried not to be obvious, I watched the couple as closely as I could. Andy was on pins and needles, and I could hear his brain, which was simply agitated. He really wasn’t sure whether he’d be accepted, and his mind was running through the list of things she might object to: the fact that Andy was almost ten years older, his hazardous profession…

I knew the moment when she spied the box. Maybe it wasn’t nice of me to eavesdrop mentally on a very special moment, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t even think of that at the time. Though ordinarily I keep myself well guarded, I’m used to dropping into people’s heads if I spy something interesting. I’m also used to believing that my ability is a minus, not a plus, so I guess I feel entitled to whatever fun I can have with it.

I had my back to them, clearing off a table, which I should have left for the busboy to do. So I was close enough to hear.