All Together Dead

"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 i

"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 i

"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 Qui

"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 I

"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 ru