Charlaine Harris - Definitely Dead

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Table of Contents

Ace books by Charlaine Harris

DEAD UNTIL DARK
LIVING DEAD IN DALLAS
CLUB DEAD
DEAD TO THE WORLD
DEAD AS A DOORNAIL
DEFINITELY DEAD

Berkley Prime Crime books by Charlaine Harris

SHAKESPEARES LANDLORD
SHAKESPEARES TROLLOP
SHAKESPEARES COUNSELOR

GRAVE SIGHT

Obviously, this book was finished months before Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast. Since much of the plot is set in New Orleans, I struggled with whether I would leave Definitely Dead as it was, or include the catastrophe of August and September. After much thought, since Sookies visit takes place in the early spring of the year, I decided to let the book remain as it was originally written.

My heart goes out to the people of the beautiful city of New Orleans and to all the people of the coastal areas of Mississippi, my home state. My thoughts and prayers will be with you as you rebuild your homes and your lives.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks to so many people: Jerrilyn Farmers sons Latin teacher; Toni L.P. Kelner and Steve Kelner, friends and sounding boards; Ivan Van Laningham, who has both knowledge and opinions about many, many subjects; Dr. Stacy Clanton, about whom I can say the same; Alexandre Dumas, author of the fabulous The Three Musketeers, which everyone ought to read; Anne Rice, for vampirizing New Orleans; and to the reader at Uncle Hugos who guessed the plot of this book in advance... hats off to you all!

I WAS DRAPED OVER THE ARM OF ONE OF THE MOST beautiful men Id ever seen, and he was staring into my eyes. Think... Brad Pitt, I whispered. The dark brown eyes still regarded me with remote interest.

Okay, I was on the wrong track.

I pictured Claudes last lover, a bouncer at a strip joint.

Think about Charles Bronson, I suggested. Or, um, Edward James Olmos. I was rewarded by the beginnings of a hot glow in those long-lashed eyes.

In a jiffy, you wouldve thought Claude was going to hike up my long rustling skirt and yank down my low-cut push-up bodice and ravish me until I begged for mercy. Unfortunately for meand all the other women of LouisianaClaude batted for another team. Bosomy and blond was not Claudes ideal; tough, rough, and brooding, with maybe a little whisker stubble, was what lit his fire.

Maria-Star, reach in there and pull that lock of hair back, Alfred Cumberland directed from behind the camera. The photographer was a heavyset black man with graying hair and mustache. Maria-Star Cooper took a quick step in front of the camera to rearrange a stray strand of my long blond hair. I was bent backward over Claudes right arm, my invisible (to the camera, anyway) left hand desperately clutching the back of his black frock coat, my right arm raised to rest gently on his left shoulder. His left hand was at my waist. I think the pose was meant to suggest that he was lowering me to the ground to have his way with me.

Claude was wearing the black frock coat with black knee pants, white hose, and a white frothy shirt. I was wearing a long blue dress with a billowing skirt and a score of petticoats. As Ive mentioned, the dress was scanty on the topside, with the little sleeves pushed down off my shoulders. I was glad the temperature in the studio was moderately warm. The big light (it looked to my eyes like a satellite dish) was not as hot as Id expected.

Al Cumberland was snapping away as Claude smoldered down at me. I did my best to smolder right back. My personal life had been, shall we say, barren for the past few weeks, so I was all too ready to smolder. In fact, I was ready to burst into flames.

Maria-Star, who had beautiful light-toast skin and curly dark hair, was standing ready with a big makeup case and brushes and combs to perform last-minute repairs. When Claude and I had arrived at the studio, Id been surprised to find that I recognized the photographers young assistant. I hadnt seen Maria-Star since the Shreveport packleader had been chosen a few weeks before. I hadnt had much of a chance to observe her then, since the packmaster contest had been frightening and bloody. Today, I had the leisure to see that Maria-Star had completely recovered from being hit by a car this past January. Werewolves healed quickly.

Maria-Star had recognized me, too, and Id been relieved when she smiled back at me. My standing with the Shreveport pack was, to say the least, uncertain. Without exactly volunteering to do so, Id unwittingly thrown in my lot with the unsuccessful contestant for the packleaders job. That contestants son, Alcide Herveaux, whom Id counted as maybe more than a friend, felt Id let him down during the contest; the new packleader, Patrick Furnan, knew I had ties to the Herveaux family. Id been surprised when Maria-Star chatted away while she was zipping the costume and brushing my hair. She applied more makeup than Id ever worn in my life, but when I stared into the mirror I had to thank her. I looked great, though I didnt look like Sookie Stackhouse.

If Claude hadnt been gay, he might have been impressed, too. Hes the brother of my friend Claudine, and he makes his living stripping on ladies night at Hooligans, a club he now owns. Claude is simply mouthwatering; six feet tall, with rippling black hair and large brown eyes, a perfect nose, and lips just full enough. He keeps his hair long to cover up his ears: theyve been surgically altered to look rounded like human ears, not pointed as they originally were. If youre in the know supernaturally, youll spot the ear surgery, and youll know Claude is a fairy. Im not using the pejorative term for his sexual orientation. I mean it literally; Claudes a fairy.

Now the wind machine, Al instructed Maria-Star, and after a little repositioning, she switched on a large fan. Now we appeared to be standing in a gale. My hair billowed out in a blond sheet, though Claudes tied-back ponytail stayed in place. After a few shots to capture that look, Maria-Star unbound Claudes hair and directed it over one shoulder, so it would blow forward to form a backdrop for his perfect profile.

Wonderful, Al said, and snapped some more. Maria-Star moved the machine a couple of times, causing the windstorm to strike from different directions. Eventually Al told me I could stand up. I straightened gratefully.

I hope that wasnt too hard on your arm, I told Claude, who was looking cool and calm again.

Nah, no problem. You have any fruit juice around? he asked Maria-Star. Claude was not Mr. Social Skills.

The pretty Were pointed to a little refrigerator in the corner of the studio. Cups are on the top, she told Claude. She followed him with her eyes and sighed. Women frequently did that after theyd actually talked to Claude. The sigh was a what a pity sigh.

After checking to make sure her boss was still fiddling intently with his gear, Maria-Star gave me a bright smile. Even though she was a Were, which made her thoughts hard to read, I was picking up on the fact that she had something she wanted to tell me... and she wasnt sure how I was going to take it.

Telepathy is no fun. Your opinion of yourself suffers when you know what others think of you. And telepathy makes it almost impossible to date regular guys. Just think about it. (And remember, Ill knowif you are, or if you arent.)

Alcides had a hard time of it since his dad was defeated, Maria-Star said, keeping her voice low. Claude was occupied with studying himself in a mirror while he drank his juice. Al Cumberland had gotten a call on his cell phone and retreated to his office to hold his conversation.

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