Read Online Living Dead in Dallas by Charlaine Harris - Free Book Online
Authors: Charlaine Harris
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intervened, when it was against my personal policy to act on what I learned in such a surreptitious way. “You have good sense, you can do this right.”
Jason turned back around then, and I got a call for another pitcher from one of my tables. As I moved out from behind the bar to answer the summons, I noticed Portia Bellefleur in the doorway. Portia peered around the dark bar as though she were searching for someone. To my astonishment, that someone turned out to be me.
“Sookie, do you have a minute?” she asked.
I could count the personal conversations I’d had with Portia on one hand, almost on one finger, and I couldn’t imagine what was on her mind.
“Sit over there,” I said, nodding at an empty table in my area. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Oh, all right. And I’d better order a glass of wine, I guess. Merlot.”
“I’ll have it right there.” I poured her glass carefully, and put it on a tray. After checking visually to make sure all my customers looked content, I carried the tray over to Portia’s table and sat opposite her. I perched on the edge of the chair, so anyone who ran out of a drink could see I was fixing to hop up in just a second.
“What can I do for you?” I reached up to check that my ponytail was secure and smiled at Portia.
She seemed intent on her wineglass. She turned it with her fingers, took a sip, positioned it on the exact center of the coaster. “I have a favor to ask you,” she said.
No shit, Sherlock. Since I’d never had a casual conversation with Portia longer than two sentences, it was obvious she needed something from me.
“Let me guess. You were sent here by your brother to ask me to listen in on people’s thoughts when they’re in the bar, so I can find out about this orgy thing Lafayette went to.” Like I hadn’t seen that coming.
Portia looked embarrassed, but determined. “He would never have asked you if he wasn’t in serious trouble, Sookie.”
“He would never have asked me because he doesn’t like me. Though I’ve never been anything but nice to him his whole life! But now, it’s okay to ask me for help, because he really needs me.”
Portia’s fair complexion was turning a deep unbecoming red. I knew it wasn’t very pleasant of me to take out her brother’s problems on her, but she had, after all, agreed to be the messenger. You know what happens to messengers. That made me think of my own messenger role the night before, and I wondered if I should be feeling lucky today.
“I wasn’t for this,” she muttered. It hurt her pride, to ask a favor of a barmaid; a Stackhouse, to boot.
Nobody liked me having a “gift.” No one wanted me to use it on her. But everyone wanted me to find out something to her advantage, no matter how I felt about sifting through the thoughts (mostly unpleasant and irrelevant) of bar patrons to glean pertinent information.
“You’d probably forgotten that just recently Andy arrested my brother for murder?” Of course he’d had to let Jason go, but still.
If Portia had turned any redder she’d have lit a fire. “Just forget it, then,” she said, scraping together all her dignity. “We don’t need help from a freak like you, anyway.”
I had touched her at the quick, because Portia had always been courteous, if not warm.
“Listen to me, Portia Bellefleur. I’ll listen a little. Not for you or your brother, but because I liked Lafayette. He was a friend of mine, and he was always sweeter to me than you or Andy.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Darling, is there a problem?” asked a cool voice from behind me.
Bill. I reached with my mind, and felt the relaxing empty space right behind me. Other minds just buzzed like bees in a jar, but Bill’s was like a globe filled with air. It was wonderful. Portia stood up so abruptly that her chair almost went over backwards. She was frightened of even being close to Bill, like he was a venomous snake or
Jason turned back around then, and I got a call for another pitcher from one of my tables. As I moved out from behind the bar to answer the summons, I noticed Portia Bellefleur in the doorway. Portia peered around the dark bar as though she were searching for someone. To my astonishment, that someone turned out to be me.
“Sookie, do you have a minute?” she asked.
I could count the personal conversations I’d had with Portia on one hand, almost on one finger, and I couldn’t imagine what was on her mind.
“Sit over there,” I said, nodding at an empty table in my area. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Oh, all right. And I’d better order a glass of wine, I guess. Merlot.”
“I’ll have it right there.” I poured her glass carefully, and put it on a tray. After checking visually to make sure all my customers looked content, I carried the tray over to Portia’s table and sat opposite her. I perched on the edge of the chair, so anyone who ran out of a drink could see I was fixing to hop up in just a second.
“What can I do for you?” I reached up to check that my ponytail was secure and smiled at Portia.
She seemed intent on her wineglass. She turned it with her fingers, took a sip, positioned it on the exact center of the coaster. “I have a favor to ask you,” she said.
No shit, Sherlock. Since I’d never had a casual conversation with Portia longer than two sentences, it was obvious she needed something from me.
“Let me guess. You were sent here by your brother to ask me to listen in on people’s thoughts when they’re in the bar, so I can find out about this orgy thing Lafayette went to.” Like I hadn’t seen that coming.
Portia looked embarrassed, but determined. “He would never have asked you if he wasn’t in serious trouble, Sookie.”
“He would never have asked me because he doesn’t like me. Though I’ve never been anything but nice to him his whole life! But now, it’s okay to ask me for help, because he really needs me.”
Portia’s fair complexion was turning a deep unbecoming red. I knew it wasn’t very pleasant of me to take out her brother’s problems on her, but she had, after all, agreed to be the messenger. You know what happens to messengers. That made me think of my own messenger role the night before, and I wondered if I should be feeling lucky today.
“I wasn’t for this,” she muttered. It hurt her pride, to ask a favor of a barmaid; a Stackhouse, to boot.
Nobody liked me having a “gift.” No one wanted me to use it on her. But everyone wanted me to find out something to her advantage, no matter how I felt about sifting through the thoughts (mostly unpleasant and irrelevant) of bar patrons to glean pertinent information.
“You’d probably forgotten that just recently Andy arrested my brother for murder?” Of course he’d had to let Jason go, but still.
If Portia had turned any redder she’d have lit a fire. “Just forget it, then,” she said, scraping together all her dignity. “We don’t need help from a freak like you, anyway.”
I had touched her at the quick, because Portia had always been courteous, if not warm.
“Listen to me, Portia Bellefleur. I’ll listen a little. Not for you or your brother, but because I liked Lafayette. He was a friend of mine, and he was always sweeter to me than you or Andy.”
“I don’t like you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Darling, is there a problem?” asked a cool voice from behind me.
Bill. I reached with my mind, and felt the relaxing empty space right behind me. Other minds just buzzed like bees in a jar, but Bill’s was like a globe filled with air. It was wonderful. Portia stood up so abruptly that her chair almost went over backwards. She was frightened of even being close to Bill, like he was a venomous snake or
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