Deadlocked: A Sookie Stackhouse Novel

book, which had large white spaces.
    “You must be Ms. Stackhouse,” she said.
    “Yes. I have an appointment with Ms. Osiecki?” I sounded out the name.
    “Oh-seek-ee,” she said very quietly, presumably so the owner of the name wouldn’t hear her correction.
    I nodded, to show I’d gotten it now.
    “I’ll see if she’s ready,” the girl said, leaping to her feet and making her way to the little corridor leading to the rest of the space. There was a door on the left and a door on the right, and after that the area seemed to widen into a common space. I could glimpse a big table and a bookcase full of heavy books, the kind of books I would never pick up to read.
    I heard a brisk knock and a murmur, and then the teenager was back. “Ms. Osiecki will see you now,” she said, with an expansive sweep of her hand.
    I went back to talk to Ms. Osiecki after taking a deep breath.
    A woman of about thirty stood up from her broad desk. She had well-cut short red-streaked brown hair, blue eyes, and brown glasses. She was wearing a nice white blouse and a wildly flowered skirt and high-heeled sandals. She was smiling.
    “I’m Beth Osiecki,” she said, in case I’d gotten lost between the reception area and her office.
    “Sookie Stackhouse,” I said, shaking the outstretched hand.
    She glanced down at the pad, and I could see she was going over the notes she’d scribbled the day before when I’d called her. She looked over at the big Scenic Louisiana poster by her desk. “Well,” she said, shooting me a quizzical look. “It really is a special day for you, isn’t it? It’s your birthday, and you’re going to make your will.”
    I felt a little strange after I left the lawyers’ office. I guess there’s nothing to make you think about your own demise like making your will. It’s also a literally do-or-die moment. When your will is read, it will be the last time people will hear your voice: the last expression of your will and your wishes, the last statement from your heart. It had been a strangely revelatory hour.
    Beth Osiecki was going to put everything in legalese, and I had to come in day after tomorrow and sign it. Just in case, I told her, I’d like to sign a list of the points I’d made. The list was in my own handwriting. I asked her if that would make it legal.
    “Sure,” she’d said. She’d smiled. I could tell that she was adding to her meager store of “strange client” stories, and that was okay with me.
    When I left Beth Osiecki’s office, I was pretty proud of myself. I’d made a will.
    I couldn’t quite figure out what to do next. It was three in the afternoon. I’d had a late breakfast, and a full lunch was out of the question. I didn’t need to go to the library; I had several library books I hadn’t read yet. I could go home and sunbathe, which was always a pleasant pastime, but then I’d sweat all over my good makeup and my clean hair. I was in danger of doing that now, standing here on the sidewalk. The sun was glaring down ferociously. I figured it was at least a hundred degrees. My cell phone rang as I hesitated to touch the handle of my car door.
    “Hello?” I fished a tissue out of my purse and used it to cover my fingers as I opened the door. The heat rolled out.
    “Sookie? How are you?”
    “Quinn?” I couldn’t believe it. “I’m so glad to hear from you.”
    “Happy birthday,” he said.
    I could feel my lips curve up in an involuntary smile. “You remembered!” I said. “Thanks!” I was absurdly pleased. I hadn’t exactly thought Tara would be thinking about my birthday, since she’d just brought twins home from the hospital, but maybe I’d been a tiny bit flattened when she hadn’t mentioned it this morning.
    “Hey, a birthday is an important day,” the weretiger said. I hadn’tseen him since Sam’s brother’s wedding. It was good to hear his deep voice.
    “How are you?” I hesitated for a moment before adding, “How’s Tijgerin?” The last time I’d seen Quinn, he’d just met the beautiful and single and one-of-the-last-of-her-kind weretigress. I don’t think I have to draw you a picture.
    “I’m … ah … going to be a father.”
    Wow. “Way to go!” I said. “So you guys have moved in together? Where are you living?”
    “That’s not exactly the way we do it, Sookie.”
    “Um. Okay. What’s the tiger procedure?”
    “Tiger men don’t bring up their young. Only the tiger mom.”
    “Gosh, that seems kind of