Definitely Dead

remembered Mr. Cataliades’s face, and Diantha’s grief.
    They all three stared at me blankly. “Gladiola? The flower?” Barbara said, looking genuinely puzzled. “It’s not even the right season for glads, now.”
    That was a dead end.
    “Do you agree we’re square on this?” I asked baldly. “I’ve hurt you, you’ve hurt me. Even?”
    Sandra shook her head from side to side, but her parents ignored her. Thank God for duct tape. Gordon and Barbara nodded at each other.
    Gordon said, “You killed Debbie, but we do believe that you killed her in self-defense. And our living daughter took extreme and unlawful methods to attack you. . . . It goes against my grain to say this, but I think we have to agree to leave you alone, after this day.”
    Sandra made a lot of weird noises.
    “With these stipulations.” Gordon’s face suddenly looked hard as a rock. The yuppie man took a backseat to the Were. “You won’t come after Sandra. And you stay out of Mississippi.”
    “Done,” I said instantly. “Can you control Sandra enough to make her keep to this agreement?” It was a rude but valid question. Sandra had enough balls for an army, and I doubted very much if the Pelts had ever really had control over either of their daughters.
    “Sandra,” Gordon said to his daughter. Her eyes blazed at him from her forcibly mute face. “Sandra, this is law. We are giving our word to this woman, and our word is binding on you. If you defy me, I’ll challenge you at the next full moon. I’ll take you down in front of the pack.”
    Both mother and daughter looked shocked, Sandra more so than her mother. Sandra’s eyes narrowed, and after a long moment, she nodded.
    I hoped Gordon lived a long time and enjoyed good health while he lived. If he grew ill, or if he died, Sandra wouldn’t feel bound by this agreement, I felt pretty darn sure. But as I walked out of the little house in the swamp, I thought I had a reasonable chance of not seeing the Pelts again in my life, and that was absolutely okay with me.

Chapter 22
    AMELIA WAS RUMMAGING THROUGH HER WALK-IN closet. It was just after dark the next day. Suddenly the hangers quit sliding across the rack at the very back of the closet.
    “I think I have one,” she called, sounding surprised. I waited for her to emerge, sitting on the edge of her bed. I’d had at least ten hours’ sleep, I’d had a careful shower, I’d had some first aid, and I felt a hundred times better. Amelia was glowing with pride and happiness. Not only had Bob the Mormony witch been wonderful in bed, they’d been up in time to watch Quinn’s and my abduction, and to have the brilliant idea of calling the vampire queen’s mansion instead of the regular police. I hadn’t told her yet that Quinn and I had made our own call, because I didn’t know which one had been more effective, and I enjoyed seeing Amelia so happy.
    I hadn’t wanted to go to the queen’s shindig at all until after my trip to the bank with Mr. Cataliades. After I’d returned to Hadley’s apartment, I’d resumed packing my cousin’s stuff and heard a strange noise when I’d put the coffee into a box. Now if I wanted to avert disaster, I had to go to the queen’s spring party, the supernatural event of the year. I’d tried getting in touch with Andre at the queen’s headquarters, but a voice had told me he was not to be disturbed. I wondered who was answering the phones at Vampire Central that day. Could it be one of Peter Threadgill’s vamps?
    “Yes, I do!” Amelia exclaimed. “Ah, it’s kind of daring. I was the bridesmaid at an extreme wedding.” She emerged from the closet with her hair disheveled, her eyes lit with triumph. She rotated the hanger so I could get the full effect. She’d had to pin the dress to the hanger because there was so little to hang.
    “Yikes,” I said, uneasily. Made mostly of lime-green chiffon, it was cut in a deep V almost down to the waist. A single narrow strap ran around the neck.
    “It was a movie star wedding,” Amelia said, looking as if she had a lot of memories of the service. Since the dress was also backless, I was wondering how those Hollywood women kept their boobs covered. Double-sided tape? Some kind of glue? As I hadn’t seen Claudine since she vanished from the courtyard before the ectoplasmic reconstruction, I had to assume she’d gone back to her job and her life in Monroe. I could have used her special services just about now. There had to be a