Definitely Dead

on Saturday to celebrate mass, and Father Kempton Littrell, pale and bearded, was the Episcopal priest who held Holy Eucharist in the tiny Episcopal church in Clarice once every two weeks.
    “Hello, Sookie,” Father Riordan said. He was Irish; really Irish, not just of Irish extraction. I loved to hear him talk. He wore thick glasses with black frames, and he was in his forties.
    “Evening, Father. And hi to you, Father Littrell. What can I get you all?”
    “I’d like Scotch on the rocks, Miss Sookie. And you, Kempton?”
    “Oh, I’ll just have a beer. And a basket of chicken strips, please.” The Episcopal priest wore gold-rimmed glasses, and he was younger than Father Riordan. He had a conscientious heart.
    “Sure.” I smiled at the two of them. Since I could read their thoughts, I knew them both to be genuinely good men, and that made me happy. It’s always disconcerting to hear the contents of a minister’s head and find out they’re no better than you, and not only that, they’re not trying to be.
    Since it was full dark outside, I wasn’t surprised when Bill Compton walked in. I couldn’t say the same for the priests. The churches of America hadn’t come to grips with the reality of vampires. To call their policies confused was putting it mildly. The Catholic Church was at this moment holding a convocation to decide whether the church would declare all vampires damned and anathema to Catholics, or accept them into the fold as potential converts. The Episcopal Church had voted against accepting vampires as priests, though they were allowed to take communion—but a substantial slice of the laity said that would be over their dead bodies. Unfortunately, most of them didn’t comprehend how possible that was.
    Both the priests watched unhappily as Bill gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and settled at his favorite table. Bill barely gave them a glance, but unfolded his newspaper and began to read. He always looked serious, as if he were studying the financial pages or the news from Iraq; but I knew he read the advice columns first, and then the comics, though he often didn’t get the jokes.
    Bill was by himself, which was a nice change. Usually, he brought the lovely Selah Pumphrey. I loathed her. Since Bill had been my first love and my first lover, maybe I would never be completely over him. Maybe he didn’t want me to be. He did seem to drag Selah into Merlotte’s every single date they had. I figured he was waving her in my face. Not exactly what you did if you didn’t care any more, huh?
    Without his having to ask, I took him his favorite beverage, TrueBlood type O. I set it neatly in front of him on a napkin, and I’d turned to go when a cool hand touched my arm. His touch always jolted me; maybe it always would. Bill had always made it clear I aroused him, and after a lifetime of no relationships and no sex, I began walking tall when Bill made it clear he found me attractive. Other men had looked at me as if I’d become more interesting, too. Now I knew why people thought about sex so much; Bill had given me a thorough education.
    “Sookie, stay for a moment.” I looked down into brown eyes, which looked all the darker in Bill’s white face. His hair was brown, too, smooth and sleek. He was slim and broad-shouldered, his arms hard with muscles, like the farmer he had been. “How have you been?”
    “I’m fine,” I said, trying not to sound surprised. It wasn’t often Bill passed the time of day; small talk wasn’t his strong point. Even when we’d been a couple, he had not been what you’d call chatty. And even a vampire can be a workaholic; Bill had become a computer geek. “Have things been well with you?”
    “Yes. When will you go to New Orleans to claim your inheritance?”
    Now I was truly startled. (This is possible because I can’t read vampire minds. That’s why I like vampires so much. It’s wonderful to be with someone who’s a mystery to me.) My cousin had been murdered almost six weeks ago in New Orleans, and Bill had been with me when the Queen of Louisiana’s emissary had come to tell me about it . . . and to deliver the murderer to me for my judgment. “I guess I’ll go through Hadley’s apartment sometime in the next month or so. I haven’t talked to Sam about taking the time off.”
    “I’m sorry you lost your cousin. Have you been grieving?”
    I hadn’t seen Hadley in years, and it would have been stranger than I can say to see her after