From Dead to Worse

today, and I got a long-sleeved T-shirt out of a drawer I hadn’t opened in months. It was Halloween weather. It was past time to buy a pumpkin and some candy ... not that I got many trick-or-treaters. For the first time in days, I felt normal: that is to say, comfortably happy with myself and my world. There was a lot to grieve about, and I would, but I wasn’t walking around expecting a smack in the face.
    Of course, the minute I thought that, I began to brood on bad things. I realized I hadn’t heard anything from the Shreveport vampires, and then I wondered why I thought I should or would. This period of adjustment from one regime to another had to be full of tension and negotiation, and it was best to leave them to it. I hadn’t heard from the Weres of Shreveport, either. Since the investigation into the disappearance of all those people was still active, that was a good thing.
    And since I’d just broken up with my boyfriend, that meant (theoretically) I was footloose and fancy-free. I put on eye makeup as a gesture toward my freedom. And then I added some lipstick. It was hard to feel adventurous, actually. I hadn’t wanted to be fancy-free.
    As I finished making my bed, Amelia knocked at my door.
    “Come on in,” I said, folding my nightgown and putting it in the drawer. “What’s up?”
    “Well, my father has a favor to ask you,” she said.
    I could feel my face settle into grim lines. Of course, there had to be something Copley wanted if he’d driven up from New Orleans to talk to his daughter. And I could imagine what that request was.
    “Go on,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
    “Oh, Sookie, your body language is already saying no!”
    “Ignore my body and speak your piece.”
    She heaved a big sigh to indicate how reluctant she was to drag me into her dad’s stuff. But I could tell she was tickled pink that he’d asked her to help him. “Well, since I told him about the Vegas vampire takeover, he wants to reestablish his business link with the vampires. He wants an introduction. He was hoping you could, like, broker that.”
    “I don’t even know Felipe de Castro.”
    “No, but you know that Victor. And he looks like he’s got his eyes on his own advancement.”
    “You know him as well as I do,” I pointed out.
    “Maybe, but what’s more important is that he knows who you are, and I’m just the other woman in the room,” Amelia said, and I could see her point—though I hated it. “I mean, he knows who I am, who my dad is, but he really noticed you.”
    “Oh, Amelia,” I moaned, and for just a moment felt like kicking her.
    “I know you won’t like this, but he said he was ready to pay, like, a finder’s fee,” Amelia muttered, looking embarrassed.
    I waved my hands in front of me to fan that thought away. I was not going to let my friend’s father pay me money to make a phone call or whatever I had to do. At that moment I knew I’d decided I had to do this for Amelia’s sake.
    We went to the living room to talk face-to-face with Copley.
    He greeted me with far more enthusiasm than he’d shown on his previous visit. He fixed his gaze on me, did the whole “I’m focused on you” thing. I regarded him with a skeptical eye. Since he was no fool, he picked up on that immediately.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Stackhouse, for intruding here so soon after my last visit,” he said, laying on the smarm. “But things in New Orleans are so desperate. We’re trying to rebuild to bring the jobs back in. This connection is really important to me, and I employ a lot of people.”
    One, I didn’t think Copley Carmichael was hurting for business even without the contracts for rebuilding the vampire properties. Two, I didn’t for a minute think his sole motivation was the improvement of the damaged city; but after a moment of looking into his head, I was willing to concede that accounted for at least a fraction of his urgency.
    Also, Marley had split the wood for the winter and carried a load in. That counted for more with me than any appeal based on emotion.
    “I’ll call Fangtasia tonight,” I said. “I’ll see what they say. That’s the limit of my involvement.”
    “Miss Stackhouse, I’m indeed indebted,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
    “Your chauffeur already did it,” I said. “If he could finish splitting that oak, that would be a great favor.” I’m not a very good wood splitter, and I know because I’ve tried. Three or four logs done, and