"Charlaine Harris - Sookie Stackhouse 06 - Definitely Dead" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harris Charlaine)

DEFINITELY DEAD Charlaine Harris
Obviously, this book was finished months before Hurricane Katrina struck
the Gulf Coast. Since much of the plot is set in New Orleans, I struggled with
whether I would leave Definitely Dead as it was, or include the catastrophe of
August and September. After much thought, since Sookie's visit takes place in
the early spring of the year, I decided to let the book remain as it was
originally written.
My heart goes out to the people of the beautiful city of New Orleans and to
all the people of the coastal areas of Mississippi, my home state. My thoughts
and prayers will be with you as you rebuild your homes and your lives.
Copyright ┬й 2006 by Charlaine Harris Schulz.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to so many people: Jerrilyn Farmer's son's Latin teacher; Toni
L.P. Kelner and Steve Kelner, friends and sounding boards; Ivan Van Laningham,
who has both knowledge and opinions about many, many subjects; Dr. Stacy
Clanton, about whom I can say the same; Alexandre Dumas, author of the
fabulous The Three Musketeers, which everyone ought to read; Anne Rice, for
vampirizing New Orleans; and to the reader at Uncle Hugo's who guessed the
plot of this book in advanceтАж hats off to you all!


Chapter 1
I was draped over the arm of one of the most beautiful men I'd ever seen,
and he was staring into my eyes.
"Think Brad Pitt," I whispered. The dark brown eyes still regarded me with
remote interest.
Okay, I was on the wrong track.
I pictured Claude's last lover, a bouncer at a strip joint.
"Think about Charles Bronson," I suggested. "Or, um, Edward James Olmos." I
was rewarded by the beginnings of a hot glow in those long-lashed eyes.
In a jiffy, you would've thought Claude was going to hike up my long
rustling skirt and yank down my low-cut push-up bodice and ravish me until I
begged for mercy. Unfortunately тАФ for me, and all the other women of Louisiana
тАФ Claude batted for another team. Bosomy and blond was not Claude's ideal;
tough, rough, and brooding, with maybe a little whisker stubble, was what lit
his fire.
"Maria-Star, reach in there and pull that lock of hair back," Alfred
Cumberland directed from behind the camera. The photographer was a heavyset
black man with graying hair and mustache. Maria-Star Cooper took a quick step
in front of the camera to rearrange a stray strand of my long blond hair. I
was bent backward over Claude's right arm, my invisible (to the camera,
anyway) left hand desperately clutching the back of his black frock coat, my
right arm raised to rest gently on his left shoulder. His left hand was at my
waist. I think the pose was meant to suggest that he was lowering me to the
ground to have his way with me.
Claude was wearing the black frock coat with black knee pants, white hose,
and a white frothy shirt. I was wearing a long blue dress with a billowing
skirt and a score of petticoats. As I've mentioned, the dress was scanty on
the topside, with the little sleeves pushed down off my shoulders. I was glad