"Charlaine Harris - Sookie Stackhouse 4.5 - One Word Answer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harris Charlaine)

with his statement.


"Would you be the woman known as Sookie Stack-house?" asked the large gentleman. He said it as if
he often addressed creatures that weren't men or women, but something else entirely.


"Yes, sir, I am," I said politely. My grandmother, God rest her soul, had raised me well. But she hadn't
raised a fool; I wasn't about to invite him in. I wondered why the driver didn't get out.


"Then I have a legacy for you."


Legacy meant someone had died. I didn't have anyone left except for my brother Jason, and he was
sitting down at Merlotte's Bar with his girlfriend Crystal. At least that's where he'd been when I'd gotten
off my barmaid's job a couple of hours before.


The little night creatures were beginning to make their sounds again, having decided the big night
creatures weren't going to attack.


"A legacy from who?" I said. What makes me different from other people is that I'm telepathic.
Vampires, whose minds are simply silent holes in a world made noisy to me by the cacophony of human
brains, make restful companions for me, so I'd been enjoying Bubba's chatter. Now I needed to rev up
my gift. This wasn't a casual drop-in. I opened my mind to my visitor. While the large, circular gentleman
was wincing at my ungrammatical question, I was attempting to look inside his head. Instead of a stream
of ideas and images (the usual human broadcast), his thoughts came to me in bursts of static. He was a
supernatural creature of some sort.


"Whom," I corrected myself, and he smiled at me. His teeth were very sharp.


"Do you remember your cousin Hadley?"


Nothing could have surprised me more than this question. I leaned the rake against the mimosa tree and
shook the plastic garbage bag that we'd already filled. I put the plastic band around the top before I
spoke. I could only hope my voice wouldn't choke when I answered him. "Yes, I do." Though I sounded
hoarse, my words were clear.


Hadley Delahoussaye, my only cousin, had vanished into the underworld of drugs and prostitution years
before. I had her high school junior picture in my photo album. That was the last picture she'd had taken,
because that year she'd run off to New Orleans to make her living by her wits and her body. My aunt
Linda, her mother, had died of cancer during the second year after Hadley's departure.