Death's Excellent Vacation (Sookie Stackhouse 9.5)

She was escorted by a cop. She glanced our way, her face composed and indifferent. I finally remembered where I'd seen her: working at Harrah's, carrying drinks, when we'd checked in. Huh. She had a sizable purse hanging from her shoulder; I wondered where the big bag was? Pam's bloodstained blouse was in it . . . As the other strippers had been questioned, they'd been released. We were the last ones to be brought to this room, which I figured had been Rudy's office. Officer Washington had been waiting for us there. "What else happened while you were in there? They want you two to give them a free sample?" Washington was young enough to look faintly self-conscious. "They seemed more interested in each other, " I said carefully. The policeman glanced at our linked hands and didn't comment. "So they were both alive and well when you left the room?" "Yes, sir, " I said. "In fact, they wanted us to hustle out of there because they were about to talk to someone else, had a guy coming in from out of town, they said. " "That right? Did they say anything else about this man? Vampire or human?" "No, " Pam said, opening her mouth for the first time. "They were just anxious for us to leave so they could get ready. " "Get ready? How?" We shrugged simultaneously. "They wouldn't hardly tell us, " I said. "Okay, okay. " Officer Washington snapped his notepad shut and stowed away his pencil. "Ladies, good night to you. You can go pick up your personal items.

" But we didn't have any. Pam only had the car keys in her pants pocket and her white trench coat. We had nothing we could have brought costumes in. Would Officer Washington or Windbreaker Guy wonder about that? Now that the big room was empty, it looked even more depressing. Only a litter of tissues and cigarette butts showed that the women had been here at all. That, and the big bag the vamp stripper had carried, sitting on the chair that was draped with Pam's white coat and my jacket. Windbreaker Guy was staring at the bag. Without hesitation, Pam strode across the floor in those incredible shoes and scooped it up by the shoulder strap. "Come on, Butterscotch, " she told me, "We need to hit the road. " Her voice had no trace of the faint English accent I was used to. And just like that, we left Blonde, doing our stripper walks all the way out to Pam's car. Mohawk was leaning against the driver's door. He smiled at us as we approached. His smile was not dim or goofy or naive. "Thanks for giving me the opening, ladies, " he said, and there was nothing slow in his speech, either. "I've been waiting a year to have them down long enough for me to finish them off. " If Pam was as shocked as I was, she didn't show it. "You're welcome, " she said. "I take it you're not going to tell the police anything about us?" "What's to tell?" He looked up at the night sky. "Two strippers wanted to tell the boss and his buddy something before they tried out. I'm sure you explained that. When you went on stage, that ass**le Michael and his buddy Rudy were alive and kicking. I made sure the cops knew that. I'm betting you also told them something about Michael mentioning he was expecting someone else or expecting trouble. " Pam nodded. "And stupid, slow me, I was cleaning the toilet, like my boss Michael had told me to do. No one was more surprised than me when I went in the office later and found Rudy dead and Michael flaking away. " Mohawk rolled his eyes theatrically. "I must have just missed the killer. " He grinned. "By the way, I threw the gun in the ravine back there, right down into the kudzu, before I called the local law. The skinny blond vamp did the same thing with your blouse--Sugar. " "Right, " Pam said.

"So off you go, ladies! Have a nice night!" After a moment of silence, we got in the car. Mohawk watched us as we drove away. "How long do you think he'll last?" I asked Pam. "Russell has a reputation for acuity. If Mohawk is a good club manager, he'll get away with killing Michael, for a while. If he doesn't earn money, Russell will make sure he doesn't last. And Russell won't forget that Mohawk is patient and wily, and willing to wait for someone else to do the dirty work. " We drove for a few minutes. I was anxious to get back to my room and wash away the atmosphere of the Blonde. "What did you promise the vamp that helped us?" I asked. "A job at Fangtasia. I had a conversation with Sara--that's her name--after you went to bed last night. She hates her job in Tunica. And she used to be a stripper, which gave me the idea of planting her here in case we needed some help. Besides extra costumes, she brought a number of handy items in her bag. " I didn't inquire as to their nature. "And she did all that for us. " "She did all that because she wants a better job. She doesn't seem to have much . . . Planning ability. " "In the end, the trip was for nothing. It was a trap. " "It was a bad trap, " Pam said briskly. "But it's true that because of Victor's greed, we were almost in serious trouble. " She glanced over at me. "Eric and I never thought Victor was exactly sincere about his motives in sending us here. " "You think he was trying to hamstring Eric by getting rid of both you and me? That he knew Michael really wasn't going to defect?" "I think we're going to keep a very sharp eye on our new master's deputy. " We rode in silence for a couple of minutes. "You think Sara would mind if we kept the costumes?" I asked, now that Eric was on my mind. "Oh, " said Pam, "I'm planning on it. Without some souvenirs, it's not a real vacation. " The Boys Go Fishing

Chapter Five

SARAH SMITH

Sarah Smith's YA ghost thriller, The Other Side of Dark, will be published in November 2010 by Atheneum. She has written the modern stand- alone Chasing Shakespeares, about the Shakespeare authorship controversy, and three historical mysteries: The Vanished Child, The Knowledge of Water, and A Citizen of the Country. Two of her books were named New York Times Notable Books of the Year. They have been published in twelve languages and have reached bestseller status in the United States and abroad. She is working on a novel about the Titanic and another YA thriller, A Boy on Every Corner.

for Yuki Miuma TIME could lie lightly on Mr. Green. He could choose to be young, his face smooth, his hair black. He could catch an explosion in a force- field container. But under the weight of loneliness he is just another old man. His friends have gone. Robin grew up, came out, moved to San Francisco, he's in politics now. The Bat retreated into "scientific experiments. " The last time Green saw him, the Cave smelled and the Bat looked like Howard Hughes: long fingernails, dirty beard. Iguana's dead. Atom, dead. Thunderbolt, dead. And Lana. His girl, his only girl. He remembers every moment they spent together, but the good times are fading. They're places he's gone to in his mind so often he can't see them anymore. The bad times don't fade at all, the sonsabitches. Toward the last, when she could barely speak, he visited her in the hospital, changed his face and hair back to what he'd been, changed into the costume, the whole thing, the mask, the green cloak. "I remember you, " she whispered. But she really didn't know him. Sometimes it isn't worth getting up in the morning. "I need your help, " says the red-haired girl. Her knocking wakes him. He squints out the door of his cabin into early-morning sunlight, sees a face that reminds him of girls in old comics. The sultry Chinese villainess. But the sultry Chinese villainess would wear a red silk dress cut up the side and she'd have black hair. This one has hennaed hair, cut spiky, and is wearing a parka from L. L. Bean. The Thompson brothers' rental SUV from town is parked by the fence. Whatever she wants from him, she drove forty miles on logging roads in the snow to get here. Which means she's trouble. "Whatever it is, I don't do it anymore. " "Hi, I'm from Worldwide Travel? I left you voice mail?" He doesn't check his voice mail. "I have a job for you. From some special fans. " Special has only one meaning for him now. "I don't do hospitals. " Never hospitals. "Not that kind of special. "