Definitely Dead by Charlaine Harris Page A

through the size tens, and then the eights. Portia was sitting at the Isabelle table, which was extremely interesting. Tara is the local representative for Isabelle’s Bridal, a national company that produces a catalog that’s become the bible of all things wedding-related. You can try on samples of the bridesmaid dresses at the local outlet, so you can order the right size, and each dress comes in about twenty colors. The wedding dresses are just as popular. Isabelle’s has twenty-five models. The Company also offers wedding shower invitations, decorations, garters, bridesmaids’ gifts, and any bit of wedding paraphernalia you can imagine. However, Isabelle’s was pretty much a middle-class phenomenon, and Portia was definitely an upper-class woman.
    Since she lived with her grandmother and her brother in the Bellefleur mansion on Magnolia Street, Portia had grown up in a sort of decayed gothic splendor. Now that the mansion was repaired and her grandmother entertained more, Portia had looked noticeably happier when I’d glimpsed her around town. She didn’t come into Merlotte’s that much, but when she was in the bar she had more time to spare for other people, and she smiled occasionally. A plain woman just past thirty, Portia’s best feature was her thick, shining chestnut hair.
    Portia was thinking wedding , and Tara was thinking money.
    “I have to talk with Halleigh again, but I think we’ll need four hundred invitations,” Portia was saying, and I thought my jaw would drop.
    “All right, Portia, if you don’t mind paying the rush fee, we can have those in ten days.”
    “Oh, good!” Portia was definitely pleased. “Of course, Halleigh and I will be wearing different dresses, but we thought we might try to pick out the same bridesmaid’s dress. Maybe in different colors. What do you think?”
    I thought I was going to choke on my own curiosity. Portia was going to be married, too? To that stick of an accountant she’d been dating, the guy from Clarice? Tara caught a glimpse of my face over the top of the standing rack of dresses. Portia was looking at the catalog, so Tara winked at me. She was definitely pleased to have a rich customer, and we were definitely okay with each other. Relief flooded me.
    “I think having the same style in different colors—coordinating colors, of course—would be really original,” Tara said. “How many bridesmaids are there going to be?”
    “Five apiece,” Portia said, her attention on the page before her. “Can I take a copy of the catalog home? That way, Halleigh and I can look at it tonight.”
    “I only have one extra copy; you know, one of the ways Isabelle’s makes money is charging an arm and a leg for the darn catalog,” Tara said with a charming smile. Tara can lay it on when she needs to. “I’ll let you take it home, if you cross your heart you’ll bring it back tomorrow!”
    Portia made the childish gesture, and tucked the thick catalog under her arm. She was wearing one of her “lawyer suits,” a brownish tweedy-looking straight skirt and jacket with a silk blouse underneath. She had on beige hose and low-heeled pumps, and she carried a matching purse. Bo-ring.
    Portia was excited, and her brain was cartwheeling with happy images. She knew she would look a little old as a bride, especially compared to Halleigh; but by God, she was finally going to be a bride. Portia would get her share of the fun, the presents, the attention, and the clothes, to say nothing of the validation of having a husband of her own. She looked up from the catalog and spied me lurking by the slacks rack. Her happiness was profound enough to encompass even me.
    “Hello, Sookie!” she said, practically beaming. “Andy told me what a help you were to him, fixing up his little surprise for Halleigh. I really appreciate it.”
    “It was fun,” I said, with my own version of a gracious smile. “Is it true that congratulations are in order for you, as well?” I know,