Undead and Uneasy Read Online Free Page B

my dad and the Ant's pictures blown up to poster
    size at the front of the room. There weren't coffins, of course. Nothing that might open.
    The bodies had been burned beyond recognition.

    "—a pillar of the community, and Mr. and Mrs. Taylor were active in several charitable
    causes—"

    Yeah, sure. The Ant (short for Antonia) was about as charitably minded as that little nutty
    guy in charge of North Korea. She threw my dad's money at various causes so she could
    run the fund-raising parties and pretend she was the prom queen again. One of those
    women who peaked in high school. It had always amazed me that my father hadn't seen
    that.

    I looked around the room of mostly strangers (and not many of them, either, despite the
    two of them being "pillars of the community") and swallowed hard. Nobody was sitting on
    either side of me. How could they? I was here by myself.

    Tina, Sinclair's major domo, had gone on a diplomatic trip to Europe, to make sure
    everybody over there was still planning to play nice with everybody over here. The
    European faction of vampires had finally come to visit a few months ago, murder and
    mayhem ensued, and then they got the hell out of town. Me? I thought that was fine. Out
    of sight, out of mind . . . that was practically the Taylor family motto. Sinclair the
    worrywart? Not so much.

    Since Sinclair and I were wrapping up wedding arrangements, Tina had agreed to go.
    Since Tina was never very far from Sinclair, a solo trip for her was sort of unheard of. But
    her exact last words as she left the house were, "What could possibly go wrong in two
    weeks?"

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) Famous friggin' last words.

Chapter 4

    I stared at the poster-sized picture of Antonia Taylor, the Ant, which was grinning at me.
    Right at me. I swear, the eyes in her picture followed me whenever I moved. It was on an
    easel, beside my dad's picture.

    I recognized my dad's pic—it had been taken by the Minneapolis Chamber of Commerce
    when he and the Ant won some useless award that he bought her. The Ant's photo was
    from Glamour Shots. You know the kind: smokey-eyed, with long fingernails and teased
    hair.

    “—truly found happiness in their later years—" Barf I didn't know whether to just roll my
    eyes or to laugh. Given the circumstances, I did neither.

    Sinclair had disappeared a day after Tina left the country. I assumed he was still sulking
    about our constant bickering and had decided to avoid the thing that was Bridezilla. And
    in truth, I was a little glad to get a break myself. I wanted to love the bum, not fantasize
    about staking him. And I missed our lovemaking. Our . . . everything. I was just as sorry
    he was gone as I was relieved.

    Not to mention, I was too proud to call his cell and tell him what had happened to my dad
    and his wife. That would be like asking him for help. He'd be back on his own, without me
    calling him, the fuckhead. Any day now. Any minute.

    There weren't any windows in the room, which was a shame as it was a gorgeous summer

    Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer ( http://www.novapdf.com ) day in Minnesota, the kind of day that makes you forget all about winter. Big, fluffy
    marshmallow clouds and a beautiful blue sky, more suited to picnicking than funerals.

    It was kind of weird. If the occasion called for a double funeral, wouldn't it also call for
    thunderstorms? The day I died was cloudy and spitting snow.

    Plus I'd gotten fired. And my birthday party had been canceled. It had all been properly
    disastrous.

    "—truly a tragedy we mortals cannot comprehend—"

    At last, the minister had gotten something right. Not only could I not comprehend it, I
    couldn't shake the feeling it was a sick practical joke. That the Ant was using her fake
    funeral as an excuse to break into my house and steal my shoes. Again. That Dad was on
    the links, chortling over the