Read Online Death Takes a Holiday by Jennifer Harlow - Free Book Online Page B

weeks. We were cordial if we ran into each other. He even sent flowers when I was in the hospital. Like I said, nice guy, just not for me.
    As I spray my now gorgeous hair with gloss, my cell phone buzzes. It’s the mansion. Ugh.
    “Beatrice Alexander,” I say in my professional voice.
    “It is I,” Oliver says.
    “Have you apologized to Will?” I ask without missing a beat.
    “No, but—”
    “Then bye.” I snap the phone shut and start on my mascara.
    “Beatrice!” Nana calls. “We’re already late for your party!”
    The phone buzzes again, but I ignore it. I could simply turn it off, but this will torture him more. He’ll keep calling and calling all night this way. One thing about vamps, they have eternity, so patience and tenacity come naturally.
    I fluff my hair again and walk out feeling pretty darn good. I look spectacular and there’s a gorgeous man going nuts because I won’t pay attention to him. I couldn’t ask for more when going to meet my ex. Except if I arrived with Oliver on my arm.
    Well, there’s always my next high school reunion.
    When I first met April, a week after I moved to San Diego, she lived two streets over until she was kicked out the day her parents discovered she was pregnant. She lived with us for a month until Javi rented a house five minutes away, where they still live today.
    The cramped street is bumper to bumper with cars, as usual. I recognize Steven’s red Jeep with the NRA bumper sticker on it right in front of the house. We park two blocks away, and I instantly regret the heels. Price of beauty, Bea .
    April’s house is a lot like ours: a one-story ranch with an attached garage, though toys and bikes litter her lawn. All the lights shine inside and music booms in the back yard. Christmas lights hang from the roof with a huge wreath right above the garage. We walk in without knocking, the privilege of a best friend. Various stains from juice, blood, and food are visible on the beige carpet. There are
people around, about a dozen in the living room, some I know. Yolanda from the salon smiles at me. April’s cousin Luis and a woman sit on the red and black plaid couch with a quilt on the back. He holds up his beer and nods as we come in. Action figures, Matchbox cars, and the odd Barbie doll lie in piles around the room. Just as I remember it. April’s never had much patience for cleaning or decorating.
    I say hello to those I know before making my way to the kitchen, April’s domain. Instead I find April’s husband, Javi, with their son Carlos sitting on the counter as his father rolls a Band-Aid on his knee. Javi looks descended from Mayan gods with square jaw, broad nose and forehead, and straight black hair pulled into a ponytail. Carlos is a tiny version of his father, though the boy was lucky to inherit April’s lips.
    “Aunt Bea!” the boy cries. He leaps off the counter and scurries over to me, squeezing me tight with his tiny arms.
    “Hi, big guy,” I say hugging him back.
    “We made you a poster for you coming home!” he says, releasing me.
    “Did you? I can’t wait to see it.”
    Javi hugs me too. “April was right. You do look damn good, chica .”
    “ Gracias. Y tu . And look at this guy! He’s grown so big!”
    “Did you miss me?” Carlos asks.
    “So much.”
    “Mommy says I’m a’posed to make you feel bad for going away so you’ll move back.”
    Javi pulls the boy closer by the shoulders. “ Mijo, you weren’t supposed to tell her that.”
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    “And where is Her Royal Sneakiness?” I ask Javi.
    “In the back yard. She did tell you Steven’s here, right?”
    “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll be on my best behavior.” I look down at Carlos. “Can you take me to your mom, please?”
    I extend my hand, and Carlos takes it. He all but drags me through the sliding glass doors. About a dozen more people mill around in the back yard, talking and eating as “Make Me Lose Control” by Eric Carmen plays on the