Read Online Undead and Done by MaryJanice Davidson - Free Book Online Page A

have voted for you. That’s a platform any murder victim can get behind.”
    â€œYes, it’s right up there with ‘a chicken in every pot,’” Antonia teased. She was as she always was, though she didn’t have to be. In life she’d worn lots of loud polyester
    (ladybugs on a lime green background? why?)
    and went through a can of hairspray a week. Her pineapple blond hair (color
and
texture) was pulled back and piled high in a sort of Kardashian meets Bride of Frankenstein effect, but not as classy as what you’re picturing. In life she’d also been shallow and bitchy. In Hell she was shallow, bitchy, and helpful. When she felt like it.
    Meanwhile, Cathie had been murdered on laundry day and refused to go through the rest of her afterlife in granny panties. So she didn’t. Everything in Hell was mind over matter, including how we looked on the outside.
    â€œLet’s move on,” I suggested. We were just outside the long, narrow conference room that, in the real Mall of America, was the Lego store. Cathie liked to build conference rooms out ofthe gigantic pieces (each Lego was the size of a brick), then dismantle them, then build them again. She found it soothing. I found it aggravating. Also, I kept tripping over the bricks she didn’t use. “Marc’s on his way; he stopped off to say hi to George Washington’s mom.” Have I mentioned Hell-bound old ladies loved Marc? They absolutely did.
    â€œI thought he had a date.” My stepmother and my zombie had grudging, reluctant respect for each other. Thus her tone was polite, while her expression was that of someone who smells poop on a skunk. “At least, that’s what he was babbling about the last time. Some reporter? Ooh, is Marc going to be your mole amongst the media?” The Ant actually made this sound like a cool plan.
    â€œFirst, never say ‘amongst’; I hate that. Or towards. I hate that, too.”
So much!
“Second, I might be a cynical bitch—”
    â€œYes, I know.”
    â€œâ€”but that doesn’t mean I think Marc should prostitute himself so I can one-up the Antichrist.”
    â€œHell is no place for your tiresome morality.”
    â€œWrong! It’s exactly the place for my tiresome— Okay, first, my morality isn’t tiresome.” I pushed past them into the conference room. “It’s a breath of fresh air here. That’s my story and you won’t shake it.”
    â€œSo he must have missed it,” the Ant finished, shrugging off my tiresome morality in favor of her one-track mind. “Or rescheduled.”
    Cathie frowned. “But he was really looking forward to it—why’d he skip?”
    By now I’d collapsed into a chair made of Legos, which was exactly as uncomfortable as it sounded. “What, like
I
know? I can barely keep track of my own social life.” Pathetic thing that it was these days. But even I knew that bitching about the dearth of date nights would be in really,
really
bad taste here.
    â€œHe’s hiding,” Cathie announced. “He finally met someone and he can’t handle it so he’s just avoiding the whole thing.”
    â€œHe’s not; it’s just a coincidence,” Antonia countered. “He lives to come down here, the goofy bastard. One of a few pathetic saps who were dumb enough to volunteer to help my stepdaughter.”
    â€œYou’re on that list,” I muttered. They both ignored me, because my life sucked.
    â€œHe’s hiding from his date,” Cathie insisted.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œYou wanna make it interesting?”
    â€œTerms?”
    My eyes, which had been slowly closing
    (Do I have to be here for this? Sounds like I don’t have to be here for this. I wonder if that candy cock ring came from Amazon yet? Sinclair’s not a fan of sticky stuff on his nethers, so this will take some fast talking on my part. Which I am