Davidson, Mary Janice - Betsy 02 - Undead and Unemployed

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UNDEAD AND

UNEMPLOYED

MaryJanice Davidson

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

UNDEAD AND UNEMPLOYED

MaryJanice Davidson

"Delightful, wicked fun!"

—New York Timesbestselling author Christine Feehan

She may be the Queen of the Undead, but she still has "sole."

Nothing can make Betsy Taylor give up her shoe fetish—even dying and rising as the new Queen of the

Vampires. Being royally undead isn't all it's cracked up to be—there are still bills to be paid. And Betsy

is determined to live as normally as possible, even if it means getting a job. A "feet" she accomplishes

with panache, landing her dream job selling designer shoes at Macy's.

Things couldn't be better—except for her new friends, who keep pestering her while she's on the clock.

As if she has time to socialize when there are deliciously sinful shoes to try on—and buy at a discount. It

seems that vampires are being murdered in St. Paul, and they're all clamoring for Betsy to do something

about it. The worst part is she's going to have to enlist the help of the one vamp who makes her blood

boil: the oh-so-sexy Sinclair. Now, she's really treading on dangerous ground—high heels and all…

Praise for

Undead and Unwed

"Entertaining, wicked, and delightful."

—Romance Reviews Today

"Chick lit meets vampire action in this creative, sophisticated, sexy, and wonderfully witty book."

—Catherine Spangler

www.penguin.com

Raves for

UNDEAD AND UNWED

"What can you say about a vampire whose loyalty can be bought by designer shoes? Can we say,

outrageous?… A hilarious book."

—The Best Reviews

"Undead and Unwedis an irreverently hilarious, superbly entertaining novel of love, lust, and designer

shoes. Betsy Taylor is an unrepentant fiend—about shoes. She is shallow, vain, and immensely

entertaining. Her journey from life to death, or the undead, is so amusing I found myself laughing out loud

while reading. Between her human friends, vampire allies, and her undead enemies, her first week as the

newly undead is never boring… A reading experience that will leave you laughing and 'dying' for more

from the talented pen of Mary Janice Davidson."

—Romance Reviews Today

"A hilarious book."

—Paranormal Romance

"This book is fantastic. These vampires are different from any that I've read about… The lead characters

are strong and independent, the action fast and furious… This is one of the most erotic books that I've

read in years."

—Escape to Romance

UNDEAD AND UNEMPLOYED

MaryJanice Davidson

BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's

imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

UNDEAD AND UNEMPLOYED

A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation edition / August 2004

Mary Janice Davidson Alongi.

Cover illustration by Chris Long.

Cover design by Joni Friedman.

Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.

ISBN: 0-425-19748-4

BERKLEY SENSATION™

Berkley Sensation Books are published by

The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY SENSATION and the "B" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For my former bosses:

Jim, Linda, Bob, Vince, Maggie, Neil, Kathy, Pat, Jeff, and Ron.

Some of you were terrific, some of you I suspected were sociopaths,

but all of you taught me something.

Acknowledgments

As always, this book would have been more difficult without the help of my husband, Anthony, who

keeps the kids out of my hair when I'm on deadline, reads everything I write, and thinks I'm gorgeous.

He's right, of course, but I appreciate the reminder. He also comes up with the "Undead" titles and

believe me, some of them are a real scream.

Thanks also to my family, who are staunchly supportive and, I swear, get more excited over these book

deals than I do.

Thanks also to Cindy Hwang, whose edits usually include "More Sinclair!". Fans of the vampire king

have her to thank.

And special thanks to the Magic Widows, my book club and dear friends, who listen tirelessly to my

book ideas and plots for taking over the world.

And the first who shall noe the Queen as a husband noes his Wyfe shall be the Queen's Consort and

shall rule at her side for a thousand yeares.

—The Book of the Dead

If that rat bastard Sinclair thinks I'm going to be his wife for a thousand years, he's out of his fucking

mind.

—From the private papers of Her Majesty,

Queen Elizabeth I, Empress of the

Undead, Rightful Ruler of the Vampires,

Consort of Eric I, Lawful King

Prologue

^»

Police interview of Robert Harris.

June 30, 2004

55121 02:32:55-03:45:32a.m.

Filed by Detective Nicholas J. Berry

Fourth Precinct, Minneapolis, Minnesota

After being treated at the scene, Mr. Harris denied the offer of hospital care, and consented to

accompany the responding officers, Whritnour and Watkins, to the precinct for an interview.

The interview was conducted by Minneapolis Detective Nicholas J. Berry.

Robert Harris is a fifty-two-year-old Caucasian male who works for Bright Yellow Cab as a taxi driver.

Mr. Harris was on duty during the events transcribed below. Mr. Harris has passed a breathalyzer; labs

are pending on possible drug use.

DETECTIVE BERRY: Are we ready? Is the tape… okay. Would you like something to drink? Coffee?

Before we start?

ROBERT HARRIS: No thanks. If I have coffee this late, it'll keep me up. Plus, y'know, with my

prostate, it's just asking for trouble.

DB: Can we discuss the events of this evening?

RH: Sure. You wanna talk about the Twins getting their asses kicked, or why I was dumb enough to

take a job where I haveta sit all the time? Goddamned hemorrhoids.

DB: The events—

RH: Sure, you wanna know what I meant by that story I told those fellows, the ones who took care of

me. Nice enough fellows, for a coupla flatfeet. I don't mean no disrespect by that, either. I mean, that's

why we're here, right?

DB: Right.

RH: Because you guys think I'm crazy or drunk.

DB: We know you're not drunk, Mr. Harris. Now, earlier this evening—

RH: Earlier this evening I was sittin' on my ass, thinking about my kid. She's nineteen, goes to the U.

DB: The University of Minnesota, Duluth Campus.

RH: Yup. Anyway, that's why I pull so many second shifts, because cripes, those books are expensive. I

mean, a hunnerd and ten bucks for a book? One book?

DB: Mr. Harris—

RH: Anyways, so there I was, mindin' my own business, eating my lunch. Course it wasn't exactly

lunchtime, cuz it was ten o'clock at night, but when you're on second shift, you do what you can. I was

sittin' at Lake and 4th. A lot of the cabbies don't like that neighborhood, you know, because of all the

Negroes. No offense. I mean, not that you look it, but—

DB: Mr. Harris, I'm not African American, but even if I were, I'm sure I would devoutly wish we could

stay on course.

RH: But you never know these days, am I right? Goddamned P.C. Nazis. A man can't speak his mind

anymore. I got a friend, Danny Pohl, and he's just as black as the ace of spades, and he calls himself

a-well, I'm not going to tell you what he says, but he uses it all the time. And if he don't care, why should

we?

DB: Mr. Harris…

RH: Sorry. Anyway, so I'm in this neighborhood, which, yeah, some people say ain't so great, and I'm

eating my lunch—ham and Swiss with mustard on Wonder Bread, in case anybody needs to

know—when all of a sudden my cab was on its side!

DB: You didn't hear anything?

RH: Son, I didn't have a single hint. One second I was eating, and the next I was lying on my side and all

the garbage on the floor was raining down on me and I'd dropped my sandwich and the side of my head

was resting on the street. I could hear somebody walking away, but I couldn't see nothing. But that

wasn't the worst of it.

DB: What was?

RH Well, I was still trying to figure out what happened, and wonderin' if I could get the mustard out of

my new workshirt, when I heard this really loud scream.

DB: Was it a man or a woman?

RH: Tell you what, it was hard to tell. I mean, I know now, because I saw them—both of them—but I

didn't know then. Whoever was yelling was having their legs pulled off or something, because they were

shrieking and crying and babbling and it was the worst sound I ever heard in my life. And my daughter's

tone deaf and is always takin' up new musical instruments. Like that time with the tuba. But that was

nothing compared to this.

DB: What did you do then?

RH: Well, shit, I climbed out of the passenger side of my cab as fast as I could, what d'ya think? I was a

medic in the war—Vietnam, that was. I hung it up after I got back stateside and I never went to a

hospital again, nope, not even when my wife, God rest her, had Anna. But I figured I could maybe help.

My cab was insured, I didn't mind about that, but someone was really in trouble and that was a lot more

important. I thought maybe somebody had backed over their kid by accident. Some of those alleys are

pretty dark. Hard to see stuff.

DB: And then?

RH: Then the bus pulled up. It almost hit my cab! And that was weird, because it was pretty late for the

buses to be running, and this one was empty except for one passenger.

Then this gal jumps out. And the bus just sits there. I seen the bus driver just staring at the gal like she

was made of chocolate ice cream. And then I got a good look at her.

DB: Can you describe her?

RH: Well, she was tall, real tall—'bout my height, and I'm just shy of six feet. She had light blond hair

with them streaky—what d'you call 'ems? Highlights! She had kind of reddish highlights, and the biggest,

prettiest green eyes you'd ever seen. Her eyes were the color of them old-fashioned glass bottles, those

real dark green ones. And she was real pale, like she worked in an office all the time. Me, my left arm

gets brown as a berry in the summertime, on account of how it's always hanging out my cab window, but

my right arm stays real white. Anyway, I don't really remember what she was wearing—I was mostly

looking at her face. And… and…

DB: Are you all right?

RH: It's just this part's hard, is all. I mean, this gal was maybe five or six years older than my daughter,

but I—well, let's say I wanted her the way a man wants his wife on a Saturday night, if you know what I

mean. And I'd never been one to horndog after kids young enough to bemy kid, and never mind that my

wife's been dead for six years. So it was kind of embarrassing, too, that even though those awful screams

were still sort of echoing in the air, here's me all of a sudden thinking with my dick.

DB: Well, sometimes, under stress, a person—

RH: Wasn't stress. I just wanted her, is all. Like I never wanted anybody. Anyways, I stared at her but

she didn't pay me no notice. Gal like her, she probably gets old coots like me staring at her twenty times

a day. She didn't say nothing to me, just marched back toward the alley. So I followed her. There was a

couple of street lights back there, so I was finally startin' to be able to see stuff. Made me feel a lot

better, I can tell you.

And just like that, before we could even get there, the screams stop. It was like someone had shut off a

radio, that's how sudden it was. So the gal, she starts to ran. Which was funny to see, because she was

wearing these teetery high heels. Purple, with bows on the backs. She had teeny feet, and these pretty

little shoes. It was kind of funny to see that.

DB: And then?

RH: Well, she could sure move in them shoes, and that was a fact. She musta been a real track star or

something. And I was right behind her. And we get to the alley, and right away I seen it was a dead end,

and I didn't want to go too far in. It's funny, I never think about the Nam no more, but that night it was

like I'd just gotten back home. Man, I was noticingeverything . I was really wired.

DB: Could you see anyone in the alley?

RH: Not at first. But then the gal says, real loud but firm, you know, like a teacher, "Let him go." And

then I seen there were two guys and they weren't standing ten feet away! Don't know how I missed them

before. One of them was this little short squirt, but he was hoisting a guy bigger than me, holding him up

off the ground! He was slamming the guy into the brick wall real hard, and the big guy's head was sort of

lolling all over the place, and he was out cold.

But then, when the gal talked, the little guy let go, and the guy who'd been doing all the screaming hit the

bricks like a sack of sand—I mean, he wasout . And the little guy marches up to us, and all of a sudden I

was just scared shitless.

DB: Did you see a weapon, or—

RH: Nothin' like that. He was just… bad, I guess. He was about a head shorter than me and he had

kind of gray skin. And one of those little black mustaches, real thin. Me, I think a man should grow a real

soup strainer or nothing at all.

Anyway, he looked like a little punk, but there was somethin' about him—I just wanted to get away

from him. It was like somethin' inside me knew he was bad, even if I couldn't see for myself exactly what

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