Dead and Dateless Read Online Free PDF Page B

salt and this to-die-for cactus juice that’s actually sweet…
    Wait a second. Where was I? Oh, yeah. While my parents went for the bottled stuff for the most part, they did indulge in the real thing on occasion. To nurture their wilder side.
    I know, I know. My wild side had most likely bitten the dust a few hundred years ago. Maybe. And maybe I’m just bottling it up in hopes of unleashing it with a megalicious vampire who can’t keep his hands off me.
    Hey, it could happen!
    “It’s just like your cousin Brigitte,” my mother went on. “Remember when she decided to become a nun and gave up men and blood? She lasted all of two weeks before she drained an encyclopedia salesman and even tried to sink her teeth into the free globe.”
    “The globe?”
    “Of course, she was out of her mind by then. If you ask me, she was out of her mind even before. Imagine, a nun. It’s too frightening to even contemplate.”
    “Lil didn’t lose it and drain him. She chopped him into little pieces.”
    “That’s preposterous. Not that I wouldn’t like to see our daughter do a little healthy hunting. But our kind don’t kill. You know that, Remy. Besides, Lilliana cried for a week when her brother ripped the head off her favorite doll. You remember that, don’t you, dear?” she asked my father.
    “We had a hell of a time calming her down,” my dad said. “Hell of a time.”
    “She would never do something so messy. She hates to get her hands dirty.”
    Actually, it was my clothes that I hated to get dirty. But Mom got kudos for standing up for me, so I wasn’t going to argue semantics.
    “There’s obviously been a mistake,” my mother added. “A ridiculous mistake.”
    “I agree,” Remy sighed. “But the evidence says otherwise. The victim was Kevin Gillespie, aka Keith Gillman.”
    The name drew an immediate image. I closed my eyes and saw the geeky twenty-something who’d come to my office desperate to find the girl of his dreams less than two weeks ago. He’d been a little pudgy and much too pale, but I’d agreed to help him anyway. What can I say? I love a challenge. Even more, I love a client who can pay a bonus for express service.
    “He was a reporter for The New York Times, ” Remy went on. “He was…”
    Whoa, back it up. A reporter ?
    “…a story on the local dating scene. Posing as a secret dater, he would sign himself up for the various services, go on a few dates, and write a review. He’d been about to leave his apartment for a date arranged by Dead End Dating when Lil arrived. She gave the doorman her name and her card.”
    Uh—yeah. Keith had shown up at Dead End Dating wearing sandals and socks, for Damien’s sake. We’re talking the walking poster guy for What Not to Wear on a First Date. Which meant I’d shown up at his apartment prior to date number one to make sure he wore something decent so he didn’t remain a pale, geeky, lonely subway attendant for the rest of his life.
    He’d had on Reeboks and jeans and a new blue Banana Republic T-shirt I’d talked him into during our predate shopping spree. Perfectly acceptable attire for a casual night of pizza and beer and conversation with his possible soul mate.
    “I knew that dating service would get her into trouble. Dating, of all things.”
    Here we go again.
    “Born vampires don’t date. And they certainly don’t arrange dates for humans. ”
    Or made vampires. Or werewolves. Or any of the Others who’d signed up since I’d opened up shop. Yada, yada.
    “First she’s the laughingstock, and now she’s a wanted criminal. She might as well stand on the street corner with a sign around her neck: Vampires exist and I’m one of them.”
    “Now, now, dear, I’m sure she doesn’t mean to draw attention to herself.”
    “Did you see what she wore to last week’s hunt? A hot pink tutu, of all things.”
    It hadn’t been a tutu. It had been a poet’s shirt with fringe, the latest from Christian Dior and my most recent