The Vampire's Mail Order Bride

“No, she’s not. She’s a lovely young woman from upstate New York, but you should be very thankful for those romance-novel-reading, tween-movie-watching women. They’ve had a big hand in making our town a success.”

“And Julian’s love life, once he learned to spray himself with glitter.”

She pinched her lips together. “That aside, their money is just as green as yours, so have some respect.”

“I do respect them. And their business.” He sighed. “Is she a vampire?”

“No, but she’s willing to convert.”

“You know how I feel about that.” And he wondered whether this woman was really seeking a husband or the chance at immortality. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d encountered such a person. Live as long as he had and nothing would surprise you. He decided right then that this woman wasn’t going to get the big vampire show out of him. He was going to play it straight-up mortal. See how that appealed to her.

“I do, but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“So in a month, when she’s not the right one either, what then? Will you leave me alone and let me live my life with no more threats to take away my amulet?”

She exhaled a long, exasperated sigh. “I suppose I’ll have no choice.”

“Good.” He stood up, still angry, but at least this insanity had an expiration date. “Thirty days cannot pass soon enough.”

Delaney woke with a start, the rumble from an eighteen-wheeler fading as the enormous vehicle passed her car on its way out of the rest stop. Captain Underpants was wound into a snug little ball on her stomach. Delaney yawned and pulled the lever to bring the seat back to an upright position, causing Captain to slide to her lap.

Sleep had started to get the better of her as she’d crossed into Georgia, and though she had only a little farther to go, she’d pulled over for a quick nap. “Move, Cappy. Mama’s got to get us back on the road.” She hefted the cat onto the passenger’s seat.

She checked her phone, taking it off silent. She’d been asleep a little over an hour. During that hour, she’d gotten three messages.

All from Anthony Rastinelli.

D, call in when u can. I changed the schedule. Yeah, she bet he’d changed it.

D, need 2 hear from u asap. Of course he did. He wanted to know what she’d seen.

D, how’d you like 2 b new manager? Let’s talk promotion!

“Hah! He really thinks that’s going to work to keep me quiet? Like I don’t know the only people who get promoted in that place are family.” She looked at Captain Underpants, who was currently engaged in cat yoga on the seat beside her, licking his back leg. “You’d think a mobster could come up with something better than that.”

She fired up the navigation on her phone, made sure her destination was still plugged in, then hit Start. Three hours and they’d be there.

She stared into the trees lining the berm on the rest stop’s edge. The idea of pretending to be someone else and passing as some guy’s perfect, arranged match was insane, but her desire not to end up as another victim of Anthony Rastinelli’s was stronger.

On her drive out of New York last night, she’d stopped for gas and found what might have been the last working payphone in the tri-state area. She’d used it (and all of her spare change) to call the cops and report what she’d seen. She’d sent them the video she’d taken too, right after she’d emailed a copy to herself for safe keeping. But the cops’ response had been a lot less interested than she’d expected.

Maybe that would change when they found Benny’s body.

A cold realization swept her. What if they didn’t find Benny’s corpse? Wasn’t the Mafia good at hiding bodies? What if they dumped him in the East River? Or maybe Rastinelli had a cop on the take? It might never be safe for her to go home.

She bit her lip and glanced in the rearview mirror to see the stuff she’d brought with her. Besides supplies for Captain (including the litter box on the floor in the backseat), she’d brought her laptop, a suitcase full of clothes and a weekend bag filled with her most prized candy-making supplies, her journal of ideas and her copy of The Sweet Life, the candy-making cookbook that she’d inherited from her grandmother. That book had changed her life.

If only her grandmother were still around. She’d have known what to do about this whole murder thing. Just like she’d known what to do when Delaney had essentially become parentless at fifteen.

With a bittersweet sigh, Delaney looked at her phone. One more thing to do before she got back on the road. She flipped open the file on Annabelle Givens, found her phone number and dialed.

Annabelle answered on the second ring. “Hello?” She sounded classy. Not at all like Delaney.

Delaney crossed her fingers and hoped for the best. “Annabelle Givens?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Adelaide Poirot’s assistant.” Delaney poured on the professionalism, trying to channel her inner Adelaide minus the French accent. “I’m calling about the recent match Eternamate set up for you. Unfortunately, your match has decided he’s not quite ready to commit so we’re canceling that arrangement. I’m terribly sorry.” She was also a horrible liar, but it was good practice.

“Oh.” Annabelle sounded miserable. “He sounded so nice.”

“I promise we’ll be calling within the month with an even better match.” Delaney’s voice had reached a level of chipperness on par with a game show host. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">