The Laughing Corpse Read Free Page A

get your hair and nails done by a vampire, if you wanted to.
    Vampirism had only been legal for two years in the United States of America. We were still the only country in the world where it was legal. Don’t ask me; I didn’t vote for it. There was even a movement to give the vamps the vote. Taxation without representation and all that.
    Two years ago if a vampire bothered someone I just went out and staked the son of a bitch. Now I had to get a court order of execution. Without it, I was up on murder charges, if I was caught. I longed for the good ol’ days.
    There was a blond mannequin in the wedding shop window wearing enough white lace to drown in. I am not a big fan of lace, or seed pearls, or sequins. Especially not sequins. I had gone out with Catherine twice to help her look for a wedding gown. It didn’t take long to realize I was no help. I didn’t like any of them.
    Catherine was a very good friend or I wouldn’t have been here at all. She told me if I ever got married I’d change my mind. Surely being inlove doesn’t cause you to lose your sense of good taste. If I ever buy a gown with sequins on it, someone just shoot me.
    I also wouldn’t have chosen the bridal dresses Catherine picked out, but it was my own fault that I hadn’t been around when the vote was taken. I worked too much and I hated to shop. So, I ended up plunking down $120 plus tax on a pink taffeta evening gown. It looked like it had run away from a junior high prom.
    I walked into the air-conditioned hush of the bridal shop, high heels sinking into a carpet so pale grey it was nearly white. Mrs. Cassidy, the manager, saw me come in. Her smile faltered for just a moment before she got it under control. She smiled at me, brave Mrs. Cassidy.
    I smiled back, not looking forward to the next hour.
    Mrs. Cassidy was somewhere between forty and fifty, trim figure, red hair so dark it was almost brown. The hair was tied in a French knot like Grace Kelly used to wear. She pushed her gold wire-framed glasses more securely on her nose and said, “Ms. Blake, here for the final fitting, I see.”
    â€œI hope it’s the final fitting,” I said.
    â€œWell, we have been working on the . . . problem. I think we’ve come up with something.” There was a small room in back of the desk. It was filled with racks of plastic-covered dresses. Mrs. Cassidy pulled mine out from between two identical pink dresses.
    She led the way to the dressing rooms with the dress draped over her arms. Her spine was very straight. She was gearing for another battle. I didn’t have to gear up, I was always ready for battle. But arguing with Mrs. Cassidy about alterations to a formal beat the heck out of arguing with Tommy and Bruno. It could have gone very badly, but it hadn’t. Gaynor had called them off, for today, he had said.
    What did that mean exactly? It was probably self-explanatory. I had left Bert at the office still shaken from his close encounter. He didn’t deal with the messy end of the business. The violent end. No, I did that, or Manny, or Jamison, or Charles. We, the animators of Animators, Inc, we did the dirty work. Bert stayed in his nice safe office and sent clients and trouble our way. Until today.
    Mrs. Cassidy hung the dress on a hook inside one of the dressing stalls and went away. Before I could go inside, another stall opened, andKasey, Catherine’s flower girl, stepped out. She was eight, and she was glowering. Her mother followed behind her, still in her business suit. Elizabeth (call me Elsie) Markowitz was tall, slender, black-haired, olive-skinned, and a lawyer. She worked with Catherine and was also in the wedding.
    Kasey looked like a smaller, softer version of her mother. The child spotted me first and said, “Hi, Anita. Isn’t this dress dumb-looking?”
    â€œNow, Kasey,” Elsie said, “it’s a beautiful dress. All those nice pink