sliding longingly over the tub as she did. She'd taken a shower but would have
preferred a bath. Elvi loved her tub. It was a large, spa tub with water jets. She'd
spared no expense in purchasing it, figuring she deserved it. After all, she'd had to give
up her lovely, king‐sized bed for a coffin; a luxurious bath seemed only fair.
At the time, Mabel hadn't been at all sure if she should be bathing or showering. After
all, there was never any mention of Dracula ever bathing. However, after a lifetime of
good hygiene, Elvi refused to go without, dead or not. If her skin began to slough off
when wet, then so be it. At least it would be clean dead skin.
Fortunately, that hadn't happened. Elvi had been showering and bathing for five years
without any unusual repercussions that she could see. Thank God.
"We're running late," Mabel called out.
Rolling her eyes, Elvi set the hair dryer in the cupboard, crossed to the door, and
opened it.
"Of course we're running late. You let me sleep in," she pointed out testily, stepping
into the bedroom with just a large bath sheet wrapped around her.
"That's gratitude for you," Mabel muttered, shoving a glass of blood into her hand.
"Drink this and then get dressed. I laid out the new dress on your bed."
Elvi raised her eyebrows as she gulped down half the cold, thick liquid, then lowered
the glass to point out "I don't have a bed, Mabel. I have a coffin. I only wish I had a
bed."
Making a face, Mabel took away the half‐empty glass and gave her a push to get her
moving. "Dress."
Elvi moved toward the casket in the center of her large, nearly empty room, her
shoulders slumping miserably. God, she missed her bed. A king‐sized, deluxe model,
she and Harry had picked it out together shortly before his death. It had been like
sleeping on a cloud. Now she slept in a crate.
Elvi scowled at the dark, walnut casket as she paused beside it.
Catching her expression Mabel said, "Maybe Brendan can do something with your
coffin to make it more comfortable."
Her scowl deepened. She'd already put a bedcover in it. Anything else would make it
so she didn't fit, or nearly, and she found it claustrophobic enough without making the
interior smaller.
"I doubt there's anything he could do," she said, not wanting Mabel to bother the local
funeral home director. The man had already gone to great trouble, layering the bottom
with dirt from both Mexico and her garden, and then installing a special liner so that
the smell and dirt didn't seep through the satin. She didn't want to trouble him further.
Elvi hated to be a bother.
She pulled on the dress Mabel had set out, tugged it into place, then peered down at
herself and grimaced. It was new, but very much like all her other work dresses. Long,
black, and sleek, it had a low neckline and was form‐fitting all the way down to her
knees where a slit started, allowing some movement. It would restrict every step she
took and flash a good deal of lower leg as well.
This was another of her pet peeves. The wardrobe of the undead. It just didn't suit her
style at all.
"I wish I didn't have to wear these stupid dresses," she muttered, reaching back to do
up the zipper.
"Everyone gets a kick out of them." Mabel brushed her hands aside to take over the
task. "It's what they expect."
"Hmm," Elvi murmured. "Would they ever be disappointed to see me running around
here in jogging pants and T‐shirts."
"You can't do that this week," Mabel told her firmly. "We have a full house of guests."
"Do we?" she asked with surprise. After that fateful trip that had ended Elvi's life, she
and Mabel had gone into business together, starting a Mexican restaurant they'd
called Bella Black's. The name had been Mabel's idea. It had also been Mabel's idea to
sell the house she'd once shared with her deceased husband and move in with Elvi,
who lived just three very short blocks from the restaurant. It had made things much
easier for both of them. Still, with just the two of them, the house had echoed with
emptiness and soon Mabel was suggesting they turn the old Victorian mansion into a
bed‐and‐breakfast as a second income in case the restaurant floundered and failed.
Not that such an event was likely. Bella's was busy every night of the week, thanks to
Elvi's status as a sort of town mascot. Still, Elvi had spent the better part of her
marriage as a housewife. She enjoyed cooking and looking after others. She might not
be able to eat anymore, but Elvi could still cook and did so every chance she got. She
loved to touch and smell the food she could no longer consume, and watching others
enjoy her efforts was as close as she could get to enjoying them herself. So, they'd