Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (White Trash Zombie 2)

I managed to keep my own smile in place. “Nice to meet you, too.” There, that was safe enough, right? God, I sucked at this.

“Marcus says he met you at work,” his dad said. “Are you a cop also?”

“She works for the coroner’s office,” Marcus explained, saving me from hysterical laughter. “We get to see each other over dead bodies.” He grinned. “Romantic, right?”

His mom chuckled. “Sounds like you’re pretty tough,” she said with a wink.

“Um, I dunno about that,” I said. “More likely I’m just sick in the head,” I added, then instantly regretted it. Nice, I thought with an inward cringe. Just come right out and tell them that their boy is dating a whacko.

But the Ivanovs seemed to have a generous sense of humor. “Then you’re probably perfect for Marcus!” his dad announced.

We sat with them for a short while, making light conversation. I expected to remain a nervous wreck but his folks were so damn nice and genuine that it was impossible not to relax and simply enjoy myself for a few minutes.

Marcus glanced at his watch. “I hate to ditch you,” he told his parents, “but I think it’s time for me to hunt down Uncle Pietro.”

His mother gave Marcus a light kiss on the cheek. “We’re going to be heading back to Lafayette soon. You’re still coming this weekend?”

He smiled and gave her a hug. “Absolutely.”

“It was lovely meeting you, Angel,” his mom said to me with such warmth that I was pretty sure she actually meant it and wasn’t just saying it to be polite.

“You too,” I said, meaning it as well.

Marcus gave my hand a gentle tug, and we headed toward the house. “Your parents seem real nice,” I said.

He smiled. “They rock. I’m damn lucky.”

We entered the back door of the house and passed into a kitchen so large that I wondered if whoever cooked for Pietro ever got tired simply walking from one end of the room to the other. I was used to fancy houses so I managed not to gawk too much. After all, rich people died just as often as poor people. But Pietro clearly had a lot of money. Everything was oak and marble. Everything. I couldn’t even figure out where the fridge was.

Marcus turned to me. “Would you mind waiting here for just a minute while I hunt down my uncle?”

I minded a lot since the last thing I wanted in the world was to be abandoned in the middle of someone else’s house where I knew pretty much no one, but I wasn’t about to admit that. “Nah, that’s fine. I’m a big girl.” I even flashed him a wide smile so that he’d believe it.

And apparently he did, damn it. With a parting kiss he was off, leaving me to fidget and pray that I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone before he came back.

So of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Marcus hadn’t been gone more than five seconds before a slim auburn-haired woman came into the kitchen. She gave me a tight, polite smile before heading straight to one of the oak walls—which she then opened to retrieve a bottle of wine. Okay, fridge successfully located. I’d have never found that thing on my own.

The woman turned with her bottle, walking with enough care that I suspected it wasn’t her first. But she paused as she neared and raked an unsteady gaze over me. “We could be twins,” she announced.

I blinked in confusion until I realized she was wearing jeans, black sweater and boots—same as me. Except on her it looked like the perfect definition of “elegant casual.” Then again, her clothing probably hadn’t come from the outlet mall.

“Though I don’t think I could pull off that hair color,” she added with a twitch of her lips.

I fought the urge to reach a hand up and smooth down my perpetually frizzy, overbleached hair. Leaning back against the counter, I did my best to give off an I don’t give a shit attitude. “Yeah, it’s a personal statement thing,” I replied, copying her smirk. Personal statement? I sighed inwardly as soon as the words were out of my mouth. That was the best comeback I could come up with?

She let out a snort, then held up the wine. “You drinking?”

“Nah, not right now,” I said. Or ever. Drinking alcohol would only make me rot faster while my zombie-ness cleaned up the damage it did. “But don’t let me stop you. Knock yourself out.”

She gave me another once-over, then apparently decided I was boring her. She rolled her eyes, turned without another word, and tottered off to the backyard.

I barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before a tall blond woman in a black dress and burgundy jacket entered the kitchen.

“Did a redhead in a black sweater come through here?” she asked me, her forehead puckering into a worried frown.

“Yeah,” I said. “She grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and headed out back.”

She heaved a sigh and leaned against the counter. “Good. Maybe she’ll get drunk enough that she’ll forget to chew me out tomorrow.” I must have looked baffled because she straightened and shrugged. “Sorry. That’s my boss, Dr. Charish. She’s been on my ass wanting me to explain my requisitions in painful detail, which slows down my actual work, which means she then gets on my ass about not getting my project reports in on time.”