"Davidson,.Mary.Janice.-.Betsy.3.-.Undead.and.Unemployed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Davidson Mary Janice)

"Sure, okay, I get it, but don't youЕ?"
"If you want unemployment benefits, you need to call the hotline. Or use the
Internet. I'm sorry, but we can't answer your question here."
"Let me get this straight. This is the place I go to when I'm unemployedЕ"
"YesЕ"
"And you have unemployment benefit applications hereЧ"
"Absolutely!"
"But you don't have any staff here who can help me get unemployment benefits."
"Yes, that's correct."
"Oh, okay." This was weird, but I could be cooperative. Probably. I leaned back
in the uncomfortable plastic chair. "Okay, so, can I use your phone to call one
of these hotlines?"
Mitchell spread his hands apologetically. "Ah, jeez, you know, we used to let
people do that, but some folks abused the phones, and soЧ"
"So you're telling me I can't call an Unemployment Hotline using a telephone in
the Unemployment Office?"
"Well, technically, remember, we're not an Unemployment Office anymore"ЧI
suddenly wondered if a vampire could get drunk. I decided to find out as soon as
I got out of this bureaucratic hellholeЧ"and that's why we can't let you do
that." He shrugged. "Sorry."
I whipped off my sunglasses and leaned forward, spearing him with my sinister
undead gaze. It was a rotten thing to do, but I was desperate. "I need. To use.
Your phone."
"No!" He hunched over and clutched the phone protectively to his chest. "It's
against policy!"
Amazing. I was sure my vampire mojo would leave him putty in my hands, but
apparently his bureaucratic training was stronger than ancient evil.
"You'll just have to go home and contact them on your own dime," he snapped.
I stomped back to the waiting area. Outrageous! I wasn't just any undead tart, I
was the queen of the vampires!
"Don't forget to fill out a customer satisfaction survey on your way out!"
Mitchell yelled after me.
God, kill me now. Again, I mean.



Chapter 2
л ^ ╗
The flashing red lights in my rearview mirror produced their usual result: a
surge of adrenaline, then annoyance. I hadn't been going that fast. And it
wasn't even a patrol car pulling me over. It was a Chrysler, for God's sake.
One of the many people dedicated to ruining my day got out of the car and
started toward me. He didn't have that slow, arrogant strut that staties have.
In fact, he was jogging. I recognized him at once and groaned.
Nick Berry. Detective Nick Berry, to be exact, and absolutely the last person I
wanted to see. We had an embarrassing episode last spring, and I lived in fear
that, one of these days, he'd remember I was dead. Or at least, remember he'd
been at my funeral.
He slipped into the passenger seat. "Hey, Betsy. How's it going?"
"You're abusing your authority as a sworn officer of the law," I informed him.