Read Fashionably Dead Online

Authors: Robyn Peterman

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #Humor & Satire, #General Humor, #Demons & Devils, #Vampires, #Romantic Comedy, #paranormal romance, #Humor

Fashionably Dead

BOOK: Fashionably Dead
Table of Contents


Title Page

Edition License Notice

Praise for Fashionably Dead




Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Excerpt from Fashionably Dead Down Under

Excerpt from “The Demon of Synar”

Connect with Robyn Peterman

Other Books by Robyn Peterman

About Robyn Peterman

Fashionably Dead


Book One of the Hot Damned Series




Robyn Peterman




Copyright 2013 by Robyn Peterman


Edited by Mary Yakovets


Cover by Rebecca Poole of


Edition License Notice


This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.


This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.


Praise for
Fashionably Dead


Uproariously witty, deliciously provocative, and just plain fun! No one delivers side-splitting humor and mouth-watering sensuality like Robyn Peterman.


This is entertainment at its absolute finest!


~ Darynda Jones, NY Times Bestselling Author of the
Charley Davidson Series




Writing may be solitary, but putting a book out is not. I am blessed to have so many amazing people in my life.
Fashionably Dead
has been a labor of love and I love all the people who helped me make this dream come true.


Mary Yakovets, your editing makes me look like a better writer than I really am. You are brilliant and you saved me from making an unforgivably gross mistake in my manuscript! LOL! Donna McDonald, your patience with my disastrous lack of computer skill and your mind-boggling editing astound me. You are my hero.


My beta readers, Kim Bloomfield, Kris Calvert, Jessica Hughes, James Kall, Jowanna Kestner, JM Madden, Christi Main-Ehrlich, Donna McDonald and Candace Sword are the best and I adore each and every one of you.


Rebecca Poole, my cover is beautiful. It’s like you crawled inside my warped brain saw exactly what I wanted! Thank you. You are so very talented.


My Pimpettes are amazing! You make me giggle and you delight me. Thank you for your support. It means the world.


James Kall, thank you for the series name. You have made me pee in my pants since we were eighteen and I expect you’ll be doing the same till we’re eighty!


Kris Calvert, you taught me how to cut and paste and you are one hell of a blurb writer. You rock!


My critique partner, JM Madden, you are brilliant and hilarious. Without you I would have written myself off a cliff!


And my girl crush, Darynda Jones...your beautiful cover quote humbled me and made me cry. You are a wonderful friend and I think I’ll keep you!


Last but not least, I want to thank my family. Hot Hubby, you put all my heroes to shame and I have the best kids in the world. None of this would be fun without you guys. Love you.




This book is dedicated to authors Donna McDonald and JM Madden. Both of you believed in me when all I had was a pile of rejection letters and a huge dream. You are tremendously talented, generous and kind. I would not be where I am today without you. You beautiful ladies are my anchor and I am so lucky you’re mine.



I drew hard on the cigarette and narrowed my eyes at the landscape before me. Graves, tombstones, crypts . . . she didn’t belong here. Hell, I didn’t belong here. My eyes were dry. I’d cried so much there was nothing left. I exhaled and watched as the blue grey smoke wafted out over the plastic flowers decorating the headstones.

Five minutes. I just needed five minutes and then I could go back . . .

“That’s really gross,” Gemma said, as she rounded the corner of the mausoleum I was hiding behind and scared the hell out of me. She fanned the smoke away and eyed me. “She wanted you to quit, maybe now would be a good time.”

“Agreed. It’s totally gross and disgusting and I’m going to quit, regardless of the fact that other than you, Marlboro Lights are my best friend . . . but today is definitely not the day,” I sighed and took another long drag.

“That’s pathetic,” she chuckled.

“Correct. Do you have perfume and gum?”

“Yep.” She dug through her purse and handed me a delicate bottle.

“I can’t use this. It’s the expensive French shit.”

“Go for it,” she grinned. “You’re gonna need it. You smell like an ashtray and your mother is inside scaring people to death.”

“Son of a . . . ” I moaned and quickly spritzed myself. “I thought she left. She didn’t want to come in the first place.”

“Could have fooled me,” Gemma said sarcastically, handing over a piece of gum and shoving me from my hiding place.

“Come on,” I muttered, as my bossy best friend pushed me back to my beloved grandmother’s funeral.



The hall was filled with people. Foldout tables lined the walls and groaned under the weight of casseroles, cakes and cookies. Men and women, most of whom I knew, milled around and ate while they gossiped. Southern funerals were a time to socialize and eat. A lot.

As I made my way through the crowd and accepted condolences, I got an earful of information I could have happily lived without. I learned that Donna Madden was cheating on her husband Greg, Candy Pucker had gained thirty pounds from eating Girl Scout cookies and had shoved her fat ass into a heinous sequined gown,
for the funeral no less,
and Sam Boomaster, the Mayor, was now a homosexual. Hell, I just wanted to leave, but I had to find my mother before she did something awful.

“I loved her.” Charlie stopped me in my tracks and grabbed my hand in his old gnarled one.

His toupee was angled to the left and his black socks and sandals peeked out from his high-water plaid pants. He was beautiful.

“Me too,” I smiled.

“You know I tried to court her back in the day, but she only had eyes for your Grandpa.” He smoothed his sweater vest and laid a wet one on my cheek . . . and if I’m not mistaken,
and I’m not
, he grabbed my ass.

“Charlie, if you touch my butt again, I’ll remove your hand.” I grinned and adjusted his toupee. He was a regular in the art class I taught at the senior center and his wandering hands were infamous.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a nice ass there, Astrid! You look like one of them there supermodels! Gonna make some lucky man very happy one day,” he explained seriously.

“With my ass?”

“Well now, your bosom is nothing to scoff at either and your legs . . . ” he started.

“Charlie, I’m gonna cut you off before you wax poetic about things that will get you arrested for indecency.”

“Good thinking, girlie!” he laughed. “If you ever want to hear stories about your Nana from when we were young, I’d be happy to share.”

“Thanks, Charlie, I’d like that.”

I gave him a squeeze, holding his hands firmly to his sides and made my way back into the fray.

As I scanned the crowd for my mother, my stomach clenched. After everything I had to put up with today, the evil approaching was just too much. Martha and Jane, the ancient matriarchs of the town and the nastiest gossips that ever lived were headed straight for me. Fuck.

“I suppose you’ll get an inheritance,” Jane snapped as she looked me up and down. “You’ll run through it like water.”

“Your Nana, God bless her, was blind as a bat when it came to you,” Martha added caustically. “I mean, my God, what are you? Thirty and unmarried? It’s just downright disrespectable.”

“I’m twenty-nine, happily single and getting it on a regular basis,” I said, enjoying the way their thin lips hung open in an impressive O.

“Well, I’ve never,” Jane gasped.

“Clearly. You should try it sometime. I understand Mr. Smith is so vision impaired, you might have a shot there.”

Their appalled shrieks were music to my ears and I quickly made my escape. Nana would have been a bit disappointed with my behavior, but she was gone.

Time to find the reason I came back in here for . . . I smelled her before I saw her. A waft of Chanel perfume made the lead ball in my stomach grow heavier. I took a deep breath, straightened my very vintage Prada sheath that I paid too much for, plastered a smile on my face, said a quick prayer and went in to the battle.

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