In hindsight, I know he was trying to help me, but it was rough going for a while when I wanted to pretend Mom and Dad were just on a long trip and Grandpa had continually talked about death. But by the time I was sixteen and old enough to get a job, I was helping Grandpa out.

Nothing with direct contact, of course. He’d drilled the procedural rules into my head long before. But I’d drive him around, hand him instruments, and discuss his findings.

When he passed, I’d already gone to school, gotten a forensic science degree, and had been Grandpa’s right-hand worker for years. I was the obvious person to take over his role. My appointment as coroner had been uncontested, and I think as long I stay down here in my hidey-hole like a recluse, the county commissioner can just pretend I don’t exist.

That works both ways as far as I’m concerned. The county commissioner’s an idiot who treats budget increases for my office like I’m asking him to lie down on my table for a visit or two. So I ignore him and make sure my paperwork’s clean.

But I’m going to need some help sooner rather than later. This isn’t Grandpa’s day. The county’s twice as large now. That’s more stiffs than even a porn star could handle.

I pick up my scalpel and silently tell Chad ‘sorry’ once more. I’ve got the blade a scant millimeter from his skin when I hear a faint voice groaning, “Help me.”

I freeze, my eyes ticking up to Chad’s chest to look for any sign of movement. I point the scalpel at him and scold, “Don’t you dare, Chad. You are not nearly as entertaining as Mrs. Jones. And once was more than enough of that.”

But Chad’s still. Of course he is, because he’s dead. For real dead, not just with a soft, slow heartbeat that a nursing home doctor didn’t take the time to listen for.

Deciding I imagined things, I press the scalpel to Chad’s abdomen.

“Help meeeeeee . . .” a disembodied voice moans in a loud whisper. There’s no mistaking it or pretending I imagined that.

I look around the room, my heart skipping beats like an off-tempo drummer.

There are no shadowy corners to hide in because I’m not a stupid horror movie chick. The only people here are me and definitely-dead Chad. Even so, a shiver of fear runs down my spine, leaving tingly nerves in its wake.

“Hello?” I call out, holding the scalpel like it’s a weapon now instead of an instrument I’ve used dozens of times. “Is anyone here?”