Inside the entryway, I take the time to pull on my gloves before passing by Jeff. He’s the sheriff, so I’ve worked several cases with him, but our paths don’t cross too often. I give him a head nod, just trying to be professionally friendly, one he nervously and grudgingly returns.

The scene’s deeper in the house, and as I make my way toward it, I notice the officer with Jeff, a young, blond, Ken-doll type guy I haven’t seen before. As I look for a clear space to put my bag, he whistles softly. “Damn, I’d like a piece of that.”

Jeff snorts and schools the rookie. “No, you don’t. That’s one to stay far, far away from. They call her Drop-Dead Gorgeous, ’cuz she kills ’em and then takes care of the bodies, if you know what I mean.”

Jeff makes it sound like I’m some evil witch who burns bodies under the light of every full moon. I can feel the newbie’s eyes appraising me, deciding whether I’m worth the risk of my reputation. Honestly, I’m not offended. If anything, Jeff is doing me a favor by directing the newbie away before I have to.

It’s for his own good. And for mine too.

I might come in relatively attractive packaging that gets attention, my dark hair silky and shiny even in its functional low bun, my blue eyes sparkling in the interior lighting, and my skin creamy and smooth. I’ve been compared to Snow White once or twice, but people tend to run for the hills as soon as I open my mouth.

If I even get to a first date, usually blind ones, the initial ‘get to know you’ phase is inevitably my downfall.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a county coroner.”

“Uh, does that mean you play with dead bodies all day?”

“Well, no. But I do work with cadavers.”

“Same difference.”

It’s not, at all, but no one ever cares. I’m an investigator, a detective in a way, only all of my cases involve death. I help families find peace after a loved one has passed on, answer the inevitable ‘why’ questions, and act as the final storyteller for my patients’ truths. What I’m not doing is playing dress up with the dead instead of Barbie dolls.

I’ve gotten used to dates being cut short with an awkward joke about “hope to not see you anytime soon.” That’s fine. I gave up on dating ages ago, anyway. And that’s just the half of it. Too long a story to get into while I’ve got work to do, but let’s just say me and Death became best buds a long, long time ago.