At last he opened the phone book and turned to the yellow pages looking for mortuaries. Did you just call them, or did you inform the doctor first? If he informed the doctor, he wasn’t going to be able to cash that script for morphine. It would be null and void. A waste of ambrosia. Man, she was still pliable! She must have somehow been hovering, clinging to life until only just recently. Matthew wasn’t sure how long it took for rigor mortis to set in. He could drive to the drugstore now, cash in the script, and then make phone calls. Who was to know? He took another four-and-two combination and went back to the safe. He removed a pack of Luckies from the carton and sat in the kitchen, smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee as he thought things over. Matthew quit smoking when his mother first came down with cancer and now he wondered why. It was such a pleasure to smoke. It was pure enjoyment. That she was able to sneak cigarettes behind his back seemed amazing to him, but then, given his sleep habits, it wasn’t surprising at all. But why did she sneak around about it? To fool herself! Yes, that was it! Denial. His analytical powers were most acute.

An inspired plan evolved. Matthew finished his coffee, snuffed out a cigarette, and retrieved his old Boy Scout sleeping bag from the spare closet. He unrolled it on the bed next to his mother. It had a musky smell. He reached under her arms and slid her body over onto the bag, careful not to let her head slump forward. Once he had her in the bag, he zipped it shut and then hefted her up, carried her out to the garage, and placed her corpse inside the freezer. Fit was not a problem as the freezer was only half full. He returned to the bedroom and got her Hummels. He placed these into the freezer with her in case she might need them in the Happy Hunting Grounds—she had plenty of frozen food, that was for sure. Heh heh.