Brushing off my frustrations and doubts, I focused on crossing the street. Surely I could at least pull that off with success. When I arrived, Morty was unloading a gurney from the funeral van with a black body bag resting on top.

“Hi, Morty. You got a minute?” I wanted to send the check over to him like a paper airplane and take off, but Pa had raised me better than that, so I reluctantly took a step closer.

“Sure, honey. Come on in.” Morty motioned for me to follow him and the dead body to the side entrance.

I pointed to the front door. “I need to settle the car bill with you. I’ll just go wait up front.”

“No time for that today. My schedule is full tilt boogie. I have to finish setting up for a viewing and then I need to start work on Mr. Winkle here.” He daintily tapped the body bag.

There was no choice but to follow behind Morty and the squeaking wheels of the gurney. Once we were through the doors, the surprising revelation of us walking down a ramp and into a dark basement had my shoulders bunching. The harsh odor of chemicals, mixed with a heavy floral scent, amped up my internal freaking out by several notches.

Morty flipped a switch, causing the overhead light to flicker a few times before staying on. The light might have eliminated the dark, but what it illuminated had my throat going dry and my stomach dipping. On a metal table lay one of the school lunch ladies dressed in a lavender pantsuit with no hairnet in sight. I’d only ever seen Mrs. Fannie wearing a white uniform with a plastic apron, so it was hard to decide which was odder: her being dressed in something besides the cafeteria uniform or her being laid out dead.

“Don’t worry, honey. Mrs. Fannie no longer yaps like a Chihuahua. She’s perfectly pleasant company nowadays.” Morty situated the gurney to the dead lunch lady’s left and then turned his attention to her. He clucked his tongue and straightened a gaudy gold broach on her lapel. Once he seemed satisfied with its placement, Morty began fluffing her orangey-red bouffant even though it already looked perfectly fluffed. Comfortable as could be, he handled her with such ease and care.

Everyone knew Morty had taken over the family business after his father suffered a stroke on the heels of Morty’s brother dying in a boating accident, but I wasn’t sure if it was a choice a colorful man in his twenties would have willingly made. In a silk paisley shirt, pressed trousers, and shiny penny loafers with no socks, with his highlighted hair feathered back, he certainly didn’t look like a mortician.