Pa would scold me for being judgy, so I cleared that thought from my mind and moved on to categorizing all the weird stuff lining the small space. Hair spray, a curling iron, a bottle of industrial-strength glue, a hacksaw, a drill . . .

Rubbing the chills from my arms, I asked, “You don’t get creeped out being around the dead all the time?”

Morty’s soft blue eyes locked with mine. He winked one of them. “Honey, the living creep me out. Not the dead.” He picked up a cosmetic brush and touched it to Mrs. Fannie’s pink cheek. “The living can be cruel, judgmental, quick to complain, and slow to please. The dead never yell or cuss you out. Or call you ugly names.” There was such a sadness to his gentle voice.

Even more uncomfortable now, I pulled the check from my pocket and offered it to him, but he was too immersed in inspecting the dead lunch lady’s face to notice.

“Morty —”

“My brother and I used to sneak down here and practice applying makeup on each other.” Morty snickered as he straightened the row of makeup containers.

I shook my head and took a step back.

“It’s all about contouring and blending. We eventually got it down pat . . .” His voice grew distracted and then he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, making me halt my retreat. “I would have never guessed I’d actually have to apply the makeup to Donald postmortem. He was only twenty-two . . .”

As Morty told me about the boating accident that took his brother’s life, the black bag behind him caught my eye and I could have sworn it shifted. After a few heartbeats of not daring to blink, I chided myself for letting my nerves get the best of me.

“I’ll just put this check on your desk,” I said, my voice so hoarse I should have followed up with a ribbit.

“Don’t rush off,” Morty insisted, breaking through the rising ringing in my ears.

I blinked, blinked again, but could not look away from the body bag. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, because it sure did look like that bag shifted again. I squinted to try focusing on it better, and then a bloodcurdling scream rushed out of me as the bag jackknifed.

“What the . . . ?” Morty spun around at the same time a raspy voice began a muffled protest. He quickly unzipped the bag to reveal a wild-eyed, gaunt man with wisps of white hair sticking in every direction. “Mr. Hal! Goodness’ sakes. You’re supposed to be dead!”

My butt landed hard on the cold cement floor. Scared stupid, I didn’t bother getting up as I watched Morty help the zombie sit up.