“I like to think of myself as resourceful, not devious,” Jack joked. He thanked Cheryl on both his behalf and Flash’s, then said goodbye and hung up.

“Sounds like you got it arranged,” Warren said.

“We’ll see,” Jack said. He wasn’t all that confident. In his experience, funeral directors tended to be both touchy and sticklers for detail. There were a lot of potential pitfalls. If there was a big staff, Jack could even envision them physically restraining him.

Strickland’s Funeral Home was a two-story stucco building that in a previous life had been a grand home of some wealthy Brooklynite. It was painted white in an apparent attempt to make it look cheerful. Even so, it remained a ponderously bulky structure of indeterminate style. All its windows were blocked by heavy drapes. From its parking lot a wedge of Greenwood Cemetery could be seen bristling with headstones.

Warren put on his emergency brake and turned off the ignition.

“Kinda ominous-looking, isn’t it?” Jack commented.

“What do they do in there?” Warren questioned. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Don’t ask! You don’t want to know,” Jack said. “Let’s get this over with before I lose my nerve.”

“We’ll wait here,” Warren said. He glanced at Flash. Flash nodded in agreement.

“Oh, no! Not this time,” Jack said. “When I said ‘we’earlier, I meant it. This is going to be like a mini-invasion, and I need both you guys’powerful presence. Besides, Flash, you’re kin, which lends us some legitimacy.”

“Are you serious, man?” Warren said.

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Come on! This isn’t up for discussion.”

Jack resolutely headed for the front door carrying his satchel. He could hear Warren’s and Flash’s footsteps behind him. He knew they were coming reluctantly. He didn’t blame them. He knew that they were emotionally unprepared for what they were going to see.

The interior of the funeral home was fairly standard. There was a lot of dark wood, velvet drapes, soft lighting, and low-volume hymns playing in the background, giving an overall impression of serenity. In the entrance hall a visitors’book was open on a console table. Next to it stood an austere-looking woman in a black dress. In the center of the room to the right was an open casket on a waist-high bier with a few rows of folding chairs set before it. The lid’s interior was upholstered in white satin. Jack could just make out the profile of the casket’s occupant.

“May I help you?” the woman asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Jack said. “Where’s the director?”

“He’s in the office,” the woman said. “Should I get him?”

“Please,” Jack said. “And quickly if you wouldn’t mind. This is an emergency.”

Jack looked over his shoulder at Warren and Flash who were close behind him.

“Shit, man!” Warren whispered. “Are you sure you need us?”