Free The Apprentice by Tess Gerritsen

started off washing his hearses. Cleaning the prep room. Answering the night calls for pickup. Then Mr. Whitney had me help him with the embalming. Now that he’s getting on in years, I do almost everything here.”
    “So I guess you got an embalmer’s license, huh?”
    A pause. “Uh, no. I never got around to applying. I just help Mr. Whitney.”
    “Why don’t you apply? Seems like it’d be a step up.”
    “I’m happy with my job the way it is.” Joey turned his attention back to Mrs. Ober, whose face had now taken on a rosy glow. He reached for an eyebrow comb and began to stroke brown coloring onto her gray eyebrows, his hands working with almost loving delicacy. At an age when most young men are eager to tackle life, Joey Valentine had chosen instead to spend his days with the dead. He had shepherded corpses from hospitals and nursing homes to this clean, bright room. He had washed and dried them, shampooed their hair, brushed on creams and powders to grant them the illusion of life. As he stroked color on Mrs. Ober’s cheeks, he murmured: “Nice. Oh yes, that’s really nice. You’re going to look fabulous…”
    “So, Joey,” said Korsak. “You been working here seven years, right?”
    “Didn’t I just tell you that?”
    “And you never bothered to apply for any, like, professional credentials?”
    “Why do you keep asking me that?”
    “Is that because you knew you wouldn’t get a license?”
    Joey froze, his hand about to stroke on lipstick. He said nothing.
    “Does old Mr. Whitney know about your criminal record?” asked Korsak.
    At last Joey looked up. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
    “Maybe I should. Seeing as how you scared the shit out of that poor girl.”
    “I was only eighteen. It was a mistake—”
    “A mistake? What, you peeped in the wrong window? Spied on the wrong girl?”
    “We went to high school together! It wasn’t like I didn’t know her!”
    “So you only peep in windows of girls you know? What else you done, you never got caught for?”
    “I told you, it was a mistake!”
    “You ever sneak into someone’s house? Go into their bedroom? Maybe filch a little something like a bra, or a nice pair of panties?”
    “Oh, Jesus.” Joey stared down at the lipstick he’d just dropped on the floor. He looked as though he was about to be sick.
    “You know, Peeping Toms have a way of going on to other things,” said Korsak, unrelenting. “Bad things.”
    Joey went to the boom box and shut it off. In the silence that followed, he stood with his back turned to them, staring out the window at the cemetery across the road. “You’re trying to fuck up my life,” he said.
    “No, Joey. We’re just trying to have a frank conversation here.”
    “Mr. Whitney doesn’t know.”
    “And he doesn’t have to.”
    “Unless?”
    “Where were you on Sunday night?”
    “At home.”
    “By yourself?”
    Joey sighed. “Look, I know what this is all about. I know what you’re trying to do. But I told you, I hardly knew Mrs. Yeager. All I did was take care of her mother. I did a good job, you know. Everyone told me so, afterward. How alive she looked.”
    “You mind if we take a peek in your car?”
    “Why?”
    “Just to check it out.”
    “Yes, I mind. But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?”
    “Only with your permission.” Korsak paused. “You know, cooperation is a two-way street.”
    Joey just kept staring out the window. “There’s a burial out there today,” he said softly. “See all the limousines? Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved watching funeral processions. They’re so beautiful. So dignified. It’s the one thing people still do right. The one thing they haven’t ruined. Not like weddings, where they do stupid things like jumping out of planes. Or saying their vows on national television. At funerals, we still show respect for what’s proper…”
    “Your car, Joey.”
    At last, Joey turned and crossed to one of the cabinet drawers.