Free Casket Case by Fran Rizer Page A

taxidermy?”
    “Never.”
    “What about freeze-drying?”
    “Instead of taxidermy?” Otis asked.
    “It’s already doing that. Do you think freeze-drying might replace embalming?”
    “I never really thought about it, but from what I’ve read, freeze-drying anything the size of a human would be a very lengthy process.”
    “The equipment’s expensive and it does take months, but I was wondering if you might be able to convince people their loved ones would last longer if they were freeze-dried instead of embalmed.”
    Otis gave Dennis Sharpe a What kind of fool are you? look before he responded. “Why?” Otis asked. “Why would you want to do that? The bereaved don’t want to wait for months to bury their loved ones.”
    “If you convinced them to freeze-dry their loved ones, they could take them home with them.”
    I’m sure Dennis Sharpe could see my look of disbelief that he’d even suggest such a thing.
    “Why would you want us to do that?” Otis asked.
    “I was hoping we could go in together to buy the freeze-drying equipment. It’s very expensive, so we could share it.”
    Otis sat silently, probably wondering how to get rid of this goofball. “I don’t think so,” he finally said. “Our clients want to see their loved ones embalmed and looking peaceful within a day of death. Besides, no one would want to think of a family member lying up in a freeze-dryer beside a possum or some other roadkill.”
    “Oh, I don’t use much roadkill,” Dennis Sharpe quickly said. “The only roadkill I ever use is if it’s absolutely, positively fresh.”
    Otis stood, which is his way of dismissing people from the conference table. “Sorry, Mr. Sharpe,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
    Dennis Sharpe pulled two business cards from his pocket and handed one to each of us. “If you think of a way we could do business, please call me,” he said.
    I walked him to the door.
    “You sure are pretty,” he said before he left. I heard “How Great Thou Art” as the front door closed.
    I almost bumped into Otis as I turned away from the door. He’d followed me. “That guy’s a kook,” he said. “Does he actually go out there and kill innocent cats and dogs to stuff them?”
    Goose bumps rose on my arms, and I said, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Chapter Ten

    “Yoo-hoo, is anyone here?” a young female voice called before I’d even reached my workroom. I turned around and faced the front door. Roselle Dawkins and Levi Pinckney stood together by the hall tree. They must have come in right after Dennis Sharpe left. Roselle looked like death warmed over. Ex-cuuze me. I can’t believe I used that expression. Let me edit myself. Roselle looked dreadful. Her hair was tangled and uncombed. She wore a wrinkled blue jumper with a beige cotton shirt and leather sandals.
    “Hello, Mrs. Dawkins and Mr. Pinckney,” I said. “Mr. Middleton said you were scheduled for eleven, but I’m sure he’ll see you now. Just follow me to a consultation parlor.”
    As we passed the open door to Slumber Room A, Roselle glanced in. She sucked her breath in hard, exhaled loudly, and whispered, “Look, Levi. It’s a child.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “A little girl.”
    “How sad,” Roselle said. “I asked Mel if we could have children, and he said we’d try. I can’t imagine losing a kid.” I couldn’t imagine Dr. Melvin as the father of a newborn.
    They followed me into our nicest conference room and sat side by side in two of the overstuffed green velvet chairs surrounding the antique table.
    “Please pardon me,” I said, “I’ll call Mr. Middleton.”
    “Can’t you help us with the plans?” Levi asked. “You work here, don’t you?”
    The smart-aleck side of me wanted to say, “No, I just drive the funeral coach around and always dress in black because I think it’s a good color for me.” Instead, I said, “I work here, but making arrangements isn’t part of my