Free Shoofly Pie & Chop Shop by Tim Downs

car. She stared for a moment in utter disbelief, then hurried after him.
    “It was obvious we were getting nowhere with Mr. Schroeder,” he called back over his shoulder. “But he still helped us out in his own small way, bless his icy little heart. He told us that the body hasn’t arrived yet.”
    “So what?”
    “Mr. Schroeder can’t show us what Mr. Schroeder doesn’t have, so why waste our time on him? Let’s go around to the garage and wait for the delivery man.”
    “But won’t the delivery man tell us the same thing?”
    “Maybe, maybe not. Funeral directors often contract out to have somebody else do the dirty work of collecting bodies. If the collector is an employee of the funeral home, he’ll probably tell us to get lost. But if he’s just some local yokel, then what does he care?” Nick turned and winked. “He just might let us take a peek.”
    The garage was the business end of the stately funeral home,providing direct access to the chrome-and-porcelain preparation rooms inside. Schroeder’s Funeral Home was first and foremost a place of comfort and condolence and dignity, so it was prudent to attempt to conceal the true nature of the business—the receiving and processing of dead bodies. The garage and driveway entrance were masked by a screen of tall redbuds.
    Nick slung off his knapsack and dropped it on the driveway in front of the garage. He stretched out on the pavement and laid his head against the knapsack, folding his arms across his chest and tipping his Pirates cap down over his spectacled eyes.
    “Wake me if you see a car.” He yawned. “A big black one.”
    Kathryn was in no mood for sleep—or for humor. She paced nervously back and forth, looking first down the driveway, then around the side of the house, then at the reclining form of Nick—but mostly at Nick.
    “Is this against the law?” she demanded.
    “Maybe,” he said without moving. “Does it matter? I thought you said you have to know.”
    “I just like to know what I’m getting myself into. I do have a position in this town, you know. I don’t want the headline in tomorrow’s Courier to read, ‘Bank Officer Charged with Breaking and Entering.’”
    “We’re not breaking and entering,” he assured her. “The headline will read more like, ‘Woman Charged with Molesting Dead Man.’”
    “That’s not funny! What if Mr. Schroeder comes out?”
    “It’s still daylight. I’m sure Mr. Schroeder stays in his coffin until midnight.”
    Nick peeked out from under his cap and took note of the stone-cold expression on Kathryn’s face. “Relax,” he said, pulling his cap down once again. “The law is a little fuzzy about this kind of thing. When a body is first discovered it belongs to the local medical examiner until he signs off on the death certificate. Later on the funeral home releases the body to the immediate family, and then they own it. But in-between—whose body is it? It’s not exactly clear. We’re not hurting anyone, Mrs. Guilford—least of all your pal Jim.”
    “What happens if we get caught?”
    Nick sighed heavily and sat up. “Mr. Schroeder will raise the roof, and he’ll probably call the next of kin. If he’s really mad, he’ll call the police too. You’ll get a nasty call from the sister, and the police will say, ‘Don’t make a hobby out of this.’ Finito.”
    “What would happen to you?”
    “Don’t worry about me,” Nick said under his breath. “They can’t send me anyplace worse than this.”
    Behind them there was a loud click and the whir of an electric motor, and the garage door suddenly began to rise. Nick jumped to his feet and peered down the driveway. The long Cadillac hearse rolled slowly up the pavement and pulled into the garage. Behind the wheel was a young man of no more than eighteen, with an even younger boy beside him.
    “This looks good, very good. Tell you what”—he smiled, glancing at Kathryn—“this time, why don’t you let me do the