Sorrow flowed freely as Aanders’ chest heaved with deep emotion.

Belly waddled over and poked Aanders’ leg with his nose. Waiting patiently for his friend to sort through his emotions, the dog whined and lay down at the boy's feet.

Aanders knelt and pulled Belly close. “Why, Belly? Why did he have to die? It's so stupid. If he'd have just come home with me instead of going with his mom and dad, he'd be alive now."

Belly offered a slobbery lick in understanding before ambling back to the corner. His tail darted in a replay of excitement before he plopped down on his right haunch with his left leg splayed out in front. He stared into the corner. His head cocked back and forth.

Aanders touched Tim's finger tips, letting his gaze settle on the sheet over Tim's head. He grasped the sheet with two hands as he had seen his mother do when she uncovered the bodies for an initial viewing and folded the sheet back against Tim's chest. He gasped at Tim's pallor. Grabbing the table with both hands, he fought the lightheadedness that again caused him to tilt.

Waiting until he could stand unassisted, he said, “I hate you for leaving me. I hate you.” He ran his hand under his nose and wiped it on his pants leg. “You were my best friend. You were my only friend.” He shook as the angry words spewed forth. “We were going to be friends forever."

Belly again nudged Aanders’ leg and snorted when the boy bent to hug him.

Pulling Belly close, Aanders said, “We were going to invent a computer game and get rich. Tim said we'd buy matching trucks.” As if reading from a list, Aanders continued, “We were going to have new friends. We were going to take our moms on a trip. We were going to do anything we wanted.” He buried his face in Belly's neck and let the tears flow.

"Tim didn't care that I lived in a mortuary.” Pounding the floor with his fist, Aanders shouted, “How could he have done this to me? I was his best friend.” He threw his head back and gulped through the sobs. “What am I supposed to do now?"

"You'll always be my best friend, Aanders."

Aanders gasped, choking on air suddenly caught in his throat. His back grew rigid. He turned his head slightly to the right and peeked out of the corner of his eye.

Belly waddled eagerly toward the corner.

Aanders looked back at the body on the table. “Now I'm hearing things. I thought you said something."

Aanders snapped his fingers in command. “Come here you stupid dog. Right now. We've got to get out of here."

The voice from the corner said, “I did say something. I said you'll always be my best friend. No matter what."

Aanders screamed as he turned his head toward the corner. Trembling, he strained to see through the darkness and braced himself against a cabinet.

The voice from the corner also gasped in disbelief. “You can hear me? I can't believe it. If you can hear me, then you must be able to see me, too. Can you see me, Aanders?"

A fearful moan escaped as Aanders felt his way toward the door.

"Don't go,” the voice begged. “Please don't go. It's me. It's me, Tim."

Shrieking louder as he looked from Tim's body on the table to the faint image in the corner, Aanders bumped against a cart containing embalming fluid. The cart toppled, sending plastic gallon jars rolling across the floor.

"You can see me, can't you?” Tim shouted. “You can see me!"

Aanders inched toward the door with his back hugging the counter. The figure shifted forward into the glow of the hall's light.

Aanders jerked his gaze from the figure to the body on the table. It was Tim. It was his friend standing there as well as his friend's body under the sheet on the table. “It ca-ca-can't be.” He pointed in both directions. “You can't be in both places at the same time.” He whispered, “Can you?"

"It's me. It really is. But guess what? If I'm dead and you can see me, then you're a death coach. Nobody else can see the crossers except death coaches.” Tim grinned at his friend. “I can't believe it. Wait till I tell Sadie.” He breathlessly added, “Maybe you already know you're a coach. Have you been keeping it from me all this time?"

Belly circled, stopping long enough during the rotations to offer a paw to Tim.

"Are you crazy?” Aanders shouted. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He pointed to the body on the table and then again at Tim. “Are you dead or not?"

"I'm dead all right. But there's more. We were murdered and I've got to prove it."

7

Nan watched Mr. Bakke spray disinfectant over the embalming table and rub it vigorously with a white cloth.

A smile graced her lips as Paul Brink's words tiptoed into her mind. When Paul had generously offered to foot the bill for purchasing the mortuary and the five acres it sat on, Nan had refused. She wanted to do it on her own. Accepting his offer meant making a commitment. Her marriage to Clay had been a disaster and she wasn't ready to commit to someone else. Now she wished she hadn't refused. It was beginning to look like the dream of perpetuating her father's funeral enterprise would never be realized.

"I forgot to tell you Lon called,” Mr. Bakke said.

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"Not really, but he asked if you'd finished with the Fossums yet."

"I had the strangest conversation with Lon yesterday,” Nan said. “After he helped me load a body into the hearse, he told me he asked Carl Swanson to investigate the Fossums’ deaths. Carl refused. He said Carl got really nervous when he brought it up."

"What did he tell you? Does he think foul play was involved?"

"I'm not sure. But I know he's investigating on the sly. He said if Carl finds out, he'll push to get him transferred. Or fired."

"I can't believe anyone would hurt the Fossums. Richard Fossum didn't have an enemy in the world,” Mr. Bakke said. “He's the kindest person I know."

"Lon said the same thing. That's one of the reasons he's puzzled. He asked if Paul ever discussed any problems he had with Richard."

"Did he?"

"None that he ever talked about. Paul's pretty quiet about his business. There's a lot of confidentiality issues in the insurance business, you know."

"I suppose that's true.” Mr. Bakke tossed the cloth into a hamper.

"Lon said he wished he could get into Richard's office to look at his papers. He wants to see if he can figure out why Richard was depressed."

Sadie and Jane accompanied Nan, Mr. Bakke, and six men to the cemetery following the funeral of a woman who had passed and left no immediate family. She had been institutionalized and outlived the majority of her kin. Those relatives still living had long since forgotten her. Nan insisted that each client be treated with respect and dignity. This woman was no exception. Sadie, Jane, and Mr. Bakke willingly accompanied the woman on her final journey.

The tiny procession fell into place behind a patrol car with its flashers blinking rhythmically against the afternoon sky. Two cars followed the hearse.

After Nan parked the hearse at the cemetery, Mr. Bakke, still spry at seventy, walked toward the gravesite grasping Jane's arm with his right hand and clutching a psalm book in the other. Nan and Sadie followed close behind.

When Nan had offered Mr. Bakke a part-time job to assist with funerals and body preparations, the elderly man jumped at the opportunity. He preferred productivity rather than wasting his time in a vacuum. He had proved to be a valuable assistant. Many times Nan had to insist he pace his workload.

Work wasn't the only thing occupying Mr. Bakke's time. Jane was his other project. The romance had brewed over two decades and turned into a satisfying convenience for them both.

Mr. Bakke lived in Cabin 12. Cabin 12 had been reserved for the resort's caretaker, but when Mr. Bakke could no longer keep up with the duties of the expanding resort, the Witt sisters let him live there permanently. The resort now had three younger men handling the caretaking responsibilities.