Read (2012) Colder Than Death for Free Online Page B

hearse?”
    Her question threw me. “I hadn't planned on it.” Usually I take my own car for trips like this.”
    “I always wanted to ride in one.” She tilted her head to the left a bit. “Would it be okay?”
    “Sure,” I said, figuring that if it would make her happy, the drive to the cemetery might be more tolerable.
    ******
    Having this odd-looking, opinionated, hostile teenager riding shotgun made me feel old, out of touch. She held her Blackberry in her right hand. I didn't have much contact with kids. About the only times I've been around them was when one died in a car wreck or from suicide or over-dosing on drugs. And the only times I'd actually talk to a teenager was when they'd be waiting on me in a store.
    The idea of spending time with this girl was unsettling, mostly because I wasn't sure if it would be sixty-or-so minutes of awkward silence or meaningless chatter about pop culture which I knew little about. Neither of us said anything for about a minute. Although I didn't enjoy long silences I could handle them and I was glib enough to make conversation if I sensed that the quiet became too uncomfortable for whomever I was with. I was about to remark on Quilla's desire to ride in the hearse when she spoke. “You don't look like an undertaker.”
    “What do undertakers look like?” I asked.
    “Creepy. Bony faces. Either so skinny they look like corpses themselves or fat with big bulging eyes like that J. Edgar Hoover guy. But you look different. Like you should be an English teacher or a clerk in an old bookshop.”
    “I guess that's a compliment. Thanks.”
    “You always been an undertaker?”
    “Yes. And for the record, “undertaker” isn't what we like to be called. We prefer Funeral Director or mortician.”
    “I don't blame you. Undertaker's a nasty word. “What made you decide to become one?”
    It was a question I'd been asked dozens of times. I'd developed a stock answer because the real reason was too personal. “It seemed like a good way to help people,” was innocuous enough to satisfy most. I looked at Quilla and was about to deliver my stock answer to her question, but her face reflected such a sincere and genuine interest I felt compelled to tell her the truth. To give her background, I explained how my father had died and my mother and I moved to Dankworth to stay with my Aunt.
    “Lew Henderson was my Aunt's friend. He gave me the job as a favor because we needed extra income. I tried to get conventional part-time jobs like most kids do, but there was nothing. Then Lew came through. And it was off the books, so we didn't have to worry about taxes.”
    “I like illegal things. My friend Viper works off the books at his Uncle's heating and cooling company.”
    “What kind of name is Viper?”
    “A nickname. He likes snakes. Or he used to when he was a kid. His real name's Lester. But he hates it, so we call him Viper. Wasn't it creepy being around caskets and bodies?”
    “I wasn't around them. I did odd jobs. Ran errands for the owner and the embalmer. At first I wasn't sure if I would feel comfortable being in a Funeral Home. And my mother had some concern that, what with my father having just died, I might have some psychological problems about working in a place that would be such a constant reminder to me of death. But, as I said, I never went near the bodies.”
    “How'd you decide to be an under... Funeral Director?”
    “My father died in a plane crash. I never got to see him in the coffin for a last good-bye. The Funeral Home who handled the burial was incompetent. I found out later that my Dad died of smoke inhalation. He was burned, but not disfigured or unfit for viewing. If a good restoration person had taken care of him, I could've seen him one final time.”
    “What's a restoration person?”
    “The one who makes people who've been ravaged by illness or accidents look presentable in the coffin. So, to answer your question, after working at Henderson's for