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dollars! I gulped, then reassured myself it could have been worse. I had to admit it was beautiful. When I die, just fry me. Save the money for something that won’t be stuffed into the ground.
    We exited the showroom and entered a plush office in green velvet and brass. The three of us squeezed onto the sofa, with me sandwiched in the middle. I was wedged in so tight if someone yelled fire, I was a goner.
    A thin man, complete with a pencil mustache, peered at us over his steepled fingers. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Lewis Anderson. He placed a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses on his nose and curled his hand around a silver ballpoint pen. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His deep voice rumbled through the room. “I have a few questions for you, then I’ll handle the rest.”
    We nodded in unison. Aunt Claudia blurted, “We’ve chosen the Something-Rose casket.”
    Mr. Anderson raised his eyebrows. “The Spring Rose? Excellent choice.” He made a note. “Religious preference?”
    “Christian, of course. There ain’t no way my daughter is going to partake in any heathen ceremony.”
    “Ah, the mother.” He scribbled something else. “Burial, selected plot out back, pastor of attending church will preside?” He widened his eyes. “Am I being too presumptuous?”
    We shook our heads again. I gnawed my lower lip. Something about this guy bothered me. What did he mean by a selected plot?
    “Have the authorities released the body?” A sheen appeared in his dark eyes. Were those tears?
    I shifted my weight, trying to squeeze from my prison. “Not yet. Possibly tomorrow.”
    “All right then.” He flipped through his calendar. “We could do the viewing on Wednesday. That gives the medical examiner an extra day, and the funeral service can be held on Thursday. I’m assuming you want a traditional service?”
    “Of course we do!” Aunt Claudia rose, almost taking me with her. “Nothing is too good for my Mae Belle.”
    Mr. Anderson gave a thin smile and blinked his eyes. He definitely appeared to be struggling not to cry. I detected a faint quiver to his chin. He handed Aunt Claudia a sheet of paper. “This is what’s included in our traditional service. Mountain Shadows Funeral Home is honored to help you during this difficult time.”
    Aunt Claudia handed the paper to me without glancing at it. My stomach churned as my gaze rolled down the page. Moving the body to the funeral home. Cosmetology. Dressing the body. Pallbearers. The final line almost stopped my heart. Nine thousand dollars, including the casket. Catch me, Lord. I’m going to faint.
    “Ladies, have a wonderful day.” The man actually grasped my aunts by their elbows and steered them through the door. He turned to me.
    I stopped. “Mr. Anderson, how well did you know Mae Belle?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You seem overly affected by her death and the funeral arrangements. Are you this personable with all your customers?”
    He straightened his shoulders and shifted his eyes. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the honor of making her acquaintance.”
    If I’ve learned anything from reading my crime books, it’s that a liar often glances over the questioning person’s left shoulder. Just like he did. What could Mr. Anderson have to hide?
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Soft music filled the quiet atmosphere in the viewing room. Mae Belle, wearing more makeup than I’d ever seen her wear, lay in the casket with hands folded across her stomach. We’d been sitting there for an hour before the first visitor arrived.
    Sherry marched through the door and strode to stare down at Mae Belle. The former secretary of A Dream Wedding took a deep breath and said something I couldn’t hear. Her lips thinned into a tight smile, she whirled, glowered at me, then marched back out.
    What did the woman have against me? I didn’t remember ever having met her before hiring Mae Belle. Had I wronged her as a kid?
    Over the course of the two-hour