We sat in my office, whispering and conspiring about the task ahead. He was close enough I could smell him and whatever he was wearing was intoxicating. I asked Deputy Fraser why in the world he would enlist my help, even while thinking I would be the best damn Girl Friday he’d ever seen if he’d just keep smiling at me with those deep blue eyes.
I’m standing in the dark because this is embalming room number two at Butterfield Funeral Home and Crematory and if I turn on the light, what I will see is Mr. Frank Absom in all his glory laid out on table one. On table two, depending on who you believe, a Deputy U.S. Marshal who died in the line of duty or a dirty cop who got caught up in a gambling ring in the heart of Peoria, IL. He’s naked as the day he was born and since I almost went out on a date with him, I’d rather not see him in that condition.