Jason twisted the steering wheel violently to the left and felt the wheels of the hearse break loose on the gravel road. He reversed the wheel and accelerated out of the skid, fishtailing a couple of times before he was completely out. For a moment there he'd had no time to think, which was what he would prefer. Thinking meant remembering, meant seeing Clair's pinched, red face shouting at him to get out. Remembering convinced him that he had nothing to look forward to -- no dreams left.

How could Clair imagine he would hurt her brother? He had always been like a younger brother to Buddy. Sure, Buddy had always been a few bricks short of a full load, and impetuous, and liked to play tricks on all of them.

God knows, working around a mortuary left a boy opportunity for tricks -- if he didn't care how the customers reacted.

One of Buddy's favorites -- the one he was best at -- was to plant himself in a casket across the room from where relatives were viewing their beloved's remains. He would begin moaning, quietly at first, so that the few who heard thought maybe it was their imagination. As he gradually got louder, he would have them all staring, then suddenly sit up in his casket. The whole performance usually sent onlookers screaming out of the room. The old man, Buddy's and Clair's father, "tut-tutted" and patted Buddy on the shoulder.

"Not good, Buddy," the old man would say before he dropped the subject.

So, naturally, Buddy tried harder.

One day Jason caught him fitting a false bottom into a casket. Buddy had cut two large holes for his arms and a smaller one to view through.

"What're you going to do with that?" Jason asked.

"Okay," Buddy said breathlessly. "I take out the stiff, get in, and put this false floor in over the top of me. Then someone, probably you, puts the stiff back and fixes him all nice. Later, when he's on display and some woman leans over the casket--"

"You reach up and grab her."

He grinned. "Yep."

Just as he'd expected. "You going to wear tuxedo sleeves so the arms look like the deceased?"

"You got it. This may be my best trick ever."

"You'll get your father sued into the poorhouse," Jason said, mildly pleased that Buddy had thought up the trick on his own, but rather put off by its probable effect on the grief-stricken. Since Buddy had turned thirty, his youthful pranks didn't seem so cute any more. And now that he'd begun losing his hair and getting a paunch, he had to be careful not to lose his job, either.

"I'll wait for the right person," Buddy said.

In the meantime, people were dying left and right, and business flourished. Clair and Jason were both too busy to think about dating. Jason drained, embalmed, and sewed up the more prominent rips and tears in the cadavers. When he'd finished, he dressed and turned them over to Clair for makeup. Often she made a corpse look better dead than alive.

Jason had seen the results of her work, and the effects on those left behind. Many's the time a widower came in dry eyed to view the remains of his wife, and be struck speechless by the glamorized body in the casket. By the time he left, the widower would be mourning his loss, remembering his dear-departed as an exalted glamour queen rather than the drudge she'd evolved into over the years.

* * *

Up ahead, Jason spied the cemetery and eased up on the gas. The engine coughed, but growled on. The cemetery was old, used mainly by local farmers. He didn't know why they wanted Buddy buried way out here. Maybe the old man got a special deal on the plot.

Maybe he should have told Clair about Buddy's most elaborate coffin trick. He hadn't, figuring she'd learn of it soon enough. And he hadn't wanted to tell the old man, because it would look like he was trying to get Buddy in trouble.

The old man was in his late seventies or early eighties. He had a full head of white hair and perfect false teeth, which he showed at every possible occasion. Actually, he looked like a prosperous Southern politician. His vanity was refusing to cover his china blue eyes with glasses -- without which he was legally blind.

The old man had slowed almost to a standstill. If he didn't retire soon, he'd stop moving and someone would discover he'd died on the job. He could either turn the business over to Clair and whomever she married, or wait for Buddy to grow up and take on a few responsibilities. Whether or not the old man could outlive Buddy's juvenile streak was any body's guess. Jason guessed no. At thirty, Buddy still acted fourteen.

When Jason had joined the mortuary staff five years earlier, he immediately saw possibilities for his own retirement and began mapping out his plans. Jason wanted to own and run a business like this one. Why not this one? He would be good at it. He also wanted Clair, and knew her brother would be part of the package. That was all right, he liked Buddy.

It'd taken a long while to stir up Clair's interest. Her sole aim in life seemed to be making dead bodies beautiful and defending her younger brother. Only lately, in the fifth agonizing year of his being ever-so-careful not to make a mistake, did Jason finally convince her there was more to life than dead people. Perhaps he was on the verge of winning her over.

Not that he was sneaky or dishonest about it. It was just that he wasn't all that drawn to the sour face Clair habitually wore around the house. Besides, formaldehyde wasn't much of an aphrodisiac for either of them, and they both reeked of it.

Clair was five-three, with wiry red hair and thick-lensed glasses. She was covered with freckles, making it difficult to see through them to the woman underneath. As a result, Jason, during his five-year pursuit, had never worried about competition.

He played on her business sense rather than anything more romantic. He had her all but wrapped and tied, when Cuthbert Wilkins showed up.

Cuthbert wasn't a mortician -- he was a casket salesman. He was also an opportunist, as Jason discovered the first time the salesman came into the mortuary. He showed the old man a casket or two, got him excited about a rosewood special, then switched invoices on him. That was more than Jason could take. He walked up close to the old man and cleared his throat.

"Jason?" the old man said.

"Yes, sir. I think there's been a mistake. You're about to sign the wrong invoice." He quickly switched the two invoices back under the glare of Cuthbert. "There, that's the one you want."

Cuthbert recovered smoothly, but Jason had served notice that he would be overseeing Cuthbert's casket dealings from then on.

Cuthbert's regular visits were monthly, except that he would sometimes drop in with a "special." Jason tried to warn Clair about Cuthbert, but she wouldn't hear anything negative about him.

"It must've been a simple mistake," she'd said. "Bert wouldn't cheat Daddy. No way."

"All right, Clair. But would you read everything your dad is about to sign when I'm not around -- whether it's a Cuthbert deal or someone else's."

"Yeah," she said quietly, and, from the way her eyes lit up, he could tell she thought him a jealous fool.

Cuthbert was tall and skinny, with an Adam's apple more prominent than his nose. He never stood up straight, but leaned this way and that, giving the impression he was slightly off balance. Jason could tell that Clair thought he was good looking, with his slicked-back, black hair and penetrating green eyes.

* * *

Jason eased around the line of cars, then slammed on the brakes and skidded the hearse to a stop. People at the gravesite turned to stare. Let them, he thought. Dust clouded up on all sides. He turned off the engine and waited for the dust to settle before getting out.

He opened the rear door and slid the casket to the edge, then signaled for the pallbearers to come up and grab hold. After they'd pulled out the coffin and were well away from the car, he closed the rear door and got back in the driver's seat. He sat there for a moment, fuming over the way things had turned out. Starting the motor, he gunned it and peeled away from the old cemetery.

Jason would never see Buddy again and didn't need a graveside service to remind him. He would probably never see Clair again, either. However, he knew damned good and well he would see Cuthbert.

Driving fast back to town, Jason tried to reason out what must have happened. It had been his day off and he'd gone in to Chester to buy a set of earrings for Clair. She would turn twenty-three in a few weeks and he wanted to be ready.

With Jason gone, Buddy would've been alone when Cuthbert showed up. They must've gotten to kidding around, and Buddy had shown him the false casket bottom. The rest of the scene played out in Jason's mind, as if he'd been there.

"That's great," Cuthbert said. "When you gonna use it?"

Buddy shrugged, his eyes alight with the praise. "Dunno, first chance I get."

"Sure like to be here to see it," Cuthbert said.

"When's your next time around?"

"Not for three weeks."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Hey," Cuthbert said. "There's today. What'cha got going today?"

Buddy frowned. "Couldn't today. Jason's not here. Need him to help me set it up."

"Nothing I couldn't do, is it?"

"No-o. Guess not. Okay, we'll do it." Buddy's face began to get red, the way it always did when setting up a trick.

"How do we go about it?" Cuthbert asked.

"Let's see. We got two customers; one due for viewing. That's the one we'll do." He went to a casket. "Pop will soon put him on display. Help me lift him out." Together, they hoisted out the male body. "I'll get ready, then we'll rig the false bottom." He looked stonily at Cuthbert. "Can you get the body back in on top of me and make it look right? You ain't squeamish, are you?"

"Not me," Cuthbert assured him.

They set it up according to plan. Buddy put on his tuxedo sleeves and climbed in. He lifted his arms dramatically and giggled. Cuthbert struggled to get the body back in.

"Can you move your arms all right?"

Again, the arms raised stiffly, while Buddy moaned.

Cuthbert laughed till he was weak. "Perfect. I'll stay out near the viewing room. Wouldn't want to miss this."

Later, when the old man wheeled out the casket for display, Cuthbert thought something didn't look right. He was about to go up and say something to Buddy when the relatives arrived.

He kept waiting for Buddy to reach out. Nothing happened. When the relatives left, Cuthbert went up.

"Buddy!" No answer.

Cuthbert got scared. He went back in the embalming room. The coffin he and Buddy had rigged was gone. The old man saw him and said hello.

"Where's the coffin that was just here?" Cuthbert asked.

"Gone," the old man said.

"Gone? Where?"

The old man thumbed back in the direction of the crematorium. Cuthbert ran outside and threw up, then got in his truck and raced away.

Earlier, the old man, using the overhead hoist, had gotten Buddy's coffin up on the gurney, then rolled it down to the crematorium. If any of the three furnaces were operating, it would have been impossible for the old man to hear any sounds emanating from the coffin.

The old man rolled in the coffin containing his son and shut the doors. Then, with the routine of long practice, he flicked the switch and activated the blast furnace.

Only later, when they found Buddy's high-school class ring in a customer's ashes, had Jason put it all together. It had to be Cuthbert. Buddy couldn't have climbed in, put in the false bottom, and repositioned the cadaver by himself.

Clair had immediately turned on Jason.

"You helped him," Clair said. "I knew one of your crazy tricks would backfire someday."

Jason brought up his hands to fend off her words. "I might have, but I didn't. You must know I wouldn't have made the mistake of putting him in a crematory-bound coffin. Only someone who didn't know the operation could have done that."

"If you'd been here, Buddy would be alive."

She was right about that. The irony was that he'd been out buying her a present. Now, because of that unselfish impulse, he'd lost her, Buddy was dead, and, with him, Jason's future.

* * *

Jason wheeled the limousine hearse into the garage and sat, his head bowed over the wheel. He wanted two things: absolution and revenge.

Of course the old man didn't blame him for Buddy's death and, in fact, seemed almost to ignore how it must've happened. Maybe reality had no meaning for the old man any more. The least Jason could do was ease the old man's load for a few months, get him back on his feet, before moving on.

He climbed out of the hearse and entered the mortuary. He'd start preparing the eight-year-old Smith girl, who'd died of chicken pox. The first death in twenty years due to the forgotten childhood disease. Now, they'll all get inoculated, he thought.

He'd lose himself in work -- until Cuthbert showed up.

* * *

Cuthbert dropped by on his monthly route. The first thing he did was look up Clair and offer his condolences.

"I'm so sorry," he said, reaching out for her.

Clair went into his arms. "Oh, Bert. It's been awful."

Jason backed away from the door where he'd been watching. Have your fun while you can, bastard, he thought.

More than an hour later, Cuthbert sauntered into the embalming room. The old man was up front, making arrangements with a customer.

"Hello, Jason," Cuthbert said, his canary-eating grin wider than usual. Underneath, he seemed a bit nervous. Still, the smile was genuine. He'd obviously discovered Jason was no longer in competition for Clair.

"How's your conscience?" Jason asked.

"What?" Whiteness crept into the edges of his face. "What're you talking about?"

"About you helping Buddy rig his trick, then running out and letting him be cremated."

Cuthbert began to shake. "That's a lie!"

"Is it? Buddy couldn't have rigged the coffin by himself. You were the only other person around that day." Jason walked purposely towards Cuthbert, who backed against the stainless steel table.

"What are you doing?" Cuthbert's voice had risen half an octave.

"I'm going to set things right." He pointed to a coffin waiting in the corner. It was a cheaper model, one of the ones Cuthbert sold the old man for cremation.

Cuthbert, paler and shaking like a professional jackhammer operator, fell to his knees. "No! That was an accident." He looked at the coffin. "This would be murder."

Jason tumbled the coffin to the floor. "Get in!"

Cuthbert curled on the floor, slobbering. "You can't do this to me." Then, as Jason tried to lift him, he passed out.

Quickly, Jason maneuvered him into the coffin and closed the lid. He used the overhead hoist to lift the coffin onto the gurney, then wheeled it to the crematorium.

He knocked on the casket. "Hello in there. Anyone home?"

A violent pounding and kicking started inside the coffin. Cuthbert cried, "Help, help."

Jason knocked again. The pounding stopped. "Can you hear me, Cuthbert?"

"Yes," muffled but distinct.

"I'm putting you in the oven now. You'll hear the door slam and then the furnace start. You'll have a few seconds before you burn."

Jason slid the coffin into the third oven on the right and slammed the door behind it. He walked over and deliberately started the furnace of the first oven on the left. The noise was deafening, and Cuthbert wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

After thirty seconds, Jason cut the furnace, then went to the slightly warm oven containing Cuthbert's coffin and pulled him out. Keeping the lid closed, he wheeled the coffin through the embalming room and into the makeup room.

Clair looked up, startled.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm delivering your boyfriend to you."

Jason threw open the coffin lid. The stench inside was overpowering. Cuthbert looked barely human. Still wide-eyed with terror, he seemed a long way from sanity.

"Tell Clair you helped Buddy rig his trick."

"It's true!" He sat up. "Just let me out of here."

"Tell her you ran off when you found out Buddy was in the crematorium."

"Yes, yes," Cuthbert sobbed.

Jason shook his head and walked to the door, where he paused and turned. "I hope you two will be very happy."