Grave Undertaking by Mark de Castrique

on the chance you’d have a few minutes to talk business.”
    His relief that nothing had happened to his daughter overrode any question as to why I’d be twenty miles from home in the snow.
    “Sure. Come on in. Is this a den discussion?”
    “You might want to make some notes.”
    He led me back to the second bedroom, which served as his office. Through the rear window I could see snow covering the border of grass between the house and bare hardwoods. The long twilight shadows of tree trunks and twisted limbs spread across the white canvas, soon to be lost in the evening darkness.
    Walt crossed the room to his oak desk where stacks of client files became a barricade between us. Susan had told me that for as long as she could remember, Christmas had been celebrated with tinsel, trees, and IRS forms, just as Easter had meant colored eggs, chocolate, and April 15th tax returns. Walt stood braced against the back of his desk chair, looking at me curiously. The collar of his red flannel shirt bunched around his neck, and errant strands of thinning gray hair radiated from his head.
    “So what’s on your mind?”
    “I’m thinking of selling the funeral home.” I eased into the chair opposite him.
    Walt pondered my statement and nodded. Then he rolled his swivel chair to the end of the desk where he could look around the mountain range of papers. “You going back to Charlotte?”
    “I don’t know. Probably not right away.”
    “Have you told Susan?”
    “No. I haven’t told anyone. The preliminary meeting with the buyer is Friday in Atlanta. I want to keep it confidential. The whole thing may fall apart.”
    “Happens more often than not,” he said. “What can I do?”
    “Josh Birnam’s been our accountant for years so I’ll bring him into it, but I’d like to get a second opinion, a paid opinion on the best way to structure things. You may have more life experience.”
    The chair squeaked as Walt leaned back and laughed. “That’s probably the most diplomatic way I’ve ever been called an old geezer. Sure. Glad to help. But this consultation’s on the house. Josh is a good CPA. I may have some suggestions to protect your parents’ estate. I assume they’ll be moving.”
    “Mom will at some point. Dad’s going to need supervised care soon. He took an arctic expedition on his own this morning.”
    “Is he all right?”
    “Yes. Luckily I was there to look for him.” I tried not to let the tension come through my voice as I cast my bait. “Guess that was one good thing about the body at Eagle Creek cemetery.”
    “What body?” Walt brought the chair forward and leaned across the desk corner.
    “You didn’t see the news last night?”
    “I don’t stay up past ten and today’s newspaper is somewhere under the snow.”
    “We were doing a routine grave transfer yesterday and found a skeleton buried on top of the vault. By the time I got through with the sheriff and crime lab, the weather was so bad I stayed at the funeral home.”
    “They know who it was?”
    “ NEWSCHANNEL-8 said the body has been identified as Samuel Calhoun.”
    Walt Miller didn’t speak. His face turned as gray as the twilight snow. I just sat there.
    “You found Sammy Calhoun?” he whispered.
    “I found a skeleton. All I know is what I heard on TV.”
    Clearly, the news startled him. I tried to analyze deeper reactions; he seemed reluctant to say more.
    “So, you knew him?” I pressed.
    Walt looked at the papers on his desk. “Not really. Someone Susan met in New York.”
    “New York?”
    “When she was in med school.”
    The ground suddenly shifted under me. Susan had told me she met Sammy Calhoun through her Aunt Cassie. That she couldn’t help who might carry a picture of her. I thought about the photograph. The street and buildings in the background could be New York. No skyscrapers but the eclectic storefronts of lower Manhattan. Susan had asked me if she were alone in the picture. Was that to make sure there