Stiff.

Dead.

I ran my fingers over the wilting petals of the arrangement at the foot of the coffin. The roses regained their shape and color under my touch.

“That’s quite a talent,” said a voice.

I spun around, nearly knocking over the flower arrangement. Karter jumped up onto the platform, but his foot slipped and crashed into the base of the coffin. I grabbed the side of the casket to steady it.

A tall, gangly man stood in the doorway. He wore khakis and a button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. He was so pale I could see the spiderweb of blue veins running underneath his skin as he strode to the platform. A scattering of white-blond hair stretched across the top of his head. He reminded me of Lurch from The Addams Family. His gaze passed over the flower arrangement. “It looks much better.”

“I’m Briseis Greene,” I said quickly. “Marie gave me this address. She said there would be a man here who might be able to help me.”

An angry scowl stretched across his face. “Marie Morris?”

“Yes,” I said.

“That troglodyte is giving out my personal information now, is she?”

He was angry. Like, irrationally angry. “Wanna bring it down a notch?” I asked.

Marie had been irritated when she’d given me his name and address, but this guy looked like he was going to blow out his neck vein at any moment.

“Might be the wrong time to bring this up, but what’s a troglodyte?” Karter asked.

“It’s Marie,” said the man. “Marie is a troglodyte.” The man turned his attention to me, and something like recognition flashed in his eyes. The lines in his deeply creased forehead softened. He took a step toward me, and I took a step back. Karter was frozen where he stood.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, no hint of the anger that had been there a moment ago.

“I think you might already know the answer to that,” I said.

He glanced at the flowers again. His eyes glazed over, like he was remembering something. “What is it Marie said I could help you with?”

I stepped off the platform and Karter stumbled down after me. “She said you’re the medical examiner and the funeral director, and that it’s hard to get any information out of you when it comes to the Colchis family.”

The man blinked back a look of utter shock. Composing himself, he clasped his hands together in front of him. “I do indeed serve a dual role here in Rhinebeck. I am both the Dutchess County medical examiner and the funeral director here.”

“I told Marie I was going to do some digging to find out what happened to the Colchis family,” I continued. “And she told me not to bother because official records were destroyed, maybe not by accident. She made it seem like getting more detailed information would be a problem.”

The man huffed. “She’s not entirely wrong, but that girl never tells the whole truth no matter how hard she tries. She’s been lying for so long, it’s her nature now.”

“You two have issues?” Karter asked.

The man leaned to the side and glared at Karter. “You have no idea.”

“So, if the records are all gone and I can’t get them, why would Marie send me here?” I asked.

“Would you mind following me? I think we’ve disturbed Mrs. Oliver enough.” He motioned toward the casket. “Poor woman. She fell down a flight of concrete steps. The reconstruction was difficult, but I think she looks as lovely as ever.”

“Reconstruction?” Karter asked. “What’s that mean?”

The man’s eyes lit up. “People want to see their loved ones as they were. Mrs. Oliver’s head was sunken in on one side due to contact with the steps, and her cheekbone was fractured. I had to glue the bones back into place and fix the coloring of her skin, but the work is superb, some of my best.” He stared adoringly into the casket.

Karter looked like he was going to throw up. I wasn’t squeamish, but it did feel like the man was oversharing.

“This way,” he said, gesturing toward the hall. We followed him out of the room. “Marie gave you my name?”

“Yes,” I said. “Lucian Holt.”

The man stopped. He tilted his head back, letting his shoulders slump. He sighed heavily.

“That’s not right?” I asked.

“No, it’s not,” he said sharply. “And she knows it. Lucian was my grandfather. The two of them had something of a love affair when they were teenagers. Well, when he was, at least. It scandalized the entire town, including my poor grandmother. Giving you that name is her way of twisting the knife a little more.”

I could see he was angry, but it seemed misplaced and way more extra than it needed to be. “You mad at your grandpa, too? Or just her?”

He huffed again. “He died a long time ago, so I hope he’s right where he belongs. Her, on the other hand—she’ll outlive all of us now, won’t she?”

Karter looked like his brain was going to explode. He didn’t know Marie’s secret, but this man clearly did, which made everything he said sound ridiculous. We came to a narrow door that led down a short flight of stairs.

“If Lucian was your grandfather, what’s your name?” I asked as we descended the stairs.

“Lucifer,” he said.

“Say what?” Karter asked, way louder than was necessary. He stopped on the step. “You’re joking, right?”

“In case you couldn’t tell, I’m not the joking type,” the man said. “It’s Lou’s Funeral Parlor. My grandfather was a Lou, so was his father before him—Lewis, Louis, Lucian. In keeping with that tradition, I now carry the moniker.”

“In what universe is Lou short for Lucifer?” Karter asked.

“This one,” Lucifer said. “But feel free to use Lou if it makes you more comfortable.”

Karter stood there with his mouth open and I nudged him in the side. The stairs led down to a big, open room where two body-length stainless steel tables sat side by side. Various trays of instruments and tubing lay neatly organized on the counter. On the rear wall was a heavy door with a latch and a biohazard label stuck to the front.

“That’s where we keep the bodies,” Lou said, following my gaze. “Don’t worry. They stay dead.”