Rachel Caine - Working Stiff: A Revivalist Novel

I wish I knew where to start, but Ill just jump in.

Thanks to Kenneth McKenzie and Todd Harra,

authors of Mortuary Confidential: Undertakers Spill

the Dirt; to Amber Lenore Winckler, author of The

Final Bath; and Tom Jokinen, author of Curtains.

These books got me started flying down the road.

The wild, strange divergences I took are entirely on

me. If youre curious about the funeral industry,

those books are a great place to start.

Also, I want to acknowledge and thank the

unsung heroes: those true believers who work in the

funeral business. Its important work, and these are

the last people we will ever meet. They dont get

thanked, and they should.

A s ever, I built a playlist for the writing of this book. I hope you might enjoy some of this music, and if you do, please remember to support the artists by buying the tracks and albums.

B ryns first embalming instructor had told her, straight up, that two kinds of people entered the death business: freaks and true believers. Bryn Davis didnt think she was either one of those. For her, it was a prime career opportunitya genuine profession.

Oh, shed picked up odd paychecks during college as an office temp, a dog walker, and one memorable afternoon at a chicken factory, but none of those had ever felt real to her. Joining the army after college had seemed like a good idea at the time (steady job, good wages), but four years in Iraq hadnt made her want to be a career soldier; it had, though, given her a bedrock understanding of the fragility of human life. After that, dead bodies didnt scare or disgust her.

One good thing she could say for her time in the military: it had led her to where she was now, to this job a good, stable one, and even better, an important one.

Bryn smiled a little at the thought. Maybe she was a true believer, after all.

She smoothed the white lab coatwith her name stitched on the left breastand felt a warm surge of accomplishment. Bryn Davis, Funeral Director, Fairview Mortuary. Her business cards rested in a neat little cardboard box on her shiny new desk, all sober black ink in raised type, with the Fairview logo embossed in the corner. They wouldnt stay in the box for long; Fairview had furnished her with nice wooden desk accents, including a business card holder, and just as soon as possible, she intended to make that desk her own. Shed never had an office before.

The cards and desk were elegant, like everything here. The room was neat and clean, filled with sober antique furniture and soft, dark cloth. Deep carpets. Subtle fragrances. Not a lot of flowers to overwhelm the already raw senses of the grieving.

She was a little nervous, but she also felt proud and happy. In fact, she felt ready. She tried not to feel too happy, though; it didnt seem appropriate to be so glee-filled about starting a job that was all about someone elses loss. The mirror on the wall confirmed that there was still a smile hiding in the corners of her mouth that she couldnt quite get rid of, and for a moment, she worried about the shade of her lipstick. Shed chosen a light pink, but was it too light? A little too festive? Shed spent too many years in khaki, far away from the fairy-tale world of Maybelline.

There was a knock on her office door, and before she could say come in, it swung open to admit the head man Lincoln Fairview. Mr. Fairview was the fourth Fairview to operate the funeral home, and he looked the part, from his sober, well-tailored suit to his impeccably cut gray hair and soft, kindly face.

She felt her whole body jolt with adrenaline when she saw him. This was the man she had to impress with her professionalism. Hoo, boy. She worried, again, about the lipstick.

He crossed the room with a confident stride and shook her hand. Hello, Bryn. Good morning. How are you settling in?

She unbuttoned the lab coat and put it on the hanger in the small closet. Even the hangers were solid wood, and nicer than anything in her apartment wardrobe. Everythings fine, sir, she said, and glanced down at herself to be sure she still looked okay. Her business suit was new, and a little stiff, but it was a solid dove gray color, and the soft pink shirt seemed like a nice match. Her new gray pumps pinched her toes, and she was afraid she was going to have to endure the blisters they were bound to raise, but overall she thought she was presentable. Except for the lipstick, maybe. Am I properly dressed?

He gave her an X-ray stare, up and down, and then nodded. Perfect, Mr. Fairview said. Soothing, professional, everything I could ask. Perhaps a touch less on the lipstick next time; a pretty girl like you really doesnt need to emphasize her youth and beauty. Go on, have a seat, Bryn.

Oh, she knew it: the lipstick sucked. Bryn tried not to seem nervous as she settled into her leather chair on the other side of the desk. Mr. Fairview stayed on his feet. He studied her for a few seconds, and then said, I assume that in your course work, you did live role-play on handling difficult clients.

Uhyes, sir. What an odd way to start. Shed at least expected to get a tour of the building, maybe an introduction to the staff. At least shed thought hed show her the coffee machine and the bathroom. Pretend hes your new commanding officer, she told herself, and that steadied her. Shed gone through plenty of those meetings, and she knew the drill. Impress them early, and a lot, and theyd never bother you again. Bryn felt her spine straighten to military correctness. Shall I be