"Morning, Eliza."

Fred was like that, always friendly, always holding the door. Or trying to, I suppose.

"Who've we got today?"

"Car crash in the first three biers, cancer in the fourth, natural causes in the fifth."

I set up and began working on the crash people first; they were heading straight to cremation since there wasn't going to be much point in a coffin service.

"Fred, can you make a note for me to call Happy Wags and let them know that the Fielder's dog hasn't been fed since Monday night?"

"Aw, poor thing. Are they worried?"

"I told them we'd take care of it. Let's see..."

"Little Eliza, is that you?"

It took me a half-second to turn, trying to make sure I had a nice smile on before I came about.
"Mrs. Johansson, I thought that was you."

"My goodness, dear, I haven't seen you since you left the grade school. Is this there where you work now?"

Her voice trailed off.

"And why am I... oh."

She stared down at herself.

"Oh, my."

I put a hand on her shoulder, careful not to push through it.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-yes, I suppose so, dear." she said absently. "I just wasn't expecting... do you know how?"

"I can check for you, if you like," I said. "Fred?"

Fred slid smoothly through the wall.

"Lessee... Olive Johansson, seventy-four... says here she had a fall. Paramedics found her on her floor. DOA."

Mrs. Johansson's face creased thoughtfully.

"No... no that doesn't sound right," she said. "There was a young man. Who was he? I recognized him..."

Her voice trailed off again as she stared at Fred.

"How do you do?" she said.

He tipped his oversized security cap.

"Ma'am."

"And this is what you do all day, dear?" she asked me. "Talk with the... 'living-challenged'?"

I smiled. "Mostly. Make sure people are at peace, do what we can for them."

She snapped her fingers.

"It was that Edgar boy. Edgar Deems, from down the street. Always looking at my old jewelry. Always coming around the back door when he thought I wasn't home. He frightened me a little, Eliza."

I waited.

"I came home and he was in the kitchen. He was... he was looking through the drawers, looking for something. I surprised him. He struck me, he struck me with... with my favorite cast-iron skillet."

She stopped.

"That's never going to come out," she said matter-of-factly.

​

Detective Lawrence had come and gone; Edgar had been falling over himself to confess when they picked him up at the bus station, several of Mrs. Johansson's necklaces in his pockets. I was sitting back in my office chair when Fred came drifting up from below.

"Did you remember to call Happy Wags?" he asked.