The Cadaver Client

Natalie greeted me at the reception, but no more than that, and I was glad. The last thing I’d wish on a new bride was any remembrance of that night in the cemetery.

The day after the wedding, Mama and I set out once again for Elfway.

Mama Hog can bake a fine pan of biscuits, when she puts her mind to it. Those biscuits and that Pinford ham were filling the cab with an aroma that set my stomach growling nearly loud enough to spook the horses.

Mama laughed. “You done et two of ’em, boy. Leave a few for poor Gra

We were nearly there. Gra

We’d been by every day since she’d awakened. Mama took her something new each trip-so far we’d shared a chocolate cake, a plate of deviled eggs, a platter of tomato sandwiches, and now, biscuits and ham.

According to Gra

The cab finally rattled to a halt, and Gra

“Well, well, if it ain’t Mister Markhat his-self. Leave your funeral wagon to home, did you?”

“Hello, Gra

“I look like a beat-up, old woman, son, but thank ye all the same. Ya’ll come on in. I’ve got us some coffee a brewin’.”

We went in. Gra

“Now that there will set a body right.”

Gra

“Gra

“I ain’t baking it, boy. I’m makin’ candles. Grave candles, for our favorite friend’s grave.”

Mama’s eyes went hard.

“Why? He ain’t tryin’ to come back, is he?”

Gra

“Whatever is left of him ain’t never comin’ out of that grave. Not after what you done. But these here candles stink worse to spooks than they ever will to us. I ain’t of a mind to let bein’ knocked in the head pass without some vengeance. So I reckon if there’s a shred of Mister Big Britches left he can choke on my candles every night for a spell.”

Gra

Mama nodded. “Serves him right.”

“Look what I done. Left the coffee in the kitchen.”

“I’ll get it, set yourself back down.” Mama waddled off into the next room.

“I commend you, finder,” Gra

“That beast had a lifetime of practice at being a two-faced bastard, Gra

She smiled. Mama trundled back inside, cups in her hands, a big grin on her wide whiskery face.

“Now, Gra

I opened a window, grabbed a biscuit, and headed back out into the sun. Mama and Gra

Marris Sellway could sleep sound, these nights. And walk the streets without fear that the next turn of a corner would put her face to face with the monster of Cawling Street.

I finished the biscuit and wiped off the crumbs and wrapped a chunk of ham in a napkin for Three-leg.

I got up. “Need to stretch my legs, Mama,” I yelled. “Be back in a bit.”

And when I walked past Horace Gorvis’s fresh new grave, I whistled a merry tune, and, like Marris Sellway, I never once looked back.