The woman in the middle of the huge bed was sitting propped up against the headboard, with the white silk sheets pulled up to her waist. Her bare breasts shocked the eyes first; then her face, dark and swollen. The teased and disheveled black hair had been smoothed back to some semblance of normality. Her wrists, positioned at her sides, had some leather thongs around them.

“That’s Tonia Lee Greenhouse,” remarked my mother from behind her clients. “Aurora, please go make sure Tonia Lee is dead.”

That’s my mother. Always say “please,” even when you’re asking someone to check the vital signs of an obvious corpse. I had touched a dead person before, but it was not an experience I wanted to repeat. However, I had taken a step forward before a strong hand closed around my wrist.

“I’ll do it,” Martin Bartell said unexpectedly. “I’ve seen dead people before. Barby, go downstairs and sit in that big front room.”

Without a word, Barby did as she was told. The Voice of Command even worked on a sister. Mr. Bartell, his shoulders stiff, strode across the wide expanse of peach carpet and leaned across the huge bed to put his fingers to the neck of the very deceased Tonia Lee Greenhouse.

“As you can tell, she’s definitely dead and has been for a while,” Mr. Bartell said matter-of-factly enough. His nose wrinkled, and I knew he was getting a much stronger whiff than I of the very unpleasant smell emanating from the bed. “Are the phones hooked up?”

“I’ll see,” said Mother briefly. “I’ll try the one downstairs.” She spoke as if she’d decided that on a whim, but when I turned to look at her, her face was completely white. She turned with great dignity, and as she went down the stairs, she began to shake visibly-as though an earthquake only she could feel was rocking the staircase.

My feet had grown roots into the thick carpet. Though I wished myself somewhere else, I seemed to lack the energy to take me there.