If Sadie could get her hands on the man who had deemed her a death coach, she'd staple his lips to his nose. It had to be a man bent on revenge. Who else would saddle her with the responsibility of guiding the dead on their final journey?

"Geez Louise. How come everything happens all at once? I've got a cabin full of crossers and now I have to deal with a new manager who can't make a decision. It makes me furious I let you talk me into hiring him to run the resort,” Sadie said. “I gave in too easy. I should spank myself."

"Easy?” Jane's voice rose as she stared in disbelief. “That wasn't easy. It took me two years to convince you."

"Mother would kick the lid off her casket if she knew we hired a manager. Witt's End has been in our family for over eighty years."

"That's a bunch of hooey,” Jane bit back. “Our manager does a good job. You make it sound like we sold the resort. We didn't. Besides, now we can go dancing. You were the one who complained we never went dancing on seniors’ night."

"If that man in the black suit is another crosser, I won't be going to the Fertile Turtle any time soon,” Sadie said.

"Well you better feel like it because Mr. Bakke's taking us dancing tomorrow night.” Jane gestured toward Sadie. “And don't embarrass us by wearing any of your stupid outfits."

"This isn't stupid,” Sadie argued. “It's new. It's all the rage.” She smoothed the hem of the leopard print shirt over her mini skirt.

"You look like you're going on safari. Why can't you dress like me? Like a normal person."

Sadie wanted to comment on Jane's attire, but if Jane hadn't changed her appearance in thirty years, one more fashion tidbit wasn't going to help. Sadie had even gone as far as purchasing colorful outfits for her sister. They were still buried in the back of her closet behind the cadaveresque colorscape Jane referred to as beige, ecru, tan, and, on a real flamboyant buying binge, khaki. The bottoms were all worn with white blouses. Ironed, starched, lace-adorned blouses. With Jane's silver bob topping off the ensemble, Sadie often had the urge to poke her bland sister to make sure she was still among the living. Why look like a crosser if you could prevent it?