The yellow Mustang rumbled to a stop outside the Schaffer Funeral home. A large Victorian house seated on top of a hill with a spacious green lawn, the place had always looked like something that it wasn’t to Jules. It looked like a rambling, pleasant home instead of a place of death.

      She had been good friends with Danielle Schaffer in high school. They had run track together and been in all the same classes. For a year or so, Jules had spent as much time at the Schaffer house as she did her own, maybe more. They were a nice family. Danielle’s dad worked a lot; funeral directors rarely ran out of work. Danielle’s mom was a round, pleasant lady and she had taken an interest in Jules, inviting her for dinner regularly and wor...

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