Caskets and Corruption

By Cindy A Christiansen

He's a funeral director. She's a portrait artist of the dead. While on the run from the drug cartel, can she exhume his heart?

     

All portrait artist Lizzie Cantrell wanted was a change in careers to avoid consoling bereaved families and dealing with death. She didn't know she'd end up stealing a dead body and a casket full of heroin and running from the drug cartel. She also didn't know she'd end up on the 6 o'clock news wanted for grand theft auto, robbery and assault on a police officer. And to top it off, she must deal with her sister's Chinese Crested, stowaway dog and a stiff-necked funeral director to boot.

     

Buried away as a funeral director for the past two years because of an accident that left him scarred, Phillip Van Dyke finds himself in a grave situation involving a military drug smuggling operation. Worse yet, his accomplice is a beautiful portrait artist who's managing to exhume the remains of his deceased heart.

     

Will their love remain buried?

     

This book is a contemporary, clean and wholesome, action/adventure romance! If you love romance, action and suspense, then you will enjoy this book! 

     

Dig into this good book today!  

          

"This was a fun, lighthearted read with a lot of action and adventure." - Clean Book Reviews
     
"Wow! What a simply refreshing story." - Romancing the Book Review
     
"...a fun, fast read...with the little bald canine often stealing the show. ...enough twists and conflict to keep me fully engaged." - Coffee Time Romance
     
"I recommend this book for a lively read. It's an action packed story of intrigue in the most unusual places. I enjoyed the characters, especially the dogs - really able to imagine the interactions and the love that is shared by all." - 5 out of 5 Stars, MisMed51, Amazon Reviewer
     
"It was hard to put down this book. Cindy has away of writing and it keeps you on the edge of your seat. Breathtaking!" - 5 out of 5 Stars, Scott, Amazon Reviewer

          

Dig into this good book today!  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragonfly Spirit Books
• Release date: Sep 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516346295

Cindy A Christiansen

Bestselling author, Cindy A Christiansen, has combined her love of dogs with her joy of writing to create an award-winning combination. Her novels always include canine characters both in the pages and on the cover, an extension of the credit she gives to her extraordinary rescue dogs for their part in helping her overcome numerous challenges. In a reciprocal gesture for their love and devotion, a portion of the proceeds from her books are donated to assist abandoned and abused dogs. She lives in Utah with her loving husband, two creative children with autism, and a pack of rambunctious dogs. Here's what her books give you: A clean read with no bedroom scenes or offensive language; a tantalizing, fast-paced plot; a story without a lot of boring description; down-to-earth heroes and heroines with everyday jobs; a rollercoaster ride of emotions you face right along with the characters; a special dog to steal your heart; a few added facts, a good message, and that important happily-ever-after ending.

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Dragonfly Spirit Books

Caskets and Corruption

Copyright © 2015 Cindy A. Christiansen

First E-book Publication: July 2011

Cover design by Dawné Dominique

Edited by Lori Paige

Proofread by Belinda Barton

All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by Dragonfly Spirit Books

Dedication

To my son, Riley, who has the same love of dogs that I do and helped so very much with this story. I love you.

And also to Nancy, my friend and editor, who has been such a wonderful, supportive cheerleader.

Chapter One

LIZZIE CANTRELL BURST through the door to Peaceful Gardens Funeral Home like TNT. The eerie silence permeated her every nerve cell, and she watched closely for the ghost she expected to come floating down the hall. She didn’t want to be here, and her sister knew it. She looked at her watch twice. How could she do this to me again? Her younger sister had always been zany and irresponsible—a real part of Annie’s charm. But in this case, Lizzie wasn’t pleased. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she’d had to pick Annie up from work at the funeral home. Annie needed to buy that new car she kept promising to get. Of course, the bad economy had a lot to do with her stalling.

Right now, a career change could be detrimental to Lizzie too, but since when had that ever stopped her? Determination forced her on to greater and happier places.

She’d started out painting portraits of movie stars and those had sold rapidly. From there people started asking her to paint family portraits which she loved doing. Then the inevitable happened. She remembered the portrait clearly—a little boy who had drowned up Big Cottonwood Canyon. After that, she’d gotten one referral after another until portraits for families of their deceased loved ones became her only work.

She loved doing the portraits. The appointments with the grieving loved ones were what she couldn’t deal with any longer. She didn’t have any training in grief counseling, and she certainly hadn’t dealt well with grief in her own life. She’d had an aversion to funeral homes, caskets and dead bodies for years. She needed a career change, and hopefully she’d get a response to one of the zillion applications she’d filled out. She’d leave no rock unturned until she had a new job; anything that didn’t creep her out.

Lizzie continued down the spooky halls, checking each labeled door. With the dim lights and no windows, the oxygen thinned. The hall looked about to swallow her up. She gulped, but couldn’t swallow with her mouth as dry as a sandbar. Sure, beautiful paintings lined the walls. Even an indoor waterfall softened the corner as she turned. The sea-foam green paint should have been calming, but a shiver ran up her spine. A funeral home was still a funeral home. She might as well be dawdling through a graveyard at midnight.

Darn her sister. She could have at least been waiting outside like she usually did. Annie knew she hated anything to do with this place or any other funeral home. Lizzie scowled as she glanced at her watch again. How could she possibly keep her appointment with a family who recently lost their eight-year-old daughter to cancer? Looking forward to that was like being excited about a dentist appointment. The heartache of the situation would drain her for sure.

Lizzie pushed through the Employees Only door and reluctantly continued her search. Hopefully, Annie wouldn’t be in the middle of working on some remains. Yuck! She could already smell the scent of embalming fluid and disinfectant. She tried not to let her stomach turn inside out. Why her sister enjoyed this kind of work, Lizzie couldn’t say. Annie was truly...unique.

Lizzie entered the Preparation Room and glanced around. The room looked much like a hospital surgery area, including the body on a gurney with a white sheet covering it. She turned to go just as the body sat up. Lizzie screamed. Her skin crawled when she sensed someone behind her. She shrieked and turned around to find her sister smiling at the door.

Good one, Herbie, Annie said calmly, glancing into her over-sized purse.

Herbie, as gaunt as a skeleton and in an onyx suit twice his size, jumped off the gurney and accidently knocked over several bottles from the counter. A bottle of foundation splattered onto the marble floor in a pool of cream. He kept glancing at the door, biting his lip.

You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Herbie. What gives? Annie asked, still looking through her purse.

"What if Stiff-neck heard her scream? You never told me you have a twin." He anxiously darted around, grabbing towels to wipe up the mess. He was probably only in his late twenties or early thirties, but his balding head and grey complexion made him look much older.

That’s because I don’t. Annie slipped on her coat.

I thought she was you, he said, looking back and forth between them.

You need glasses. We don’t look a thing alike. This is my sister, Lizzie. Lizzie, Herbie, our cute embalmer.

Hello, Lizzie said with a slight grimace she tried to cover. The embalmer. She didn’t want to think about what he did for a living, or why Annie was attracted to him. Annie had mentioned him more than once but she hadn’t actually pictured...well...Herbert.

See you tomorrow, Herbie, Annie said, opening the door.

Lizzie heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. A man rounded the corner, and his large frame blocked the doorway. What’s going on here? he said with a frown.

His cologne drifted toward her. She knew that scent—a blend of crisp freshness, exotic spices and rich woods—much more pleasant than the disinfectant and embalming fluid already filling her senses.

She studied the tall, tanned man. The tailored black Armani suit fit him perfectly, but the black turtleneck seemed out of place for the time of year.

You know I won’t tolerate any horsing around. He ran a hand through his neat toffee-colored hair.

I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, Herbert immediately responded, thin-lipped.

Annie swung her purse over her shoulder. Oh, Lizzie, this is Phil, the head funeral director.

A small gasp left Lizzie’s throat. He was Phillip Van Dyke? The funeral director Annie had been calling "old stiff-neck"? The figure of the rotund man with graying hair and bifocals perched at the bottom of his parrot nose flew to mind. From what Annie had told her, she’d pictured a real anal type who peeled the little stickers off apples in order to check for a bruise. She’d gotten that image wrong.

The man sighed in frustration. Miss Cantrell. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Mr. Van Dyke. We must keep things on a professional level at all times.

Very handsome but Phillip’s perturbed expression definitely said stay away. Maybe Annie had been right about the apple thing.

Excuse me, Mr. Van Dyke. This is my sister, Lizzie. She is a wonderful portrait artist. Would it be all right if we post flyers about her work?

Lizzie cringed with embarrassment. How could Annie do this to her?

Uh...uh, never mind, Mr. Van Dyke. I’m actually making a career change, Lizzie managed to say despite the awkwardness.

Don’t be funny. Annie gave her a shove. What do you say, Phil...lip?

Phillip stared at Lizzie as sober as a coroner inspecting a corpse.

Earth to Mr. Van Dyke, Annie said, waving a hand in front of his face.

Yes?

The flyers. Can we post some flyers about her portraits?

A man with corkscrew gray-hair dressed in black approached. Mr. Van Dyke, you’re needed in the Reposing Room immediately.

Thank you, he said, hustling away.

What’s the answer? Annie called after him.

We’ll discuss the matter tomorrow.

Lizzie sighed and gave her sister a frustrated look. How could you embarrass me like that?

I thought you could use the business, her sister said, nonchalantly.

I’m doing just fine, Annie. And you know I have applications out for a different line of work.

Annie gave her one of those yeah, right looks.

Anyway, you were supposed to be waiting for me outside. You knew I didn’t want to come in.

I had to finish Mrs. Lopez’s hair. She looks lovely today. Besides, this is just like church. It’s very calm and peaceful here. Don’t you love the indoor waterfall?

"No, Annie, I don’t. All I think about is death, rigor mortis and embalming fluid. And Herbie almost put me in my grave."

I love it here. It’s like a garden—green with plants, flowers, waterfalls and peaceful music.

Lizzie painting portraits of the dead was bad enough, but how could Annie actually work on dead bodies? She did their hair, make-up and even assisted the embalmer with derma surgery to restore mutilated and distorted features. She used wax, creams, plasters and other material along with a photo to get the face looking as peaceful as possible. Lizzie cringed.

Annie exuded artistic talent and really seemed to enjoy her work. Of course, Annie had always been warped. She loved horror movies, Steven King and heavy metal music. She used to dress in the whole gothic garb. Lizzie never would have had the nerve to do something like that. Of course, Annie’s previous employer told her she would never succeed in this profession if she continued to frighten the bereaved families away. And then, he fired her.

Annie had dyed her hair from black back to its natural nutmeg color, took off her black nail polish and applied at Peaceful Gardens. She was happy and content among the dead. Lizzie, however, struggled to cope. She wanted to live among the living. She wanted excitement, fun, and adventure—things she couldn’t get meeting with heartbroken families.

I’m happy for you, Annie. Can we go now? Lizzie tapped her shoe on the green-swirled marble. The traffic will be murder on I-15.

Can you believe Herbie thinking you were my twin? Annie said, smiling. Remember that professor in college?

How could I forget?

You made him so mad. Annie let out a snorting laugh.

I was sick of him saying we were twins.

But when you finally agreed with him that we were identical, I could hardly keep a straight face. Then when he asked how far apart we were, you told him two years. She snorted again. I thought I’d die laughing. I can’t believe he almost flunked us over that. He couldn’t have lost both our finals.

Lizzie smiled. Professor Jones had been angry.

No one says we’re twins when I dress gothic, Annie said.

That’s true.

How could anyone think they were twins? Annie had a carefree, fun attitude. Her younger, slimmer body; lime-green eyes and straight, nutmeg hair complimented her enthusiasm. Lizzie’s hair had always been too curly, and her eyes a flat mint green, no sparkly flecks. She even envied Annie’s skin tone. Her smooth, lily-white skin could pull off the gothic thing.

So what career choice are you looking at now? Annie asked, opening the passenger door to the car.

Lizzie slipped into the driver’s seat, started the car and quickly turned down the radio. Actually, a couple of librarian positions.

Annie snickered.

I’m still working on it. I want to surround myself with living individuals.

If you ask me, a library is worse than a morgue.

I have other options. I’m thinking about a job as a cruise director.

In case you haven’t noticed, there are no oceans around Utah, and I don’t think there are any cruise director positions on the Great Salt Lake. Besides, you don’t even like water. You won’t even get your face wet when you’re swimming.

Come on, you know what I mean. She headed for the on-ramp to I-15.

Besides, you wouldn’t be using your talent. You aren’t thinking of leaving here?

Lizzie sighed. No. I guess not. I just want something more thrilling. I’ll figure out something for my life.

They continued the trip in silence until Lizzie dropped her sister off at their shared apartment. Then she headed for her studio as fast as possible without speeding. Her studio was close by on Highland Drive. But forty-five minutes late! She grimaced. Not good to be so late with already grieving clients. She’d have to apologize profusely; that is, if they decided to wait for her.

As she pulled into the parking lot, she could see a couple sitting in their car. The Barlows had waited. She guided them inside and began her grief session. She tried to distance herself from the pain and sorrow, but as she looked at their daughter’s photos, she couldn’t help but feel the loss of such a beautiful, little girl. Lizzie tried to comfort them by telling them what a special spirit the girl had, and how she would surely be happy in God’s arms.

Lizzie showed them her portfolio and then studied the photos they’d brought her. So precious. She wanted to paint the portrait. They continued to tell her stories about little Amanda, and she consoled them the best she could.

Look at us; we rambled on for over an hour. You’ve been so understanding and caring, Mrs. Barlow said. We appreciate that. She wiped at her tears with a tissue. Your work is so uplifting. How much do you charge, Miss Cantrell?

Please, call me Lizzie. She quoted her prices and then stepped out to let them make a decision.

As she waited, she couldn’t help think about Phillip Van Dyke. Seeing his stern, withdrawn look, she couldn’t help but wonder what plagued him. Why had he buried himself amongst the dead? Or at least that was her perception of funeral homes. She didn’t want to think about what had caused her aversion. Such a gorgeous man should be out experiencing the world and very much what she needed to do.

Maybe a commercial artist would be good—meeting with companies, designing their advertising campaigns. Not that there were many jobs for that in Utah.

The door opened.

Your phone is ringing, Lizzie.

She rushed back into her office. Excuse me just a minute, she told the Barlows as she raced across the room.

Hello. Cantrell Studio. Lizzie speaking.

This is Phillip Van Dyke.

PHILLIP PACED HIS OFFICE, waiting for Lizzie to arrive. Why had he told her he’d meet with her today? Why hadn’t he said absolutely no to the flyers? He should have just ignored the idea and never called her. Instead his heart raced like a turbo engine as he continued to pace his office. He had no idea what to say to her. He’d thought about calling her back and cancelling, but he didn’t have the guts. Too late now.

He sighed as he watched Lizzie pull into the parking lot. If he’d laid off Annie a week ago, he wouldn’t be in this mess. She’d be gone, and he wouldn’t be meeting with her sister. But he hadn’t been able to lay off Annie. He couldn’t confront people. That’s why he had all of the assistants deal with the families. He knew sooner or later, he would have to do it. The economy continued to plunge. More families were turning to cremation to avoid the expense of funerals. If things continued, he’d have to start laying off assistants too.

He didn’t want to think about the other reason he couldn’t fathom getting rid of Annie. Lizzie. He’d been attracted to her instantly when he’d seen her one day in the parking lot. The desire to strike up a conversation had been strong but foolish. He’d closed off his heart two years ago.

The image in his mind of a woman rejecting him when she saw his body left him cold and sickened. He’d never marry. He’d accepted that fact. However,