Page 277 of Evil Hearts

Grave Love

Savannah Giles

Chapter One

Francesca

It is exhaustingand expensive to have to replace organs after a few decades. Last time it was the heart. The time before it was the pancreas. This time it’s the kidneys. I need kidneys.

The ones I have now came from a thirty-year-old woman. Unembalmed and freshly dug up. That was nearly forty years ago. Organs tend to expire after a while, unfortunately. That is the main reason I opened the Stein family funeral parlor.

Walking across the cool, marble floor to the coolers, I pull the recently deceased Beatrice Maynard out. The autopsy has been completed. I just need to take what I need before the embalming takes place later this evening.

Over the years, I’ve learned how to expertly open a corpse up and close it back as if I were never even there. I place the kidneys on the cooling pad, close the cooler, and walk over to the mirror.

I chose a bad day to wear a white blouse. The loose-fitting blouse is tucked into my charcoal slacks. Taking the pen from the clipboard on the wall, I twist the mess of black hair on my head and pin it up.

Now, where in the world is that scalpel? I ought to come down here more often. The light glinting off the tool catches my eye on the surgical tray by the embalming table. Found you.

Pulling my blouse off, I sit on the edge of the table and angle my body to see the left side in the mirror. Tracing the skin just beneath the ribs, I mentally prepare myself.

Pressing in the scalpel, I open myself up. Transplanting the kidney isn’t hard after that. It’s not like I bleed much anymore. The worst mess I have to clean up is the formaldehyde leakage. Once the new kidney is in and the old is removed, I close myself up and wash my hands in the sink.

Knock.

Knock.

The door atop the stairs creaks open.Shit.I don’t have time to wash off before I pull my blouse back on. Quickly tucking my shirt into my pants, I turn to the stairs.

A man walks down, holding onto the banister as he descends. His wristwatch reflects the fluorescent lights. Ah. Victor. The local florist who we contract with for our services. He’s a younger man, but well-built. His chocolate brown hair compliments his ocean-blue eyes.

“Good morning, Frankie,” he says with a smile.

“Victor.” I nod.

His shoulders slouch as he gives me his famous lopsided grin. The heart in my chest flutters. I would say my heart, but it hasn’t been my heart, well, ever. I wasn’t born. I was created in a crude lab centuries ago. Victor has always had this effect on me. I believe this is a crush.

“I just need to go over the Maynard arrangements for the service and burial.”

I gesture to the stairs. “I see. We can chat in my office. I took note of the family’s wishes there.”

“Lead the way. Ladies first.”

I walk ahead of him up the stairs and take a sharp turn to the right into my office. The space is small, though so is thetown. We cater to four funerals per day excluding our graveside services. Everyone is dying to be here at some point.

Walking in ahead of Victor, I take a seat in my cushioned office chair opposite my desk. Victor closes the door and pauses before turning toward me.

“Frankie.” His eyes fixate on me.

“Yes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Did you hurt yourself?” He asks, taking a step toward the desk.

“Hurt myself? No. I’m feeling quite well right now in fact.”

Does he know? There’s no way he knows. I’ve been so careful about everything.

“What did you replace this time?” He asks as he circles the desk.

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