M A R T H E J O C E L Y N

An excerpt from
The Palazzo Funeral Parlor:

I realized it the first minute we moved to apartment 2B at 233 Water Street. The taxi pulled up behind a hearse, outside our new front door. My mother paid the driver, and my little sister Lou scrambled out over my legs trying to be first. I looked up and saw right off that we'd be living on top of the Palazzo Funeral Parlor.
Maybe seven men were hanging around on the sidewalk, all wearing black suits and looking like gangsters with pointy black shoes and balck hats. I guessed they were waiting to carry the coffin.
"You forgot to mention the added attraction, Mom," I said.
"What's that?" She pretended not to get my meaning.
I jerked my thumb toward the welcoming committee.
"It's a plus," said my mother. "The location keeps the price down, and there'll be no one to complian about the almighty racket of growing children."
But once it was in my head, I couldn't get it out. Dead bodies would be living downstairs.