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Unformatted text preview: 'd been dead for a month. I walked back down the stairs where Wilma and Gilma were waiting right where I'd left them. They looked at me as if I might have a different diagnosis. "I'm afraid he's dead," I said. "We know that," Gilma said. "Tell us what to do," Wilma said. This was the first corpse I'd been called upon to process, but the next step seemed pretty obvious. "Well, perhaps we should call Mr. Magargel down at the funeral home." "I told you so," Wilma said to Gilma. They didn't move, so I went to the phone and called Mr. Magargel. "It's New Year's Day," he said. It was apparent my call had awakened him. "He's still dead," I said. 'Are you sure?" "Yes, I'm sure. I just saw him." "Where is he?" "In bed. He went peacefully." "Sometimes these old geezers are just sleeping soundly, you know." I turned away from the twins so they wouldn't hear me argue about whether their brother was really dead. "He's not sleeping, Mr. Magargel. He's dead." "I'll be there in an hour." "Is there anything else we should do?" I asked. "Like what?" "I don't know. Notify the police, something like that?" "Was he murdered?" Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html "No." "Why would you want to call the police?" "Sorry I asked." They invited me into the kitchen for a cup of instant coffee. On the counter was a box of Cream of Wheat, and beside it a large bowl of the cereal, mixed and ready to eat. Evidently, Wilma or Gilma had prepared breakfast for their brother, and when he didn't come down they went after him. The coffee was undrinkable until I poured in sugar. They sat across the narrow prep table, watching me curiously. Their eyes were red, but they were not crying. "We can't live here," Wilma said, with the finality that came from years of discussion. "We want you to buy the place," Gilma added. One barely finished a se...
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- Spring '10