I tried to sneak out of the apartment early the next morning. I needed the quiet of my morgue to help me put my world back into focus. If I could find a clue about Eliot’s death, I might be able to be of some use to Oliver’s case.

              “Thought you could sneak out on me, did ya?” asked Oliver, leaning so casually against the wall outside my building.

              “Oliver!”

              “Relax, sug.” He held out a to-go coffee cup. “I got ya some coffee. Two sugars, extra cream.”

              “Thank you.”

              Oliver held out his free arm. “Mind if I walk ya to work?”

              I accepted it, happily.

              Oliver whistled lowly as we walked down the street. “You know… I still can’t believe how much this city’s grown over the years. I remember when there was nothin’ but muddy streets and trees for miles.”

              “That makes two of us,” I replied. “Though, I don’t miss wearing petticoats. Have you been able to remember more about your death?”

              He chuckled. “That’s a hell of a segway.”

              “Oliver, I’m serious.”

              “All right. All right.” His gaze drifted over the traffic. “I don’t remember much,” he admitted. “I remember coming to the city to find some lady named Maggie or something like that. When I got there, some fellas beat the stuffin’ outta me. Why’d you ask?”

              “I don’t know. I thought… Maybe if I…” My voice trailed off. My mind drifted to the previous day, seeing Oliver’s lifeless body on my table. I considered myself lucky that he had woken up in my office. What would I have done if he’d disappeared somewhere else?

              Oliver guided me to a quiet park. He held me close. “You’re bein’ awfully quiet. What’s goin’ on? The Ivy I know was never the type of gal to back down from a challenge.”

              “What if I’m not the same Ivy I once was?” I pulled away from the safety of his embrace. “The physical scars heal faster than the mental ones do.”

              He grabbed my hand, pulling me back to him. “What’s goin’ on, sugar? You’re scarin’ me.”

              I told him about the nightmares. I had been haunted by Oliver’s death for decades. Every time I tried to save Oliver, he joined the long line of men that I had loved and failed.

              “Hey… Look at me, Ivy. You did not fail me,” he said sternly. “I’ve died a hundred times and keep comin’ back. You know me. I’m too stubborn to die.”

              “What if we don’t come back?”

              “Then we’ll spend the rest of forever together in heaven,” he replied. Oliver held me tightly to his chest. For the first time in nearly a century, I felt safe.  “Baby, I think… I think part of my memories comin’ back.”

              “Oh?”

              “Yeah.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll see ya later at your office. Okay?”

              “Oliver?”

              “Trust me, Ivy baby. I’ll see ya.”

___

              “Where were you?” Hannah hissed when I came into the lab later that morning.

              “Why are you whispering?” I ask, hanging my coat on the hook. “We have no new bodies this morning.”

She gestured with her head toward the two men who paced in front of the bank of freezer drawers. Detective Bell coughed phlegm into his yellow-stained handkerchief. “They’ve been asking about the two body bags that came in and the one body we actually autopsied.”

My face paled. My computer software had rewritten the reports removing any record of Oliver’s body. A thorough investigation would reveal that the records had been altered.

              “Detectives.”

              “Doc,” said Detective Reid. “We can’t stand around all day waiting for you. We got murders to solve. You know?”

              “My apologies, gentlemen.”

              “What’ve’ya got, Doc?” asked Detective Bell.

              I opened the freezer drawer. “Caucasian male aged thirty-three. He was shot three times: once in the shoulder and twice in the lower abdomen by a 38 caliber. He died of blood loss.”

              “Got an ID?”

              “We’ve sent the prints to the crime lab, Detective Reid,” I replied.

              “And the other victim?”

              My heart pounded. I could not tell them that Oliver was still alive. “There was only one body.”

              The men chuckled as if I was the fool.

“Didn’t you read the report?” asked Bell. “Two bodies were delivered to the morgue yesterday. See?” He pulled up the report. “Huh… One body…”

“Excuse me,” said Oliver’s familiar New Orleans accent. “I was told that Detectives Bell and Reid were here.”

The detectives turned to look at Oliver. “Who are you?” demanded Detective Reid.

Oliver held out his hand. There was a silver badge on his belt. The scent of Oliver’s cologne was a welcome change from that of either of the other detectives. “I’m Detective Oliver Bellamy, New Orleans PD.”

“What can we do for you, Detective?”

“The man on the table is my partner, Eliot Walker,” said Oliver. “He was deep undercover. When he didn’t check in, I was worried that something might have happened. I guess I was right.”

              The detectives shook their heads sympathetically. They both had known what it was like to lose a partner. “We’ll do everything we can to help find out who killed your partner, Detective.”

___

              Melody looked up from her mound of schoolwork in surprise when I came home that evening. “You’re home early, Nan. Is everything okay?”

              “It was a slow day,” I replied. “What are you working on?”

              “A report on the Industrial Revolution. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?” I smiled to myself. I knew quite a lot about the Industrial Revolution. Shortly after my son, George Christopher’s death, I had taken to traveling all over England, caring for several patients who were gravely injured on those godforsaken machines. Factory owners cared more about profits than their workers.

              I shook my head. “I think your teacher wants you to do your schoolwork yourself.”

              “I know. I know.”

              “Want to take a break with me?” I asked her. “I’ve been craving ice cream sundaes all day.”

              “Yes! Me too.” Melody hopped off her seat. “I’ll get out the glasses.”

              “Perfect. Thank you.”

              “So… Nan,” said Melody, with the same gossipmonger expression that she shared with her father and grandmother. “Dad says that your husband is staying with us for a few days… Why didn’t you tell me that you’re married?”

              I added another scoop of vanilla ice cream to the tall sundae glasses. “I was married before. A long time ago."

              "What happened between you guys?”

              I smiled at Melody sadly. “It wasn’t the right time for us, I guess.”

              Melody picked up the large bottle of sprinkles and poured extra sprinkles on top of my sundae. “You deserve it.”