The door bell chimed. Elvis scratched at the stubble on his chin. A customer entered dragging a heavy burlap sack. The scent of dead funeral flowers bloomed in the customer’s wake. Elvis sighed. Looks like we got a live one here, Elvis thought.

“Welcome to Grave Decisions . How’s your day going?”

“Terrible, not that anyone cares,” the customer snapped.

The customer waited for sympathy that would never come. Looking up from her work table, Pats sniggered in a cloud of marble dust. Elvis folded his arms.

“What can I do you for, pal?”

Once upon a time people scoured the globe for rare tulips. Now the latest fad was cemetery art. Monuments, grave markers, tombstones antique dealers struggled to keep up with the demand and the fraud.

“What are you going to do for me? No one has ever done a thing for me. I wouldn’t recognize a kind gesture if it came up and kissed me on the mouth. I do for myself. Always have and I have a prize for you. The rarest of the rare. A dying words gravestone.”

Elvis glitched assuming this wiry stranger was pulling his leg. Slipping into his latex gloves and his poker face, the dealer approached. People were always claiming to have the next Nic Cage pyramid.

Gently Elvis peeled back the mud caked fabric and gasped. The gray marble was weather beaten but the engraving was pristine. Over his shoulder, Pats, his restorer, whistled in appreciation.

“And before you try to bamboozle me. All me life I have been henpecked. I took it and took it. I have authentication papers including affidavits,” the customer said hands on his hips.

Thinking fast, Elvis headed behind the counter. Pats examined the piece through her jeweler’s loop. Reproductions were getting better everyday. Pats stood up smiling ear to ear. The dying declaration read: Mary Teacher Wife Mother — “Damn I admit it you were right I was wrong.”

“Naturally we have to check the provenance and consult with our experts,” Elvis said.

Behind the customer’s back, Pats started her money dance. This was the Holy Grail of tombstones. Elvis rubbed his hands together imagining the offers to come. The antique shop grew quiet as a grave. Pats was never any help, Elvis thought. His only trick left was the dead stare. Minutes crawled by. The customer’s shoulders slumped.

“Fine, what can you give me?” the customer said.

Elvis stretched out his let’s make a deal hand.