There were two things Southerners hated to see knocking on their door. Jehovah Witnesses, because the majority of us were Baptist, and the undertaker. It was understandable that when Terk Rhinehammer opened the door, his face turned white as all the blood was drained from it after he looked past me and saw my hearse.	"What's wrong?" He used his hands to pat down his chest. "I'm not dead, am I?
Tonya Kappes, A Ghostly Demise
ghosts, southern-cozy-mystery