Chapter 2 - THE FUNERAL THAT COULDN’T WAITI carried Lily upstairs and locked the bedroom door.
Diane knocked thirty seconds later.
“Nathan, open this door.”
I ignored her.
Lily sat on the edge of our bed, clutching her doll.
I crouched in front of her.
“Sweetheart, I need you to tell me something.”
She stared at the floor.
“You aren't in trouble.”
“Grandma said I am.”
My chest tightened.
“For what?”
“For touching Mommy's things.”
“What things?”
“The phone.”
There it was again.
I tried to keep my voice gentle.
“When did Grandma take it?”
“The night Mommy fell.”
Wednesday.
“Did you see Mommy fall?”
Lily's lower lip trembled.
“I heard yelling.”
“Who was yelling?”
“Grandma.”
A knock rattled the door.
“Nathan!”
I stood.
“Give me ten minutes, Diane!”
Silence.
Then her footsteps retreated.
I returned to Lily.
“What did Grandma say?”
“I don't know.”
“That's okay.”
“Mommy said, ‘You can't keep doing this.’”
I froze.
“And Grandma said…”
Lily squeezed her doll.
“She said Mommy was going to ruin everybody.”
A chill moved down my spine.
Emily and Diane had never been especially close, but I'd never heard anything suggesting open hostility.
“What happened next?”
“I went downstairs because I wanted water.”
“Then?”
“Uncle Scott was there.”
That surprised me.
“Scott was here Wednesday night?”
She nodded.
“Grandma too.”
“And Mommy?”
“In Daddy's office.”
My office.
Not near the staircase where she'd allegedly fallen.
Lily whispered, “They were fighting.”
“About what?”
“I don't know.”
Then she looked at me.
“Mommy saw me.”
“What did she do?”
“She told me to go upstairs and lock my door.”
My heart began hammering.
Emily had never told Lily to lock herself in her bedroom.
Not once.
“What happened after that?”
“I heard something break.”
She began crying.
I pulled her into my arms.
“You don't have to tell me anymore.”
But Lily continued.
“Then Grandma came upstairs.”
“What did she say?”
“She said Mommy had an accident.”
I shut my eyes.
“When did Grandma take the phone?”
“Before the ambulance came.”
“You saw her?”
Lily nodded.
“She picked it up from the kitchen floor.”
“Did she say anything?”
Lily hesitated.
“She told Uncle Scott, ‘Find out what she sent.’”
The room seemed to tilt.
Emily had sent something.
But to whom?
I grabbed my phone.
No unusual messages from her.
No emails.
Nothing in our shared cloud account.
Then I noticed something else.
I had seven voicemail notifications.
My stomach dropped.
There had been none when I landed.
I opened the list.
Seven voicemails from unknown numbers, all apparently delivered within the previous hour.
I played the first.
“Mr. Cole, this is Detective Aaron Brooks with Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police. Please contact me regarding the death of your wife.”
The second was from Wednesday night.
The third Thursday morning.
The fourth Thursday afternoon.
They had tried to reach me.
But somehow the calls hadn't arrived.
I immediately dialed the detective.
He answered after two rings.
“Nathan Cole?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Where have you been?”
“Denver. I got home thirty minutes ago.”
“We've been calling you for almost two days.”
“I just received the messages.”
“That's strange.”
“What happened to Emily?”
Another pause.
“Mr. Cole, I'd rather discuss this privately.”
“My in-laws say she fell downstairs.”
“We haven't concluded that.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“What?”
“The attending physician reported injuries consistent with a fall, but there were questions.”
“What questions?”
“I'd rather not discuss specifics over the phone.”
“They're burying her tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then Detective Brooks said, “They can't.”
I looked toward the bedroom door.
“Why?”
“Because I requested an autopsy yesterday.”
I couldn't speak.
“They told me there wasn't going to be one.”
“Who told you?”
“Diane Mercer.”
The detective's voice hardened.
“Mr. Cole, Diane Mercer doesn't have authority to make that decision. You do.”
I looked at Lily.
She was watching me.
“Where is Emily's body supposed to be right now?”
“The medical examiner's facility.”
My blood went cold.
“She isn't.”
“What?”
“She's downstairs.”
Silence.
“What do you mean downstairs?”
“In my house. In a coffin.”
The detective swore quietly.
“Do not let anyone move that body.”
“What is happening?”
“I don't know yet.”
Then he said something that changed panic into terror.
“Mr. Cole, we never released your wife's remains.”
I looked toward the floor.
Directly beneath us was the living room.
The coffin.
Emily.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying whoever delivered a body to your house didn't get it through my office.”
A violent pounding hit the bedroom door.
“Nathan!”
Scott.
“Nathan, you need to come downstairs.”
“Why?”
“The funeral director is here.”
I looked at Lily.
The detective spoke through my phone.
“Keep everybody inside if you safely can. Officers are coming.”
I ended the call.
Then I noticed Lily staring at something on my nightstand.
“What?”
She pointed.
“Mommy hid something.”
“Where?”
She climbed off the bed and walked toward our closet.
“Before you went on your trip.”
She knelt beside Emily's shoe rack and pulled out a glittery pink box.
Her old kindergarten craft box.
Inside were crayons, stickers, photographs—
and a key.
A tiny brass key taped beneath the lid.
I recognized it immediately.
It belonged to the locked drawer in Emily's desk.
Downstairs, voices became louder.
Then a man's voice shouted.
“We need to leave now.”
I unlocked the bedroom door and went downstairs, keeping Lily behind me.
The room was suddenly chaotic.
Two men from a funeral home were attempting to close the coffin.
“Don't touch her.”
Everyone stopped.
Diane stepped forward.
“Nathan, you're emotional.”
“Move away from the coffin.”
“This service has already been arranged.”
“No.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You don't get to come home after abandoning your family for work and start making accusations.”
“Abandoning?”
“You weren't here when Emily needed you.”
“Because I was gone for three days.”
“You were always gone.”
Scott took my arm.
“Enough.”
I shoved his hand away.
“Detective Brooks is coming.”
The reaction was immediate.
Scott turned pale.
Diane's face lost all expression.
The funeral-home employees exchanged nervous looks.
“Who?” Diane asked.
“You heard me.”
“You don't need police turning your wife's funeral into a circus.”
“There won't be a funeral tomorrow.”
Diane's voice rose.
“You can't do that.”
“Watch me.”
She moved closer.
“Emily wanted to be buried quickly.”
“You have that in writing?”
No answer.
“Did Emily somehow discuss burial arrangements with you after falling down my stairs?”
“Nathan—”
“Where is her phone?”
The room became silent.
Lily stood behind me.
Diane looked toward her.
That was all the confirmation I needed.
“Don't look at my daughter.”
“She doesn't know what she's saying.”
“Where is Emily's phone?”
“I don't know.”
“Lily saw you take it.”
“She's six.”
“And you're lying.”
Sirens sounded outside.
Scott immediately walked toward the back hallway.
I blocked him.
“Going somewhere?”
“This is ridiculous.”
Two uniformed officers entered through the front door.
Detective Brooks followed.
He was in his forties, broad-shouldered, wearing a wrinkled blue shirt.
He looked first at me.
Then at the coffin.
His expression darkened.
“Everybody step away.”
Diane lifted her chin.
“This is a private family funeral.”
Brooks walked toward the coffin and studied Emily.
“Who provided these remains?”
The funeral director raised a hand nervously.
“We were contacted by Mrs. Mercer.”
“From what facility did you collect the deceased?”
“Ridgeway Memorial Services.”
Brooks stared at him.
“That's not a medical facility.”
The man's face went white.
Diane interrupted.
“This is becoming grotesque.”
Brooks ignored her.
“Mrs. Mercer, where is Emily Cole's phone?”
“I have no idea.”
“You told me Thursday that it had been destroyed in the fall.”
“I assumed it was.”
“That wasn't your exact statement.”
Diane glanced at me.
For the first time, the sophisticated woman who had dominated every room for twenty years looked trapped.
Then Lily spoke.
“Grandma.”
Everyone turned.
My daughter pointed at Diane's handbag.
“You put it in there.”
Diane's hand immediately went to the bag.
Brooks noticed.
“Mrs. Mercer, put the purse on the table.”
“No.”
“Put it down.”
“You don't have a warrant.”
“Then don't leave with it.”
Diane gripped the bag.
Scott moved toward her.
And suddenly, I heard a faint sound.
A vibration.
From inside Diane's purse.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
Everyone heard it.
Brooks looked at me.
I stared at Diane.
Her face drained of color.
The detective stepped closer.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
The phone vibrated again.
This time, through the leather of her bag, we all heard something else.
A muffled automated voice.
“Uploading remaining files.”
Diane lunged for the purse.
May you like
Brooks got there first.
And whatever Emily had been trying to hide was suddenly about to come back from the dead.
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