PART 1
“Grandma is lying! Mommy didn’t just die for no reason!” my six-year-old daughter screamed beside the casket.
Every person in the room froze.
I had returned to Silver Creek, Ohio, after spending three days completely unreachable during a security assignment for the transportation company where I worked. In my duffel bag were two gifts: a green silk scarf for my wife, Clara, and a doll for our daughter, Lily.
I had imagined them waiting on the porch.
Instead, funeral flowers covered our yard.
A black ribbon hung from the gate.
And Clara’s photograph stood beside a casket in our living room.
My mother, Teresa, rushed toward me crying.
“You’re too late, Alex. Clara died almost three days ago.”
I could barely process her words.
“Why didn’t anyone contact me?”
“Your supervisor said your assignment couldn’t be interrupted.”
My aunt Beatrice, who owned the local funeral home, immediately urged everyone to leave for the cemetery.
“Clara had been struggling emotionally,” she said. “Dragging this out will only damage her reputation.”
Before I could respond, my father Arthur slammed his left fist against his wheelchair.
A stroke had taken most of his speech and movement, but his mind remained sharp.
He pointed desperately toward the third floor.
Then Lily tore free from her grandmother.
“Grandma is lying!” she cried. “Uncle Derek broke Mommy’s door! Mommy screamed, and Grandma took her phone! They locked us inside!”
My brother Derek turned pale.
Teresa quickly shook her head.
“She’s traumatized. She doesn’t understand what happened.”
I knelt in front of Lily.
“Tell me exactly what you remember.”
She clung to me.
“Mommy wanted to call you. Uncle Derek wouldn’t let her leave. Grandma took the phone. Mommy kept asking for help.”
My father pounded his wheelchair again, then pointed beneath his seat cushion.
Aunt Beatrice suddenly raised her voice.
“Alex, stop this. Bury your wife first. Family problems can wait.”
That sentence made everything inside me change.
I grabbed a relative’s phone and called 911.
Teresa tried to stop me.
“Family matters stay inside the family!”
I stared at her.
“A suspicious death isn’t a family matter.”
Police arrived minutes later.
As officers entered, Beatrice stepped into the hallway and typed something on her phone.
I caught four words:
**He is getting suspicious.**
Derek quietly moved toward the stairs.
I blocked him.
“No one goes upstairs.”
For the first time, my brother looked afraid.
And whatever had happened during those three days was about to come apart.
PART 2
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