Chapter 7 - What Was Missing From the Coffin)
Margaret did not remember deciding to drive to the cemetery.
She only remembered Lena taking the keys from her hand.
"You are not driving."
Margaret stared through the windshield of Lena's unmarked car.
Rain streaked the glass.
"My husband's ring was buried with him."
"Are you certain?"
"I put it on his finger."
"You saw the body?"
Margaret's silence answered.
Lena looked at her.
"I thought the funeral was closed casket."
"It was after the private viewing."
"You had a private viewing?"
"For five minutes."
"Did you see his face?"
Margaret's chest tightened.
"The funeral director told me the facial swelling was severe."
"Margaret."
"I saw his hands."
Lena's voice softened.
"Only his hands?"
Margaret closed her eyes.
A dark room.
A coffin.
A white sheet drawn to the collar.
One hand placed over the other.
Richard's wedding band.
The gold ring with the black onyx stone.
She had touched both.
"I saw enough."
Lena did not challenge her.
They reached the cemetery twenty minutes later.
Margaret stood beneath an umbrella before Richard's grave.
RICHARD ALLEN MERCER
1957 TO 2019
BELOVED HUSBAND, FATHER, BUILDER, FRIEND
Margaret whispered, "Were you in there?"
Lena stood several feet away.
The rain grew harder.
Margaret turned.
"Can we exhume him?"
"Not because of a ring in a photograph."
"What would it take?"
"Evidence suggesting the body was misidentified."
"Then find it."
"I'll try."
Margaret walked back toward the car.
Her phone rang.
Vanessa.
Margaret answered.
"Where are you?"
The question came too quickly.
"Home."
Lena looked at her.
Vanessa said, "I stopped by."
Margaret's pulse increased.
"When?"
"Now."
Margaret looked toward Lena.
"Why?"
"Because you sounded strange last night."
"I was sleeping."
"You're not home."
Margaret forced a confused laugh.
"I must have gone out."
"Where?"
Margaret deliberately waited.
"I don't remember."
Silence.
Then Vanessa's voice became gentle.
"Mom, that's not funny."
"I know."
"Tell me where you are."
Margaret looked at Richard's grave.
"The cemetery."
Another silence.
"Why?"
"I wanted to see your father."
For the first time Vanessa sounded frightened.
"Did someone tell you something?"
Margaret stared at the rainwater running down Richard's headstone.
"What would anyone tell me?"
Vanessa recovered.
"Nothing."
"I'll see you tomorrow."
"Mom."
"Yes?"
"Don't go anywhere else today."
Margaret smiled without humor.
"Of course."
She ended the call.
Lena said, "She knows."
"About the ring?"
"Maybe about the cemetery."
Margaret looked around.
At the far edge of the cemetery, a black sedan started its engine.
Same model.
Same tinted windows.
Lena grabbed her radio.
The sedan accelerated.
Police units attempted to intercept it.
They failed.
But a traffic camera captured one clear image of the driver.
Lena received it two hours later.
She did not show Margaret immediately.
Margaret noticed.
"What is it?"
"Nothing confirmed."
"Show me."
"Margaret."
"Show me."
Lena turned the tablet.
The driver's face was partly obscured by the windshield reflection.
Older man.
Gray hair.
Strong jaw.
Scar above the left eyebrow.
Margaret sat down hard.
"No."
Lena pulled the tablet away.
Margaret grabbed it.
"No."
The photograph was imperfect.
It could have been someone else.
It should have been someone else.
But Margaret knew that scar.
Richard got it in 1987 when a steel beam slipped during construction of their first apartment building.
Margaret had held a towel against his forehead while waiting for the ambulance.
She had kissed that scar for thirty years.
Lena said, "Facial recognition is inconclusive."
"That's Richard."
"It may resemble him."
"That's my husband."
"Then we verify."
Margaret looked at the photograph again.
Anger replaced shock.
"If he is alive, he let me bury someone else."
"Margaret."
"He watched me grieve."
"We don't know that."
"He let Vanessa believe her father was dead."
Lena said carefully, "Unless Vanessa already knows."
Margaret stared at her.
The photograph of Vanessa meeting the man with Richard's ring.
Her daughter's panic when Margaret mentioned the cemetery.
The message on the phone.
RICHARD MADE A DEAL.
Margaret whispered, "She knows."
Lena did not disagree.
Thomas joined them at the station.
He looked at the photograph for a long time.
"It could be Richard."
"It is Richard," Margaret said.
Thomas sat down.
Then something in his expression changed.
Margaret noticed.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing."
"What?"
Thomas looked at Lena.
Then Margaret.
"Three months after Richard died, I received a letter."
Margaret felt another betrayal open beneath her feet.
"From whom?"
"It was anonymous."
"What did it say?"
Thomas swallowed.
"Stop asking questions about Boston."
Margaret stared.
"You never told me."
"I thought it was some lunatic."
"Did it contain anything else?"
Thomas hesitated.
"A photograph."
"Of what?"
"Richard."
Margaret stood.
"You had a photograph of my dead husband?"
"It showed a man from behind."
"Where?"
"An airport."
"When?"
"The timestamp was six weeks after the funeral."
Margaret struck Thomas across the face.
The room went silent.
Thomas did not move.
Margaret's hand trembled.
"Six weeks."
"I'm sorry."
"You let me believe he was dead."
"I didn't know."
"You suspected."
"I thought someone was manipulating me."
Margaret's eyes filled.
"For seven years?"
Thomas whispered, "I'm sorry."
Lena stepped between them.
"Where is the photograph?"
"My office safe."
"Get it."
Thomas left.
Margaret remained standing.
Lena said quietly, "You can hate everyone later."
Margaret wiped her eyes.
"That's generous."
"Right now we need tomorrow to happen exactly as planned."
Margaret laughed bitterly.
"You still expect me to go into that basement?"
"If you want out, I cancel it."
Margaret looked at the driver's photograph.
Richard.
Vanessa.
Daniel.
The forged companies.
The false incapacity claim.
"No."
Lena waited.
Margaret said, "Tomorrow happens."
At nine that evening Thomas returned with the old photograph.
The man at the airport wore Richard's coat.
His ring.
His posture.
In the corner of the image, reflected in the glass of a shop window, was the photographer.
A woman.
Margaret zoomed in.
Blonde hair.
May you like
Young.
Vanessa.
