Chapter 2 - The Pulse Nobody Checked
Detective Grant ordered the funeral hall sealed.
Beatrice objected immediately.
“This is outrageous.”
Grant looked at her.
“A six-year-old just accused a family member of attacking the deceased, we have an audio recording naming another suspect, and nobody can explain why the victim’s phone was hidden beneath a wheelchair.”
“She was pronounced dead.”
“By whom?”
Beatrice hesitated.
“Dr. Samuel Keene.”
Alex looked at her.
“Clara’s doctor is Dr. Patel.”
“Dr. Keene was available.”
“At your funeral home?”
“He sometimes handles hospice certifications.”
“Clara wasn’t in hospice.”
Beatrice’s lips tightened.
Alex stepped closer to the coffin.
“Open it.”
Teresa immediately moved in front of him.
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
Alex stared at her.
“Move.”
“You’ve seen enough.”
“I haven’t seen anything.”
“She’s dead.”
“You keep saying that like you need me to believe it.”
Teresa’s voice lowered.
“You’re grieving.”
Alex looked at Detective Grant.
“Open the coffin.”
Grant nodded to one of the officers.
Beatrice moved toward them.
“You need a warrant.”
“No,” Grant said. “We have probable cause to preserve potential evidence.”
“This is my establishment.”
“And that’s a body potentially connected to a violent crime.”
Beatrice’s expression changed.
Not grief.
Fear.
Alex saw it.
The officers unlatched the coffin.
The lid rose.
Clara remained perfectly still.
Alex approached slowly.
He could see pale makeup over her face.
Her lips were colorless.
He reached toward her.
Beatrice caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
Alex turned.
“Why?”
“Because she’s been embalmed.”
Detective Grant looked at her sharply.
“You embalmed her already?”
Beatrice nodded.
“That’s standard.”
“When was she declared dead?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“When was she embalmed?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“Without spousal authorization?”
“Teresa signed.”
Alex turned toward his mother.
“You signed permission to embalm my wife?”
Teresa’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Alex looked back at Clara.
Something bothered him.
He had been around death before.
Corporate accident investigations.
Industrial sites.
Car crashes.
Bodies did not frighten him.
But something about Clara’s skin looked wrong.
Not wrong for death.
Wrong for embalming.
He touched the back of her hand.
Cold.
But not unnaturally hard.
He pressed two fingers against her wrist.
Nothing.
Then Detective Grant said, “Don’t contaminate anything.”
Alex moved his fingers to Clara’s neck.
“Mr. Carter.”
“Wait.”
He pressed harder.
Nothing.
Then—
There.
So faint he thought he imagined it.
A tiny flutter.
Alex froze.
“Call an ambulance.”
Beatrice laughed nervously.
“What?”
“Call an ambulance!”
Teresa stepped backward.
Alex placed two fingers against Clara’s carotid artery again.
There.
Slow.
Weak.
But there.
“She has a pulse!”
The chapel exploded.
Lily screamed, “Mommy!”
Detective Grant drew her radio.
“Medical emergency. Funeral home, main chapel. Adult female, possible false death declaration.”
Beatrice grabbed the coffin edge.
“That’s impossible.”
Alex shoved past her.
“Clara!”
Her eyelids did not move.
He put his ear near her mouth.
A trace of air touched his cheek.
His knees nearly gave out.
“She’s breathing.”
Derek, cuffed beside the wall, whispered, “Oh shit.”
Alex looked at him.
Derek closed his eyes.
The sound of that whisper told Alex more than any confession could have.
Paramedics arrived in under four minutes.
They fitted Clara with oxygen.
One checked her pupils.
Another placed cardiac leads against her chest.
The monitor produced a slow rhythm.
Thirty-eight beats per minute.
The lead paramedic stared at Beatrice.
“You said she was embalmed?”
Beatrice said nothing.
He lifted Clara’s sleeve.
“No arterial incision.”
Alex looked at Beatrice.
“You lied.”
She backed away.
“I—”
“There’s no embalming incision.”
“I didn’t personally perform the procedure.”
“This is your funeral home.”
Police officers moved closer.
Beatrice raised both hands.
“I was told it had been completed.”
“By who?” Grant asked.
Beatrice looked toward Teresa.
Teresa stared at the floor.
Clara was lifted from the coffin onto a stretcher.
As paramedics rushed her through the chapel, Lily tried to follow.
Alex scooped her into his arms.
“I’m going with Mommy.”
“You’re staying with me.”
“No!”
“We’re both going.”
Detective Grant stopped Alex near the door.
“I need to speak with you.”
“At the hospital.”
“Your brother is being detained.”
“Good.”
“Your mother and aunt will remain here for questioning.”
Alex looked back.
Teresa stood beside Arthur’s wheelchair.
Arthur was crying.
Not silent tears.
Violent, frustrated tears.
His left hand pointed after Clara.
Then toward Alex.
“Go.”
Alex nodded.
He carried Lily outside.
As he approached the ambulance, his phone rang.
Jonathan Hale.
Alex stopped.
The screen showed his boss’s name.
He answered.
Jonathan’s familiar voice sounded relaxed.
“Alex. I heard you’re back.”
Alex watched the paramedics load his supposedly dead wife into the ambulance.
“Where are you?”
“At home. Why?”
“My wife died yesterday.”
A pause.
Perfectly measured.
Then Jonathan said, “Jesus. Alex, I’m so sorry.”
Alex closed his eyes.
“You didn’t know?”
“Of course not.”
Another lie.
“You sent me to Denver.”
“Yes.”
“For a meeting that was canceled before I arrived.”
“That was unfortunate.”
“My wife recorded your voice before someone tried to bury her alive.”
Silence.
This pause was different.
Longer.
Then Jonathan spoke softly.
“Alex, I think you’re in shock.”
“I heard you.”
“You heard what?”
“Your voice.”
“Alex—”
“You told Clara she should’ve left something alone.”
Jonathan exhaled.
“I strongly recommend you not make accusations while you’re emotional.”
Alex smiled coldly.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Listen to me carefully. There are things happening around you that you don’t understand.”
Alex watched the ambulance doors close.
“Then explain.”
“I can’t over the phone.”
“Why not?”
“Because Clara involved herself in something dangerous.”
Alex’s grip tightened.
“What did she find?”
Jonathan whispered, “Ask your father why he stopped speaking after his stroke.”
Then the call ended.
May you like
Alex stared at the phone.
Behind him, Arthur Carter began pounding on the funeral-home window.
