I finally force myself to sit and pull out all the files I brought with me. Spreading them out across the pristine white comforter of the hotel bed, I dive into them again. There’s got to be something here. Something I’ve missed. Something that will mean more to me now that I’ve actually come face-to-face with my uncle and heard from his own mouth his depraved views.
Eventually, I must have fallen asleep because I wake with a start. I’ve toppled over to the side just slightly, so I rest on the stack of pillows, the light in the room still on. Outside the window, I see the very beginning of morning glowing on the horizon. I get up and step into a blistering shower, taking full advantage of the hotel supply of water to stand under it for what seems like hours. I know there’s an officer guarding my room, but I still bring clothes with me into the bathroom so I can change right out of the shower rather than walking back out into the main room in only a towel.
A part of me hates myself for doing it. It was already enough at the beginning of all this to realize I felt more comfortable locking the door behind me when I got in the shower. Now I’m hiding even further. The thought of letting him control me with fear makes me sick.
I walk out of the room twenty minutes later with my wet hair tied up and makeup on. The satchel over my shoulder has everything I brought with me to the hotel last night. I have no intention of spending another night here. The officer guarding the room looks at me strangely when I emerge.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him. “But you can go off duty now. I’m leaving.”
“I’m not supposed to let you out,” he frowns. “Not until I get the okay.”
“Am I being held as a person of interest?” I ask.
He looks confused and shakes his head.
“No,” he confirms. “But the detectives wanted me to keep you here until they give approval for you to leave.”
“She has approval,” a voice says from the elevator.
I was so instantly defensive about the officer trying to force me to stay in the room I didn’t even hear the doors open.
“This floor is closed,” the young man says.
Creagan walks toward us and flashes his badge.
“I’m authorized. I’ve already talked to the detectives. Agent Griffin is leaving with me.”
The officer doesn’t argue, and I adjust the strap of my bag over my shoulder as I fall into step beside Creagan to head back to the elevator.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “He was going to try to keep me hostage in there.”
“Considering the circumstances, that might not be the worst idea in the world,” he grumbles.
“What?” I ask incredulously. “You just told him I’m allowed to go.”
“You are,” he says. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t in danger. It would be better if somebody has an eye on you all the time. Fortunately, that somebody is going to be me.”
“Then I hope you’re up for some good old-fashioned pounding the pavement,” I tell him. “I’m going to be searching the city for Jonah.”
He shakes his head.
“Not today,” he says.
“Creagan, I have to do this. He came after me last night and almost got me. I just found out this man arranged for my mother’s murder after attempting to kidnap me and essentially making my family’s life a living hell. I have to find him.”
“I don’t disagree with him needing to be found. But you’re just going to have to trust the police to do that,” he says.
“Why should I do that?”
“Because you have a plane to catch.”
“A plane?” I ask, confused. “To where?”
“Florida. The courts approved the petition to exhume your mother’s grave. It’s scheduled for this afternoon.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
She’s not in there. She’s not in there. She’s not in there. She’s not in there. She’s not in there.
I repeat it to myself over and over. Trying to soothe the shaking in my chest and calm the sick feeling that roils through my belly as I watch the imposing piece of machinery carve down into the pristine grass growing over the grave marked with my mother’s name.
It was a shock to see the gravestone when we first walked out into the cemetery. I knew it was there, obviously. I’d even seen pictures of it. But actually walking across the grass in the hushed silence and walking up to the gleaming white stone made my legs wobble.
Creagan stands to one side of me, with Bellamy and Dean on the other. She holds my hand as we watch the process in silence. There’s an ominous heaviness in the air. It seems like none of us have been breathing. Hyper focused senses let me hear every bit of dirt drop down from the bucket of the backhoe into the pile forming beside the grave. I have the fleeting, bizarre thought that those buried around my mother’s grave know the plot is a fraud. That the ghosts know the truth.
And yet a part of me wonders if it really is. Ever since that day sitting beside my father on the couch, staring at the urn and not absorbing anything about the memorial service, I’ve just accepted that my mother’s wishes were honored. I never thought to question whether she was actually in that urn. I didn’t even question it when I found out about the grave or the funeral held for her. There wasn’t a single glimmer of doubt in my mind until this moment. Yet, as I wait for her casket to rise up out of the earth, I wonder if there was a reason for my father to lie to me. Could he have only pretended to cremate her while actually having her buried?
There’s no reason I can think of for
