But there have been so many secrets I’ve recently uncovered. What if this was a secret kept from me too?
I expected the process to take far longer than it did. After only a few minutes, the backhoe moves away from the grave, and another piece of equipment takes its place to actually lift the casket up. It’s so simple but looks in surprisingly good condition for being underground for seventeen years. Bellamy leans close.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
I squeeze her hand and nod.
“I’m fine,” I whisper. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I don’t say how much I wish Sam was with me. Just thinking about him makes it harder to hold back tears that have been threatening the corners of my eyes since the plane landed. I’ll call him when I know what’s going on.
“Are you ready?” Creagan asks.
I stare down into the gaping hole in the earth, then glance over at the casket being loaded into the back of a truck.
“There’s no other reason for me to be here,” I tell him. “Let’s get this done.”
“The casket will be brought to the medical examiner’s office,” he explains to me. “I’ve already spoken to her, and she understands the situation. She’s assured me she’ll give you as much privacy as she can, but by law, she does have to be present when the casket is opened.”
“Even though there’s no body?” I ask.
“According to the burial records, Mariya Presnykov Griffin is in there. Until there’s proof otherwise, she has to be present.”
The casket is already sitting on a table as we are escorted into the coroner’s room at the medical examiner’s office. It’s cold and sterile, with tile floors and steel surfaces.
“Dr. Kelly McCafferty,” she introduces herself. “I’m the medical examiner.”
“Emma Griffin,” I tell her.
“I’m so sorry you have to experience this, Emma,” she tells me. “I can’t imagine it’s easy for you.”
“I’m really fine,” I tell her. “Her body isn’t in there. It’s just a casket.”
She nods and holds out a mask.
“I suggest wearing this anyway. Just in case. If you’ve never been around a disinterred casket before, it can get a little intense. The mask will help,” she explains.
I accept it without answering and attach the elastic loops over my ears. She hands masks to the others in the room and picks up a crowbar.
“Let me do it,” I say.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
I nod. “Whatever’s in there, I need to be the one to see it first.” Dr. McCafferty continues to look at me incredulously, but I reach for the crowbar. “I’m not afraid of what might be in there. “
She relents and hands me the tool. Creagan gives the medical examiner a look and tilts his head to the side, subtly nudging her over to the corner. When she’s away from the table, I shove the metal teeth under the edge of the lid and pry it up. The wood cracks as the nails release. I move down along the casket to lift the lid at each point that was nailed down. Finally, after what seems like hours but was maybe only one minute, all the nails are pried free. I set the crowbar down on the table.
I give myself only an instant to brace, then shove the heels of my hands hard against the bottom edge of the lid. The hard hit lifts the lid out of the way. I stare down into it. Rather than a corpse, the blush pink satin lining cradles a series of four metal lockboxes. I lift one out and set it on another table positioned a few feet away, then take out the other three and line them up.
“Dr. McCafferty,” I say, looking at the medical examiner who is eyeing the boxes curiously. “Now that I’ve proven my suspicions are correct, and there’s no body, I’m sure your professional obligation is fulfilled. Thank you for your time.”
She gives a single nod, obviously not willing to resist against my crisp tone, and walks out of the room. When she’s gone, Bellamy comes up to me.
“What are those?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, exhaling deeply. It felt like I had been holding my breath since the second she handed me the crowbar and didn’t let it out until she was gone.
Dean comes up to the table, a confused frown on his face. “Things just keep getting stranger.”
Pulling the first box closer to me, I touch the lock on the front. It doesn’t seem to be engaged, so I lift the lid. Inside is a stack of manila envelopes. I take out the first and fold the little wings of the age-tarnished brad holding the envelope closed. Tipping it over, I let the documents inside slide out.
“Oh my god,” I gasp.
“What is it?” Creagan asks.
I look at Bellamy and then Dean.
“It’s Mama’s records,” I explain. “All the women she rescued. They didn’t bury her body here; they buried her history. So, no one can ever know what she did.”
“Or track the women she saved,” Dean notes.
I pull out envelope after envelope, looking through the pages, whispering names and trying to fathom the sheer enormity of what my mother did. All these names. All these women and children she risked her life to save. So many lives saved. So many given another chance because of her.
“This is incredible,” Creagan mutters in amazement.
“Yes, it is,” I say under my breath, staring dumbfounded at the record in my hands.
“Look at this one,” he says. “The date on it is from the week before she died.” He glances down at the closed envelope, flipping it over in his hands. “This must have been the last time she was in Feathered Nest.”
His voice softens as
