Chapter 10
The morning of the funeral broke gray and overcast, the bright, unforgiving sunlight of the previous days replaced by a heavy, misting rain that streaked the tall windows of the living room. The white coffin remained the focal point, surrounded by wilting floral wreaths that now smelled slightly of rot beneath their heavy perfume. Mourners—mostly distant business associates and acquaintances who barely knew Maya—sat in folding chairs arranged in rows facing the casket.
Elena sat in the front row, draped in her severe black lace dress, looking every bit the tragic, stoic matriarch. Beside her sat Lily, wearing the rumpled pink dress, her bare feet tucked into patent leather shoes that pinched her toes. True to her promise, Lily stared straight ahead at the polished white wood, her hands locked tightly around her faceless rag doll, her jaw set in a silent, miserable endurance.
Derek stood a few paces behind them near the doorway, his black suit immaculate, though a subtle layer of skin-toned makeup attempted to cover the dark, fading bruise on his jaw. His eyes scanned the room constantly, tracking every face, every whispered condolence, every movement of the police officers standing quietly near the back exit.
In the corner, Grandfather sat in his wheelchair, his gray polo buttoned to the top, his glasses glinting under the dim indoor lights. He hadn’t spoken a word all morning. But his hands gripped the armrests with a white-knuckled fury, and his eyes never left Derek.
At the front of the room, the local pastor droned on about grace, peace, and untimely departures. The words washed over the congregation like white noise, meaningless platitudes designed to comfort people who felt no genuine loss.
Elena reached over, her gloved fingers closing tightly around Lily’s small hand. It was a gesture meant to look like comfort to the people watching from the rows behind them, but the grip was a vise, a physical reminder of the bargain struck in the dark nursery the night before.
Lily didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. She simply stared at the white box, her young mind looping through the memory of her mother’s phone ringing in the dark, the sound cutting off abruptly when Elena’s hand closed over the screen.
Then, near the back of the room, the heavy oak doors creaked open.
Detective Vance stepped inside, shaking the mist from the shoulders of his damp trench coat. He wasn’t alone. Behind him walked two technicians carrying heavy metal equipment cases, and a woman in a sharp gray suit holding a thick manila folder labeled with the county coroner’s official seal.
The murmurs among the mourners died instantly. The pastor stumbled over a verse and fell silent, his bible trembling slightly in his hands.
Derek took a sharp half-step forward, his bruised face tightening into an expression of icy outrage. Elena stood up slowly from her folding chair, her black lace dress rustling like dry leaves, her face draining of all remaining color as she turned to face the back of the room.
Vance didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply walked down the central aisle, stopping just short of the white coffin, right in front of Elena and the little girl in the pink dress.
“I’m sorry to interrupt the service,” Vance said, his voice cutting through the thick air of the room with absolute authority. “We have the final autopsy results. And we have the contents of Maya Vance’s phone, which was unlocked thirty minutes ago using a biometric override authorized by a superior court judge.”
Elena’s hand finally released Lily’s fingers. The little girl pulled her hand back into her lap, clutching her rag doll so hard the seams threatened to tear.
May you like
Vance looked past Elena, locking his tired, steady eyes directly on Derek standing in the doorway.
“Derek Vance,” the detective said, pulling a pair of steel handcuffs from his belt. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Maya Vance. And Elena Vance, you’re coming with us as an accessory after the fact.”
