Chương 3
The world had not ended.
June found that offensive.
“How could there be a funeral if she wasn’t there?”
Grant rubbed his thumb along the edge of his wedding band.
He had remarried no one. He still wore the ring.
“Your mother’s car went through the guardrail near Independence Pass.”
“I know.”
“The search teams found the car.”
“I know.”
“They didn’t find her.”
June’s breathing changed.
“You told me they did.”
“I told you they had enough to know she died.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Did they find her or not?”
“No.”
The answer landed differently the second time.
June lowered herself into a chair.
She remembered the funeral with the distorted clarity children gave to days when adults behaved strangely. Cream roses. Her shoes pinching. Nora’s hand on her shoulder. A closed coffin. Celeste telling her it was better not to look because the accident had been bad.
June had asked whether her mother was cold underground.
Celeste had said no.
June had believed this meant dead people stopped feeling cold.
Now she understood Celeste had not answered the question she asked.
She opened her fist.
The locket lay in her palm.
Oval. Gold. Scratched near the hinge.
E.M.
Eleanor Mercer.
Her mother had worn it on birthdays and Christmas, never on normal Tuesdays. June had once asked why.
Because some things like an occasion, Eleanor had said.
June had thought it was a joke.
“Why was this in the coffin?”
Grant looked at Nora.
Nora said, “You put it there.”
“I did?”
“At the funeral.”
June remembered something then.
Not the funeral itself.
Before it.
A small velvet bag on Nora’s lap in the back seat of a car. June crying because Celeste said the necklace could not stay at the house. June insisting Mom should have it. Nora asking three times if she was sure.
Then a funeral employee in white gloves taking the velvet bag.
June’s fingers tightened.
“You let me bury it in an empty box.”
Grant whispered, “Yes.”
She looked away from him.
That hurt more than the slap.
Daniel Cho arranged for June, Nora, Grant, and Celeste to move into the observation lounge once Leah finished initial statements. Oliver and Theo were taken to a private compartment with Maya and Theo’s father, who had arrived furious, frightened, and wearing only one cuff link.
Celeste objected to being separated from Oliver.
Leah told her, “You can see him after I’ve spoken to him without you present.”
“He is ten.”
“Exactly.”
Celeste looked toward Grant for help.
He did not give it.
That frightened her.
June saw it.
The observation lounge at the rear of the train was nearly empty at that hour. Curved windows wrapped around the last carriage, revealing snow blowing through the red glow of the train’s marker lights. Lamps reflected in the glass so that June could see two versions of every adult—one in the room and one floating over the darkness outside.
Nora sat beside her.
June moved to another chair.
Nora accepted that too.
Celeste stood near the bar. Her cheek had faded from red to pink.
Grant remained by the door.
Leah placed a clear evidence envelope on the table.
“The locket stays with June unless there is a legal ownership dispute I’m not aware of.”
“There is,” Celeste said.
Nora laughed once.
It was not a pleasant laugh.
Leah held up a hand. “Then you can resolve that through attorneys. Nobody is taking property from a child tonight.”
Celeste looked at the phone. “And the stolen security recording?”
Nora said, “Not stolen.”
“You unlawfully accessed a private rail surveillance system.”
“I received a copy from a person authorized to preserve it.”
“You induced an employee to violate company policy.”
Grant spoke for the first time in several minutes.
“Which employee?”
Nora looked at him.
“Marcus Velez.”
Grant’s face tightened.
Celeste said, “He’s terminated.”
“No,” Grant said.
She turned.
“He violated security protocol.”
“He preserved footage after receiving notice of a potential evidence issue.”
“From her.”
“From counsel.”
Celeste stared at him.
“You knew?”
“No.”
Nora unlocked her phone.
“Last Thursday, I sent a written preservation notice to the station after I learned the cemetery service company had transported a sealed mortuary case through Mercer Alpine Terminal.”
June looked at her.
“How did you learn that?”
Nora hesitated.
June felt anger rise again.
“Stop deciding what I can hear.”
Nora nodded.
“All right.”
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“Your mother’s grave was opened twelve days ago.”
June went still.
“The cemetery called me because my name is listed on the maintenance account.”
Celeste’s eyes flicked toward her.
Nora continued.
“I pay for the flowers on your mother’s birthday. The cemetery manager knew me. He called because a private contractor had submitted paperwork claiming the family authorized work on the grave.”
Grant looked at Celeste.
“What work?”
Nora answered without looking away from June.
“Opening the burial vault.”
June swallowed.
“Why?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to learn.”
“You could have told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought I had a day or two to get proof before I scared you.”
“You always say that.”
Nora blinked.
“Say what?”
“That you’re protecting me when you don’t tell me things.”
Grant looked toward the window.
Nora sat back.
The accusation had found its mark.
June had been living with Nora for eleven months, ever since Grant and Eleanor’s old custody agreement became the subject of a new court fight after Eleanor’s death. Nobody called it a fight in front of June. They called it a transition.
June hated the word transition.
May you like
It had been used for her mother’s funeral, her move from Boulder to Nora’s townhouse in Denver, the temporary school, the hearing in March, Grant’s supervised weekends that later became unsupervised, and the possibility that June might live with him full-time after the school year.
Adults used transition when they meant something was being taken from one place and put somewhere else.
