Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Wasn't Claire

Daniel Whitmore had disappeared less than thirty seconds before the police were called.

Victoria realized it first.

"Lock the doors."

Her voice cut through the screaming mourners.

One of the security guards stared at her. "Mrs. Whitmore—"

"Lock them!"

The stranger inside the coffin suddenly convulsed.

Noah forgot Daniel.

"Help her!"

The woman's fingers slipped from his wrist. Her eyes rolled upward, and her body began shaking violently beneath the dark blue lining.

"She's having a seizure!" someone shouted.

A doctor attending the funeral pushed through the crowd.

"Give me room!"

Noah was pulled backward.

"No! She knows where my mom is!"

"Let him work," Victoria said.

The doctor checked the woman's airway and pulse.

"Call an ambulance. Tell them she's unconscious and possibly sedated."

"Possibly?" Victoria asked.

The doctor lifted the woman's wrist.

There were several small puncture marks along the inside of her arm.

"Those aren't from one IV."

Noah stared at them.

The woman had been drugged.

Maybe repeatedly.

His eyes moved toward the open coffin.

An oxygen cylinder had been hidden beneath the lining near her legs. A narrow transparent tube connected it to the cannula beneath her nose.

Someone had not put this woman into a coffin to kill her.

Someone had intended to keep her alive.

That thought frightened Noah more.

"Why would someone do this?" he whispered.

Victoria heard him.

"I don't know."

Noah looked at her.

"She said Daniel knows where Mom is."

Victoria didn't answer.

"Do you believe her?"

Before Victoria could respond, sirens screamed outside.

Within minutes, the luxurious funeral hall became something completely different.

Police officers blocked the exits.

Paramedics surrounded the coffin.

Guests were ordered to remain inside.

The stranger was lifted onto a stretcher.

As they passed Noah, her eyes opened again.

Only for a second.

"Noah..."

He froze.

She knew his name.

He pushed toward her.

"How do you know me?"

The woman's lips moved.

Then her eyes closed.

"Wait!"

The paramedics rushed her outside.

Noah followed until a police officer blocked him.

"You need to stay here."

"But she knows me!"

The officer crouched slightly.

"What's your name?"

"Noah."

"Noah what?"

He hesitated.

Technically, his legal surname was Carter, his father's surname.

But for years Claire had promised him that names didn't determine families.

"Noah Carter."

The officer wrote it down.

"And your relationship to Claire Whitmore?"

"She's my mother."

The officer stopped writing.

He looked toward the open coffin.

Then toward Noah.

"If Claire Whitmore is your mother..."

His expression changed.

"...who was supposed to be in that coffin?"

Noah didn't know.

Apparently, neither did anyone else.

Within twenty minutes, detectives arrived.

The funeral director, Mr. Bell, was separated from his staff.

Security footage was requested.

Every employee who had entered the building overnight was questioned.

And Daniel remained missing.

Victoria stood near the front windows, repeatedly calling him.

Straight to voicemail.

Again.

Straight to voicemail.

On the fifth attempt, Noah walked over.

"He's not going to answer."

Victoria lowered the phone.

"You don't know my brother."

"I know he ran away."

"He may have had a reason."

"You still believe him?"

Victoria's eyes hardened.

"Believing someone and knowing them are not the same thing."

Noah didn't understand.

Then Victoria said something even stranger.

"Daniel has disappeared before."

"When?"

She immediately regretted speaking.

Noah saw it.

"When?"

"Years ago."

"Why?"

Victoria looked toward the detectives.

"That isn't important."

"Everything is important now."

For a thirteen-year-old, Noah said it with such certainty that Victoria had no immediate response.

Before she could answer, a detective approached them.

She introduced herself as Detective Lena Ortiz.

She was perhaps forty, with dark hair pulled tightly behind her head and an expression that seemed designed to make lying uncomfortable.

"Victoria Whitmore?"

"Yes."

"And Noah Carter?"

Noah nodded.

Ortiz looked at him carefully.

"I understand you were the first person who heard sounds from the coffin."

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Three knocks."

"When?"

"Before I got the hammer."

"Did anyone else hear them?"

"I told people."

"That's not what I asked."

Noah thought.

"I don't know."

Ortiz nodded.

"Did you know the woman inside?"

"No."

"Had you ever seen her before?"

"No."

"Did she say anything?"

Victoria and Noah exchanged a glance.

Ortiz noticed.

"What did she say?"

Noah answered.

"She said my mom is alive."

Ortiz's expression didn't change.

"And?"

Noah swallowed.

"She said Daniel knows where she is."

This time Ortiz looked at Victoria.

"Where is your brother?"

"I don't know."

"When did you last see him?"

"Minutes ago."

"He left?"

"He disappeared."

"Those are different things."

Victoria's mouth tightened.

"Then he left without telling me."

Ortiz wrote something down.

"His car is still outside."

That surprised Victoria.

Noah saw it.

"So how did he leave?" he asked.

Ortiz glanced at him.

"Good question."

She walked away.

Noah followed her gaze toward the side corridor Daniel had used.

At its end was a service door.

Beyond that were kitchens, storage rooms, and an underground parking area.

But Daniel's car remained outside.

Something didn't make sense.

Then Noah remembered Daniel's glance toward the security guard.

The guard who had tried to move the coffin.

Noah searched the room.

He wasn't there.

"Victoria."

"What?"

"The guard."

"What guard?"

"The one Daniel looked at."

She scanned the hall.

There were four Whitmore security employees present.

The fifth was missing.

Victoria swore quietly.

She called someone.

"Marcus."

A tall man near the entrance approached.

"Where is Grant?"

The man's expression became uncertain.

"I thought he was with Mr. Whitmore."

Noah and Victoria looked at each other.

Two people had disappeared.

Daniel.

And Grant.

Detective Ortiz returned immediately when Victoria told her.

Within minutes, officers were searching the building.

Then someone shouted from the basement.

They found Grant unconscious behind a locked maintenance door.

Daniel wasn't with him.

Grant had blood on the back of his head.

But what police found beside him was even stranger.

A discarded cream-colored suit jacket.

Daniel's.

In the pocket was his wallet.

His car keys.

And his phone.

Noah watched Detective Ortiz place everything into evidence bags.

"Why would he leave his phone?" Noah asked.

Ortiz didn't answer.

Victoria did.

"So he couldn't be tracked."

Noah looked at her.

"You think he planned this."

"I think Daniel plans everything."

That sentence stayed with Noah.

Several hours passed.

Most mourners were finally allowed to leave after giving statements.

Reporters gathered outside.

News of the living woman found inside Claire Whitmore's coffin had already leaked.

The Whitmore family attorneys arrived and immediately began trying to control the situation.

Victoria ignored them.

Noah sat alone in the front row.

He stared at the empty coffin.

His anger had faded.

What remained was fear.

If Claire wasn't dead, where was she?

And why had someone staged her funeral?

A shadow fell across him.

Mr. Bell, the funeral director, stood there.

He looked exhausted.

"Your mother was kind to me once," he said.

Noah looked up.

"What?"

"Two years ago. My wife had cancer. The Whitmore Foundation paid for a treatment insurance wouldn't cover."

Noah said nothing.

Mr. Bell glanced around.

"I should have checked."

"Checked what?"

"The identification."

Noah sat straighter.

"You never saw my mom?"

Mr. Bell shook his head.

"The body arrived sealed."

"From where?"

"A private medical facility."

"Which one?"

Mr. Bell hesitated.

"St. Catherine's."

Noah had never heard of it.

"Where is that?"

"About forty miles north."

Noah reached for his phone.

Mr. Bell caught his wrist.

"Don't."

Noah stared at him.

"Why?"

The funeral director's face had gone pale.

"Because St. Catherine's closed eleven years ago."

Noah felt the room become colder.

"Then who sent the coffin?"

"I don't know."

Mr. Bell looked toward the police.

"But there is something else."

He reached inside his jacket.

"I found this yesterday."

He handed Noah a small brass key.

A number had been engraved into it.

317.

"It was beneath the original coffin."

"The one that disappeared?"

Mr. Bell nodded.

"I assumed one of my employees dropped it."

Noah turned the key over.

There was something scratched into the metal.

Two letters.

CW.

Claire Whitmore.

Noah looked up.

"Did you show this to the police?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Mr. Bell looked ashamed.

"Because Daniel Whitmore called me last night."

Noah's heartbeat quickened.

"What did he say?"

"He told me that if I found anything unusual near the coffin, I was to contact him first."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Why?"

Mr. Bell stared toward the broken coffin.

"Because he offered me fifty thousand dollars."

Noah's fingers closed around the key.

"To do what?"

"To forget anything I saw."

Before Noah could respond, Detective Ortiz called his name.

"Noah."

He quickly slipped the key into his pocket.

Ortiz approached.

"We identified the woman from the coffin."

Victoria joined them.

"Who is she?"

Ortiz opened a folder.

"Her name is Dr. Evelyn Shaw."

Victoria's face went completely still.

Noah noticed.

"You know her."

"No."

It was a lie.

Noah knew immediately.

Detective Ortiz knew too.

"Dr. Shaw was an anesthesiologist," Ortiz continued. "She disappeared eight days ago."

"From where?" Noah asked.

Ortiz looked directly at Victoria.

"From a private clinic owned by the Whitmore Foundation."

Noah turned toward Victoria.

"You said you didn't know her."

"I don't."

"But you've heard her name."

Victoria remained silent.

Noah stood.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Her eyes moved toward the officers.

Then toward the reporters beyond the windows.

Finally, she looked at Noah.

"Your mother knew Evelyn."

"How?"

Victoria took a slow breath.

"They were investigating something together."

"What?"

"I don't know."

"You're lying again."

"Noah—"

"What were they investigating?"

Victoria's expression changed.

Fear replaced hesitation.

"Children."

Noah frowned.

"What children?"

"Children whose medical records shouldn't exist."

Before she could explain, Noah's phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

He looked down.

A text message.

There was a photograph attached.

Noah opened it.

His blood turned cold.

The photograph showed Claire.

Alive.

Sitting on the floor of a dark room.

Her wrists were bound.

A newspaper lay beside her.

Today's date was clearly visible.

Noah nearly dropped the phone.

"Mom..."

Victoria grabbed it.

"Oh my God."

Another message appeared.

NO POLICE.

Then another.

NO VICTORIA.

Then a third.

BRING THE KEY.

Noah's hand instinctively moved toward his pocket.

Victoria saw it.

"What key?"

He didn't answer.

The phone vibrated again.

A final photograph appeared.

This one wasn't of Claire.

It showed Noah himself.

Sitting in the funeral hall.

Taken less than ten seconds earlier.

Someone inside the building was watching him.