Chapter 3 - Someone Inside the Funeral Hall

Noah looked up from the photograph and realized that almost anyone in the room could have taken it.

Police officers moved between rows of chairs.

Funeral employees carried equipment through the side corridors.

Whitmore security guards stood near the exits.

Lawyers whispered beside the marble columns.

Even a few mourners remained, waiting to be questioned.

Somebody among them had photographed Noah less than ten seconds earlier.

And that person knew about the key in his pocket.

"Don't move," Victoria whispered.

Noah stared at her.

"What?"

"Whoever sent that message may be watching to see what you do."

His fingers were still touching the small brass key through the fabric of his hoodie.

He quickly lowered his hand.

Victoria looked around without turning her head too obviously.

"Show me the messages again."

Noah held out the phone.

She read them.

NO POLICE.

NO VICTORIA.

BRING THE KEY.

Her expression hardened.

"They know you're with me."

"They know about the key."

"What key?"

Noah hesitated.

Mr. Bell had trusted him.

But the photograph changed everything.

He reached into his pocket and opened his hand.

The brass key lay across his palm.

Victoria stared at the engraved number.

317.

Then she saw the letters scratched into the back.

CW.

Her face changed.

"Where did you get this?"

"Mr. Bell found it under the original coffin."

"The original coffin?"

"The one that disappeared."

Victoria took the key.

For several seconds she said nothing.

"You've seen it before," Noah said.

"No."

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"Lying before you've decided what lie you're going to tell."

Victoria looked at him sharply.

Under different circumstances, she might have been offended.

Instead, she almost smiled.

Almost.

Then the expression vanished.

"Claire used the number 317."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I have."

Noah reached for the key.

Victoria didn't immediately return it.

"Your mother once asked me whether Daniel still owned a storage facility downtown."

"What does that have to do with 317?"

"I don't know yet."

Noah took the key back.

"Then I'll find out."

"No. You will give it to Detective Ortiz."

The phone vibrated.

Both of them froze.

A new message appeared.

SMART BOY.

Then:

DON'T GIVE HER THE KEY.

Victoria's face drained of color.

The sender wasn't merely watching them.

They were close enough to see what was happening.

Noah slowly scanned the room.

"Don't," Victoria whispered.

"Why?"

"If they realize we know they're here, they may leave."

"Maybe they already know."

A thought struck him.

The photograph had been taken from above.

He opened it again and zoomed in.

The angle showed the top of his head and part of Victoria's shoulder.

Noah looked upward.

The funeral hall had a second-floor balcony running along three sides of the room.

Most of it was hidden behind decorative railings and heavy curtains.

"Victoria."

She followed his eyes.

A curtain moved.

Just once.

Noah ran.

"Noah!"

He sprinted between the rows of chairs.

A police officer shouted for him to stop.

Noah ignored him.

He reached the staircase and took the steps two at a time.

Behind him came footsteps.

Victoria.

Then Detective Ortiz.

"What's happening?" Ortiz shouted.

Noah reached the balcony.

Empty.

He ran toward the curtain.

Something crashed behind it.

He pulled the fabric aside.

A service door was swinging shut.

"There!"

Ortiz passed him.

She drew her weapon.

"Police! Stop!"

Footsteps thundered down the narrow corridor.

Noah followed.

"Noah, stay back!" Victoria yelled.

He didn't.

The corridor turned sharply.

Ortiz disappeared around the corner.

Then came a shout.

A door slammed.

By the time Noah reached the end, Ortiz was standing beside an open emergency exit.

Outside, an alley ran behind the funeral home.

Empty.

"They're gone," Ortiz said.

Noah bent forward, breathing hard.

Something lay near his shoe.

A phone.

Cheap.

Black.

Its screen was cracked.

Ortiz immediately stopped him from touching it.

"Leave it."

She put on gloves and picked it up.

The screen was still illuminated.

One photograph was open.

Noah recognized himself.

The same image he had received.

"We found our photographer," Victoria said.

"No," Ortiz replied. "We found their phone."

She examined the corridor.

"Whoever was here knew exactly how to leave."

A technician took the phone.

Ortiz turned to Noah.

"Now tell me why you ran upstairs."

Noah looked at Victoria.

She said nothing.

He pulled out the key.

Ortiz stared at it.

"Where did you get that?"

Noah explained.

Including Mr. Bell.

Including Daniel's offer of fifty thousand dollars.

Ortiz listened without interrupting.

When Noah finished, she took the key.

"You should have given me this immediately."

"Can you find out what it opens?"

"That's the plan."

Noah held out his hand.

"I want it back."

"No."

"But it's Mom's."

"It's evidence."

"You'll lose it."

Ortiz's expression tightened.

"I don't lose evidence."

Noah looked at the discarded phone being placed inside a bag.

"People around here seem to lose a lot of things."

Victoria turned away to hide a reaction.

Ortiz was less amused.

"Your mother is missing. A kidnapped doctor was found inside her coffin. Her husband has disappeared. Someone is sending you threats. This is no longer something you investigate yourself."

"They're not threats."

Ortiz looked at him.

"What?"

"They're instructions."

"That's worse."

Noah hadn't thought about it that way.

Ortiz crouched until they were at eye level.

"If whoever took your mother contacts you again, you tell me immediately."

"But they said no police."

"Kidnappers usually do."

"They'll hurt her."

"Maybe."

The word hit him.

Victoria interrupted.

"Detective."

"No. He needs to understand."

Ortiz kept looking at Noah.

"The person messaging you knows you're thirteen. They're using your fear to control you. If they ask you to go somewhere, you don't go. If they tell you to bring something, you don't bring it. You come to me."

Noah said nothing.

"Promise me."

He thought about the photograph of Claire.

Her bound wrists.

Her frightened face.

"I promise."

It was the first deliberate lie Noah told that day.

Two hours later, he was at the hospital.

Dr. Evelyn Shaw remained unconscious.

Doctors had found sedatives in her system, but they couldn't yet determine what she had been given or how long she had been confined.

Police placed an officer outside her room.

Noah wasn't supposed to see her.

Victoria persuaded them otherwise.

Through the glass, Noah watched Evelyn sleeping beneath a thin hospital blanket.

Without the funeral makeup someone had applied to her face, she looked younger than he'd expected.

Maybe thirty-five.

There were bruises around both wrists.

"Why did she know my name?" Noah asked.

Victoria stood beside him.

"Claire probably told her about you."

"Why?"

"Because you're her son."

"She didn't tell Daniel about everything."

Victoria looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

Noah remembered something.

Three weeks earlier, Claire had come to his grandmother's apartment unexpectedly.

She had been nervous.

She kept checking the street from the window.

Before leaving, she had hugged Noah for much longer than usual.

Then she gave him an old photograph.

Claire was perhaps nineteen in it.

She stood beside a younger Victoria.

Between them was another girl Noah didn't recognize.

On the back, Claire had written:

SOME FAMILIES ARE CHOSEN.

Noah had assumed she was being sentimental.

Now he wasn't sure.

"Nothing," he said.

Victoria studied him.

He had inherited his mother's inability to lie convincingly.

But before she could question him, Detective Ortiz approached.

"We traced the phone."

Noah turned.

"To who?"

"No one. Prepaid. Purchased with cash."

"Then we're stuck."

"Not exactly."

Ortiz showed them a map.

"The phone connected to the funeral home's Wi-Fi."

Victoria frowned.

"Why would someone hiding use the Wi-Fi?"

"They didn't."

Ortiz enlarged the screen.

"The device had connected automatically."

Noah understood first.

"It had been there before."

Ortiz nodded.

"At least six times."

"Whose phone was it?"

"We're checking security footage."

A uniformed officer approached Ortiz and whispered something.

Her expression changed.

"What?"

The officer handed her a tablet.

Ortiz watched.

Then replayed the footage.

Victoria stepped closer.

"What is it?"

Ortiz turned the tablet toward them.

Security footage from four days earlier showed the funeral home's rear entrance.

Timestamp: 2:14 a.m.

A hooded figure entered.

The face was hidden.

But the person used an electronic access card.

Mr. Bell had already confirmed only seven employees possessed one.

Ortiz advanced the footage.

Three minutes later, another camera captured the same person pushing something through the corridor.

A coffin.

The white coffin.

Noah felt sick.

"That's the coffin from today."

"Yes."

The figure stopped beneath a camera.

For a moment, the hood shifted.

The face became visible.

Victoria grabbed the edge of the table.

"No."

Noah stared.

He had seen the man before.

At Christmas dinners.

At charity events.

Standing silently behind Daniel.

"Who is that?" Noah asked.

Victoria didn't answer.

Ortiz did.

"Thomas Whitmore."

Noah looked at Victoria.

"Your father?"

Victoria's voice was barely audible.

"My father died six years ago."

The corridor became silent.

Ortiz enlarged the image.

The man's face was unmistakable.

Older than Noah remembered from photographs.

Thinner.

But alive.

Thomas Whitmore.

Daniel and Victoria's father.

The billionaire patriarch whose death had transferred control of the Whitmore empire to his son.

Noah's phone vibrated.

He pulled it out.

Unknown number.

A single message appeared.

THE POLICE HAVE THE WRONG KEY.

Then another.

ASK VICTORIA WHAT HAPPENED IN ROOM 317.

Noah slowly looked at her.

Victoria had already seen the message.

Her expression told him everything.

"You know what Room 317 is."

"Noah—"

"Tell me."

She closed her eyes.

When she opened them, the confident woman in the emerald dress seemed to have disappeared.

"Room 317 was at St. Catherine's."

The abandoned medical facility.

Noah's throat tightened.

"What happened there?"

Victoria looked through the glass at Evelyn Shaw.

Then she whispered:

"That's where your mother gave birth."

Noah stared at her.

"To me?"

Victoria shook her head.

"No."

A terrible silence opened between them.

Noah felt suddenly unable to breathe.

Victoria reached for him.

He stepped back.

"If it wasn't me..."

His voice broke.

"...then who did my mother give birth to in Room 317?"

Victoria didn't answer.

Because inside the hospital room, Dr. Evelyn Shaw had opened her eyes.

She was staring directly at Noah.

And with a trembling finger, she began writing two words against the fogged glass.

YOUR SISTER.