Chapter 13 - A Mother Without a GraveSamuel Wade had buried no one.
That was the fact that haunted him most.
For three years, his mother had existed in an impossible space between death and disappearance.
The police had told him she was missing.
Cross Harbor had described her as a possible victim of the fire.
Newspapers had mentioned her briefly, then stopped.
There had been no funeral because there was no confirmed body.
He had kept her bedroom untouched in the small family house where she'd lived for twenty-seven years.
Her winter coats still hung by the door.
Her reading glasses rested beside the kitchen window.
Every Christmas, Samuel placed a new photograph of his children on the mantel.
He couldn't bear to remove the old ones.
Now he sat opposite Detective Ortiz, staring at a photograph of the silver locket recovered from the annex.
"That's hers."
Ortiz waited.
Samuel swallowed.
"I gave it to her when she turned fifty."
"Can you identify the inscription?"
He repeated it from memory.
The detective wrote the words down.
"Do you have proof of purchase or photographs of your mother wearing it?"
Samuel nodded.
"My wife found the receipt. And there are photographs."
"That may help establish the locket's history."
Samuel looked at her.
"So the body was hers?"
Ortiz answered carefully.
"We believe the personal effects warrant a renewed identification investigation. The locket alone isn't enough to establish identity."
Samuel leaned forward.
"Then what happens?"
"The medical examiner is reexamining the original evidence. We're also comparing historical dental records. If necessary, the authorities can seek authorization for additional examination of the remains."
Samuel stared at his hands.
"I want my mother home."
Ortiz's voice softened.
"I understand."
"No, you don't."
The words came out sharper than he intended.
He looked up.
"I'm sorry."
Ortiz shook her head.
"You don't have to apologize for wanting answers."
Samuel swallowed hard.
"I used to be angry at her."
"Why?"
"Because I thought maybe she'd run away."
He stared toward the window.
"I knew she wouldn't abandon us. But after enough years, your mind starts looking for explanations that hurt less than having no explanation at all."
Ortiz closed the file.
"We'll follow the evidence."
Samuel nodded.
Then he placed another object on the table.
A small photograph of his mother standing outside the records annex.
On the back was a handwritten date.
August 10, 2023.
One week before the fire.
"She took that picture because she'd finally found proof of the missing money."
Ortiz examined it.
"What proof?"
Samuel pointed toward a black metal filing cabinet visible through the window.
"She said the second ledger was in there."
Ortiz looked up.
"Did she tell you who kept the ledger?"
"She said Elise did."
The detective made a note.
"And you have reason to believe the cabinet still exists?"
Samuel hesitated.
"Someone told me it was moved after the fire."
"Who?"
"An old employee. He saw movers loading it into a truck at the Cross estate."
Ortiz leaned forward.
"Do you know his name?"
"Martin Doyle."
The same maintenance worker who had found Elise.
Ortiz's expression sharpened.
Later that afternoon, Samuel drove to the cemetery where Elise Cross was supposedly buried.
The grave stood beneath a white marble angel.
The headstone read:
ELISE HARLOW CROSS
1989–2023
BELOVED WIFE. DEVOTED FRIEND.
Samuel stood before it for a long time.
He imagined the years his mother had spent working at the annex.
The endless cups of coffee.
The way she'd scolded him for leaving dishes in the sink.
The small Christmas presents she bought for every neighbor's child.
Then he looked at the words on the grave.
Beloved Wife.
He thought of Julian Cross standing at the funeral, accepting condolences.
Had he known?
Had the man who embraced grieving guests been aware that his wife was alive?
Samuel's anger became something colder.
His phone rang.
It was Marisol.
"Sam, are you coming home?"
"Not yet."
"The children are asking for you."
He closed his eyes.
"I'll be there soon."
She hesitated.
"Did they tell you anything?"
"They're reopening the identification."
"Oh, Sam."
He stared at the marble angel.
"I might finally be able to bring her home."
When he ended the call, he noticed an elderly groundskeeper approaching with a watering can.
The man stopped several feet away.
"You're Mrs. Wade's boy?"
Samuel turned.
"Yes."
The groundskeeper looked at the headstone.
"I remember that funeral."
Samuel waited.
"Lots of important people. Fancy cars. Reporters outside."
"Why are you telling me?"
The groundskeeper hesitated.
"Something bothered me afterward."
"What?"
"Two men came back that evening."
Samuel went still.
"Who?"
"One was the husband. The other was younger, wearing a dark coat."
"Are you sure it was Julian Cross?"
"I remember his face."
"What did they do?"
The old man looked uncomfortable.
"They stood at the grave for about ten minutes. The younger man kept looking around."
"And?"
The groundskeeper lowered his voice.
"The husband said something."
Samuel felt his heart beginning to pound.
"What did he say?"
May you like
The man stared at the name carved into the stone.
"He said, 'This had better be the end of it.'"
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