Earl had known my mother for years. A decade earlier, she had arranged and prepaid for her own funeral at Meadow Rest, listing every detail herself because she was the kind of woman who never liked leaving important things to chance.
He stood beside me silently for a moment while the pastor continued speaking.
Then he leaned closer.
“Ms. Carter,” he whispered, “your mother paid me to bury an empty coffin.” DNAtest kits
For a second, I thought grief had twisted his words inside my head.
“What?” I whispered.
Earl did not smile.
He slipped something cold into my hand.
A small brass key.
The tag read: Unit 16.
“Don’t go home,” he said quietly. “Go to Safelock Storage. Unit 16. Right now.”
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed.
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