Chapter 9 - The Ghost in the Chapel
Thursday morning broke over Chicago in a thick, suffocating gray fog. Rain drizzled against the stained-glass windows of St. Jude’s Memorial Chapel.
At 1:00 PM—one hour before the guests were scheduled to arrive—the chapel was dead silent.
The heavy scent of white lilies and funeral carnations hung thick in the air, sickeningly sweet. At the front of the nave stood a gleaming, dark mahogany casket, surrounded by elaborate floral arrangements.
The largest arrangement, shaped like a bleeding heart, sat directly behind the casket. The satin ribbon across it read: *To My Eternal Soulmate – Ethan.*
Behind the velvet curtain of the private family viewing alcove, I stood in the shadows.
I was dressed in a tailored black suit, my hair pinned up beneath a black mourning veil that obscured my face. Marcus stood two paces behind me, an earpiece humming in his ear, monitoring the exterior cameras.
"Ethan and Diane just pulled into the private family parking lot," Marcus whispered. "Jennifer is with them. She insisted on coming."
"She wouldn't miss her victory lap," I murmured.
"County sheriff and federal postal inspectors are staged two blocks away," Marcus said. "Your father is in the surveillance van with the U.S. Attorney. The moment you give the signal, they move."
"Not yet," I said. "I want to hear them say it to my face."
The heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel clicked open.
Footsteps echoed on the marble floor.
Ethan walked in first, wearing a tailored charcoal suit with a black silk tie. He walked with a slight, theatrical slump, his head bowed, dabbing at the dry corner of his eye with a linen handkerchief. Beside him walked Diane, wearing a lavish black mink coat and oversized designer sunglasses, looking more like an actress at a movie premiere than a grieving mother-in-law.
Behind them slunk Jennifer. She wore a high-collared black dress, her hair styled strategically to hide the white bandage taped over her left cheekbone.
They walked slowly down the center aisle toward the closed casket.
"Make sure the doors are locked, Ethan," Diane whispered, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "We don't need the pastor walking in while we discuss business."
Ethan turned back, locked the heavy double doors, and walked up to the altar. He stood before the casket and placed a hand on the polished wood.
The mournful expression dropped from his face like a mask hitting the floor.
A broad, smug grin stretched across his lips.
"Well, Claire," Ethan chuckled softly, tapping the mahogany lid with his knuckles. "You were stubborn to the very end. But in forty-eight hours, you’ll be sitting in an urn on the mantel, and three point two million will be sitting in my Cayman account."
"Did Hanover Life confirm the wire?" Diane asked, stepping up beside him and admiring the floral wreaths.
"Preliminary approval came through an hour ago," Ethan said, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Once the funeral home uploads the cremation certificate this afternoon, the funds release at 9:00 AM tomorrow."
"And my cut?" Jennifer asked, stepping forward, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. "You swore I'd have the transfer confirmation today, Ethan."
"You'll get your money when I get mine, Jennifer!" Ethan snapped, turning on her with a vicious scowl. "Stop acting like a hysterical lunatic! You almost ruined everything at the hospital! If Claire had lived another twelve hours, she would have told the morning attending physician about you attacking her!"
"She didn't tell anyone, did she?" Jennifer snapped back. "She's dead! In that box! Because of *my* thallium! You couldn't even look her in the eyes when she was dying, Ethan! You're a coward who hid behind his mommy while I did the dirty work!"
"Don't you dare speak to him like that!" Diane snarled, stepping into Jennifer’s face. "You were paid ten thousand dollars upfront, you little pharmacy tramp! You'll take whatever Ethan decides to give you, or we will hand Dr. Sterling’s private logs over to the police and pin the entire poisoning on you!"
Jennifer froze. Her eyes went wide with pure fury. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try us," Diane whispered with venomous delight. "We have the money, we have the lawyers, and we have the social standing. Who are they going to believe? A grieving widower and his philanthropic mother, or a fired pharmacy tech with a history of stealing narcotics?"
I stepped out from behind the velvet curtain.
May you like
"Actually, Diane," I said, my voice ringing clear and steady through the acoustic perfection of the chapel. "I think they're going to believe the corpse."
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