“Mama?”
Carla looked at him with something colder than anger. “You lied to both of us.”
And this time, Ron had no words left.
The next morning, I did not sit around and cry. I started making calls.
At the county office, I requested a certified copy of the death certificate.
The clerk slid it across the counter. “If you need additional copies, there’s a fee.”
“You lied to both of us.”
I studied it carefully. The coroner’s name was printed neatly, but the signature above it didn’t match the signature archived on the public record.
I looked up. “Who verifies these?”
The clerk hesitated.
“The funeral home submits documentation. The attending physician signs. After that, it’s processed.”
“Processed without checking the body?”
Her expression changed. “Ma’am, I don’t handle that.”
“Who verifies these?”
At the funeral home, the manager met me in his office.
“That case had special authorization,” he admitted when I pressed him. “The family requested no viewing. The paperwork was signed.”
“By who?”
He hesitated.
“The deceased’s aunt. A woman named Marlene.”
He hesitated.
“Did anyone confirm identity?”
“There was an accident report,” he said.
“But was there a body?” I asked plainly.
He went silent.
That was answer enough.
He went silent.
That evening, I drove to Marlene’s house. She opened the door and attempted a smile.
“Katie.”
