Chapter 2 - ANSWER IT
The phone kept ringing.
Nobody in the funeral home moved.
Claire could hear it over everything.
The vibration against Margaret's palm.
The soft electronic chime.
Ethan's name.
Again.
Again.
Margaret whispered:
“Let go.”
Claire did not.
“Answer it.”
“Claire.”
“Answer it.”
Robert stepped closer.
“Not here.”
Claire looked at him.
“You say that one more time and I swear to God—”
The phone rang again.
Margaret's thumb hovered over the screen.
Then pressed Accept.
She put it to her ear.
Silence.
Claire watched every muscle in her face.
“Ethan?”
Nothing.
Margaret's eyes closed.
Then a man's recorded voice came through the speaker.
Ethan.
Claire knew it before she understood the words.
“Mom, if you're hearing this, I didn't cancel the call—”
Robert snatched the phone.
He ended it.
Claire stared.
Margaret turned on him.
“Robert!”
He shoved the phone into his pocket.
Claire lunged for it.
One of Ethan's uncles caught her shoulders.
“Claire.”
“Get off me!”
He released her immediately.
Good.
Claire pointed at Robert.
“Give me the phone.”
Robert's jaw hardened.
“It was a recording.”
“I heard that.”
“It proves nothing.”
“It proves my dead husband scheduled a call to his mother.”
The taller debt collector, who had remained near the doors, muttered:
“Interesting family.”
Robert turned.
“Get out.”
This time the funeral director arrived with two staff members.
The director, Leslie Warren, looked furious.
“You gentlemen need to leave now.”
The collector held up both hands.
“Our company has a valid claim.”
“You can pursue it through the estate.”
“We tried.”
Claire turned.
“What does that mean?”
The man looked at her.
“Your father-in-law refused service twice.”
Robert's expression changed.
Claire saw it.
“When?”
Robert said:
“Do not engage with him.”
The collector answered anyway.
“Monday and Wednesday.”
Ethan had died the previous Friday.
Robert had been blocking debt paperwork before the funeral.
Claire stared.
“Why?”
Robert said:
“Because you were barely sleeping.”
That answer was too familiar.
Everyone deciding what Claire could survive.
The funeral director escorted the collectors outside.
One of them turned before leaving.
“If you're the executor, call the number on the notice. Ask about Northfield.”
Claire went still.
Robert's eyes flashed.
The doors closed.
Northfield.
The name meant something.
Ethan's family owned an old industrial property outside Worcester.
Northfield Annex.
Claire had been there once.
A Christmas party fifteen years ago.
She remembered brick walls.
A steel mezzanine.
Robert complaining that developers kept trying to buy the place.
Claire looked at him.
“Northfield?”
“Not now.”
Margaret said:
“Robert, stop.”
He turned.
“Stop what?”
“Doing exactly what got us here.”
That was new.
Claire looked at her.
Margaret's eyes were wet.
Not with grief alone.
Claire held out her hand.
“My husband's phone call.”
Robert removed Margaret's phone from his pocket.
He handed it to Margaret instead.
Claire laughed.
“Unbelievable.”
Margaret unlocked it.
Opened recent calls.
There it was.
Ethan Carter.
Incoming.
Number beneath the contact name.
Claire frowned.
“That isn't his cell.”
Margaret looked at her.
Claire knew Ethan's number by heart.
This ended in 4408.
His personal phone ended in 7712.
“What number is that?”
Margaret whispered:
“His office line.”
Claire stared.
Robert said:
“He used an internet phone system for the company.”
“So he scheduled a recording.”
“Apparently.”
Claire looked at Margaret.
“What else did he say?”
“You heard what I heard.”
“No.”
Claire pointed toward Robert.
“He stopped it after nine words.”
Margaret looked down.
Claire noticed something else.
Three earlier calls from the same number.
All today.
8:02 a.m.
9:14.
10:40.
No answers.
“You already knew this was coming.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“You ignored three calls from Ethan's office.”
“I couldn't answer.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked toward the casket.
Robert said:
“Enough.”
Claire turned on him.
“Did Ethan die at Northfield?”
Robert froze.
That was not the question he'd expected.
Claire had not expected to ask it either.
Robert recovered.
“He died at a work property.”
“That isn't what you told me.”
“I said there was an accident.”
“You said Route Nine.”
“I said near Route Nine.”
Claire looked at Margaret.
“Where did he die?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Northfield.”
Claire stopped.
May you like
Her husband had been dead six days.
She had never once been told where.
