Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
The service is long, and so many people get up to speak about what a wonderful man Sullivan Fox was. Mira doesn’t give a eulogy, but Ethan does and when he takes a moment to wipe his eyes, I remember the Ethan that stood outside the house a few days ago, hoodie over his head, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. His eyes bloodshot from crying. But he pulls himself together quickly and soon the speeches are over, and I’m relieved because the church suddenly feels stifling.
The closing of the casket sends a shudder through me. It’s over for Sullivan Fox. The end. It’s a strange reality that will come for all of us.
My dad looks at me with eyebrows raised, and I realize I shed a tear. I wipe it away and we all stand as the priest gives his final blessing and tells us to follow the procession to the cemetery behind the church. The pallbearers carry the coffin down the aisle and toward the double doors of the church. Mira and Ethan follow, and people fall in line as they pass their pews.
I put my coat on as our pew empties into the aisle and once we’re outside, I expect Silas to be there waiting for me, but he’s not. I wonder if they asked him to leave the grounds altogether as I share my father’s umbrella to walk to the burial site. We’re a few feet away when I hear someone excusing himself and turn to find Hamish heading toward us.
“Hamish?”
“Mrs. Cruz. Mr. Cruz asked me to take you home.”
“Where is he?”
“He was called away, but I’ll take you home. Now,” he says, and the look on his face tells me there will be no arguing.
We step out of the way of others, and I call Silas, who answers on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“Nigella needed me. There may be something.”
“What?”
“Not sure yet but I’ll tell you when I see you. Hamish should be there. I sent you a text. You didn’t see it?”
“My phone was silenced during the service, and I hadn’t looked, but Hamish is here.”
“Good. Go home with him, Ophelia. Please.”
“Okay.” I didn’t want to see the burial anyway, honestly. “But you’re going to explain everything when you’re home once and for all. Agreed?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. Agreed.”
I disconnect.
“Come on, Phee. It’s over. Let’s go,” Dad says.
I glance at the grave site and am glad Ethan and Mira are talking to someone and slip away, into the SUV with Hamish with my dad following us to the brownstone.
32
SILAS
Iwalk out of that church, not caring about the dozens of eyes on my back, not hearing their whispers and theories about the illegitimate son over the sound of the organ. I call Nigella as soon as I’m out the doors, not even caring about the rain as I make my way to the SUV.
“Nigella. What did they find?”
“He won’t say over the phone. I sent you the location. Did you get that?”
“I have it. It’s a half hour the wrong way from Boston. Can’t they just send me the video?”
“No. It’s deemed sensitive. He’s giving us a heads up before he calls that idiot detective, and that’s thanks to my charm.”
“Or my money.”
“Yeah, probably that.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m headed out to their building now. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there.”
Between people driving like idiots in the rain and general traffic, it takes me forty-five minutes to get to the address Nigella texted. It’s an obscure space housed in a squat building that looks like it should have been taken down about a decade ago. From a decal on the wall, it used to be a tire company.
There are only a few cars in the lot, and I park beside Nigella’s Bentley, which looks entirely out of place. I hurry to the nearest door where I’m greeted by Nigella who is waiting for me in a makeshift lobby that smells like rubber.
She looks like she’s taking care not to touch anything.
“This was the only place that could do this?” I ask, not really knowing her contacts, usually pleased just to have the results.
“It’s footage from an open murder investigation. You can imagine people aren’t jumping up screaming ‘pick me’ to break the law. This way.”
I walk beside her down a hall where the overhead fluorescent flashes annoyingly. “But these guys are going to turn it in?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Who knows?” We turn a corner, and she opens a door. “Aaron, this is Silas Cruz. You’ll recognize his name from the hefty bank deposit, I’m sure.”
Aaron, a nerdy, lanky guy who smells vaguely of hot dogs stands up and extends his hand. I shake it because it would be rude not to.
“Aaron. I guess you were able to clean up the video?”
“I was. It took some doing and no way the people the Boston PD work with could have done it. It’s good you brought it to me.”