I won’t let them take her to the cemetery looking like this.”
Preston tried to object.
Deborah became hysterical.
Perfectly hysterical.
“Call Mr.
Harlan!
Tell him I want the funeral home to fix her before the burial!”
Ten minutes later, men rolled my coffin out of the house.
Everyone believed they were taking me away to repair the cosmetics on a corpse.
Only my mother knew the corpse was breathing.
1. THE DEAD WOMAN IN ROOM SIX
I woke again beneath fluorescent lights.
No coffin.
No flowers.
No prayers.
A heart monitor beeped beside me.
For a moment, I thought heaven had terrible lighting.
Then a woman in pale-blue scrubs leaned over me.
“Renee?”
I swallowed.
Pain scratched through my throat.
“Where…”
My voice sounded ancient.
“You’re safe.”
My mother appeared behind her.
She gripped the bedrail so tightly her knuckles were white.
I looked at her.
“Preston.”
Her face hardened.
“He thinks you’re underground.”
I stared.
“What?”
The doctor adjusted the IV.
“My name is Dr.
Mara Benson.
I work at this clinic with Mr.
Harlan’s sister.
Your mother brought you through the rear entrance approximately forty minutes ago.”
Images came back in fragments.
A coffin.
A dark van.
Hands lifting me.
Someone whispering.
Dr.
Benson continued.
“You were heavily sedated.
There are indications of another medication that suppressed your responsiveness and slowed your breathing.
It would have been dangerous even without anything else happening.”
“Could it make me look dead?”
“Not reliably.”
She exchanged a look with my mother.
“That’s the important part.”
I understood.
“They knew I wasn’t dead.”
Dr.
Benson nodded slowly.
“Whoever certified your death either did not examine you properly…”
She paused.
“…or did not intend to.”
My skin prickled.
“Who signed it?”
My mother answered.
“Dr.
Ellis Crane.”
I knew him.
Everyone in Ashport knew him.
He had delivered Sabine.
He had treated my mother’s blood pressure for years.
He played golf with Preston twice a month.
I tried to sit up.
The room spun violently.
Dr.
Benson pushed me gently back.
“No.”
“I need the police.”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
I looked at her.
She lowered her voice.
“Not yet.”
“My husband tried to bury me alive.”
“I know.”
“And Sabine—”
“I know what you heard.”
My breath caught.
“What I heard?”
My mother reached into her purse.
She removed her phone.
“When Julian said you moved, I turned on the recorder before I went near you.”
She tapped the screen.
Preston’s voice filled the room.
Faint.
Muffled.
But unmistakable.
The death certificate is already filed.
The insurance money will be released after the paperwork.
Then Sabine.
I was afraid she would notice the taste yesterday.
Then Preston.
I told you how much to put in.
My eyes closed.
Hearing it again was worse.
Dr.
Benson whispered, “Jesus.”
My mother stopped the recording.
“We have evidence.”
“Then why aren’t we at the police station?”
“Because Preston’s closest friend is Deputy Chief Nolan Weller.”
I knew that too.
They had grown up together.
Hunting trips.
Poker nights.
