Chapter 3 - A Widow at Midnight
June did not touch the ring.
Cormac did.
He picked it up, examined the engraving, and his expression darkened.
J + R. 1999.
June had chosen the engraving herself.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
Declan smiled.
“You should ask the funeral home.”
Cormac’s men moved closer.
Declan remained relaxed.
“If I don’t leave this diner in ten minutes, several unpleasant things happen automatically.”
Cormac sat opposite him.
“You always did enjoy theater.”
“And you always underestimated preparation.”
June leaned over the table.
“My husband.”
Declan looked at her.
For the first time, his smile faded.
“Raymond discovered something he shouldn’t have.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
Cormac watched Declan carefully.
June believed the answer.
Not because she trusted him.
Because men like Declan enjoyed owning fear. If he had killed Ray, he would have wanted her to know.
“Then why do you have his ring?”
“To prove his grave won’t give you answers.”
June’s skin went cold.
Declan stood.
“Midnight. Union Station. Come alone.”
Cormac laughed softly.
“No.”
Declan looked at June.
“I wasn’t inviting you.”
He walked out.
Cormac immediately ordered two men after him.
June stared at the ring.
“You’re not going,” Cormac said.
She looked up.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“Neither was mine.”
June spent the next twelve hours pretending she was not planning to disobey him.
At eleven-thirty that night, she climbed out her bedroom window.
She made it half a block.
Cormac was leaning against a black sedan.
June stopped.
“You’re irritating.”
“So I’m told.”
“How did you know?”
“You left your kitchen light on.”
“So?”
“People leaving secretly turn lights off.”
June glared at him.
“Get in.”
“No.”
“June.”
“I was specifically told to come alone.”
Cormac opened the passenger door.
“You are alone.”
She looked at him.
“I’m your driver.”
Despite herself, June laughed.
It was the first real laugh since Ray died.
Cormac stared at her.
June’s smile disappeared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
He looked away.
“I’d forgotten what that sounded like.”
The words landed between them.
June climbed into the car.
Union Station was nearly empty at midnight.
Declan wasn’t there.
A locker key waited beneath a bench.
Locker 214 contained a photograph.
Ray.
Alive.
The date printed on it was three days after his funeral.
June’s legs nearly failed.
Cormac caught her.
“That’s impossible.”
June touched the photograph.
Ray stood outside a motel.
Beside him was a woman.
June turned the picture over.
One sentence was written on the back.
YOUR HUSBAND DIDN’T DIE IN YOUR KITCHEN.
June stared at Cormac.
“I saw him.”
“You saw a body.”
“I held him.”
“I know.”
“I identified him.”
“I know.”
Rage replaced shock.
“What do you know?”
Cormac’s silence was answer enough.
June stepped backward.
“You knew.”
“Not until tonight.”
“Liar.”
“I suspected something about the death report was wrong.”
“You let me bury him.”
Cormac’s voice hardened.
“I did not know he was alive.”
June slapped him.
The sound echoed through the station.
Cormac didn’t move.
June’s hand trembled.
“I’m sorry.”
“I deserved that.”
“No. You probably deserved worse.”
“Also true.”
A public-address speaker crackled.
Then Ray’s voice filled the empty concourse.
“June.”
She froze.
Cormac reached for his weapon.
“June, if you’re hearing this, don’t trust the photograph.”
Recorded.
Not live.
She looked upward.
Ray continued.
“Someone wants you to believe I ran. I didn’t.”
June’s eyes filled.
“I made mistakes. Terrible ones. But leaving you wasn’t one of them.”
A locker clicked open across the concourse.
Cormac moved first.
Inside was another envelope.
June opened it.
A death certificate.
Not Ray’s.
Evelyn Riley.
Cormac’s wife.
Cause of death: automobile accident.
But someone had circled the medical examiner’s signature.
June looked at him.
“Why would Ray leave this?”
Cormac stared at the signature.
“Because this doctor died twelve years ago.”
Evelyn’s certificate had been signed eight years ago.
June felt the pieces shifting.
“Your wife’s death certificate was forged.”
Cormac’s face had gone pale.
Before he could answer, June’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
Holloway House Diner.
Taken seconds earlier.
The lights were on.
June had left it dark.
A second message arrived.
WE FOUND WHAT RAY HID.
Then came a live video.
Someone was walking through her diner.
Past the counter.
Into the kitchen.
Toward the basement.
The camera stopped at table twelve.
May you like
A hand reached underneath it.
And from somewhere behind the person filming, a woman whispered Cormac’s name.
