My stomach clenched. “What could it be? A sign? A flare?”
He shook his head. “It’s not a standard warning. That pattern matches a drone’s anti‑collision beacon.”
A cold knot settled in my throat. “A drone? Who would have one out here?”
“Only a few owners in this county have that model,” Marlowe replied, scrolling through a database. “It’s a rare, high‑frequency quad, custom‑painted silver. The registration is under the name ‘M. Harrow.’”
My mind scrambled. “M. Harrow… Melissa’s fiancé.”
He nodded. “Exactly. The same one who’s been lobbying the county board for the new drone‑flight corridor.”
“So the truck driver saw it, got distracted, and you think that caused the crash?”
“It’s a strong possibility,” Marlowe said, his eyes never leaving the screen. “The light was bright enough to blind a driver momentarily.”
I stared at the frozen image, the flashing object a tiny, malicious star in a sea of asphalt.
Section 4 – Confrontation at the Funeral Home
The funeral home’s hallway smelled of lilies and disinfectant, the muted sobs a backdrop to my pounding heart.
Melissa stood by the casket, her face a mask of grief, hands trembling around a folded program.
I stepped forward, voice low. “Melissa, we need to talk about the drone.”
She glanced up, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and guilt. “I… I didn’t mean for any of this.”
“You borrowed it for Claire’s sister’s birthday, right? The surprise you said would be a ‘sky lantern’ effect?”
She swallowed, tears spilling onto her cheek. “I thought it would be harmless, a little sparkle for the kids. I never imagined—”
“Never imagined what? That it would be in the line of sight of a truck driver on a busy highway?” I pressed, the ache in my chest sharpening.
Melissa’s shoulders shook. “I didn’t know anyone would be on that road that morning. I just—”
Her phone vibrated on the nearby table. She stared at the screen, pale. “Who’s calling?” she whispered.
She answered, and a cold, distorted voice cut through the hallway: “You know what you did, Claire.”
Her eyes widened in terror, then flicked to the ledger I had found hidden in my father’s desk earlier that day.
Before I could react, a hidden blade snapped from the desk’s underside, shredding the pages in a swift, silvery rush.
The sound of metal tearing was swallowed by a sudden, deafening gunshot echoing from the hallway.
Confrontation in the Family House
My fists were clenched around the old brass knob as I shoved the front door open.
“You have a second to explain,” I snapped, the hallway echoing with my breath.
Father stood behind the kitchen table, his eyes cold, his hands folded.
“Claire, you don’t understand—” he began, but I cut him off.
“Don’t. I’ve heard enough.”
He swallowed, the silence stretching like a held breath.
“We kept you away from the funeral because… because it served a purpose.”
His voice cracked like a dry leaf.
“Your sister’s fiancé—Mayor Halbrook—he’s the one who paid us.”
