“Jeez,” Eustace muttered. “How big is it in there?”
But Cordelia was fixated on the open gates and her deep need to know what lay inside, the hum radiating up her spine clashing with the pain behind her eyes. She wanted to enter; and she wanted to run. Her foot rose to the first step, and Eustace yanked on her arm, but Cordelia shook her off as she climbed.
Then Gordon appeared in the doorway, wide as a boulder, ushering her back down. “I’m sorry. The rest must be carried out privately.”
Behind him, Arkin and the other man emerged, the first rays of morning sun breaking over the hill. Only Bennett remained behind, the heavy doors closing over his secrets as Gordon pulled them to.
“But we’re family,” Eustace insisted.
“This is how The White Lady wants it,” he assured them.
Cordelia took a step back, still hovering on the stairs, her eyes drawn to the darkness beyond. Whatever Mr. Togers was doing in there, she felt it like the pull of a magnet. It called to her—this place, this day, this moment—like the tingle she’d felt after the bathroom door exploded. The birds began to circle the hill.
“You can go back to the house,” Gordon told them. “I’ll wait here for the stonemason to come and seal the burial shelf.”
But Cordelia couldn’t bring herself to leave. She didn’t like being shut out of her family’s crypt by this man who seemed to know their history better than they did, even if he was carrying out her aunt’s final wishes. She didn’t like that so little hadbeen disclosed to them beyond the funeral march. She didn’t like that he controlled the trust and the estate, holding them there like some kind of warden. And she didn’t like that he was in there with her aunt now, doing God knows what. It was morbid. And strange. It didn’t fit in the real world. Like they were witnessing—ornotwitnessing—some ancient rite handed down through generations. And off-putting as it all was, it was alsohers.And it called to that part of her she knew was inside, buried under a mound of resistance.
Something slammed against the inside of her skull, and her pulse quickened. Cordelia bolted past Gordon for the doors, swinging one wide as she stumbled inward. Straining to focus, she could just make out the shape of Bennett Togers near the far-left wall. His arms rose as he muttered something she couldn’t hear.
“What are you doing?” she called, stumbling forward. She felt drunk, affected. Inside the cool, stone cavity, the thing thrashing in her head calmed.
His arms dropped as he spun around, a white blade clattering to the floor. “Get out,” he hissed, wholly unlike himself. “You don’t belong here!”
Gordon rushed in behind her, grabbing her by an elbow as Eustace stood in the door.
“He has a knife!” Cordelia told them, pointing to where the dagger had fallen, though she didn’t see it now. It was only then she noticed the birdcage, the trio of doves. She couldn’t stop picturing the flesh ripped from her mother’s chest. Cordelia shook her head. “What’s going on? What are you doing to her?”
“I’m sorry,” Gordon told the attorney. “She bum-rushed me.”
Bennett schooled himself, approaching Cordelia with a suddenly placating expression. “Your family, Ms. Bone, is very old. It has customs for the deceased. Customs you may not understand. Customs it is not for us to judge. Customs you are not trained to carry out.”
“But you are?” Cordelia questioned, shaking all over.
“Indeed,” he said coolly. “Your aunt saw to it herself, knowing that your upbringing made you strangers to this place and its ways. It’s not your fault,” he said now, patronizing. “You are but a product of your mother’s foolhardy choices.”
“Hey!” Eustace objected, taking a step forward.
Bennetttsked, placing a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “Now, now. We mustn’t question your aunt’s authority. Even Mr. Jablonski understands. Don’t you, Gordon? He was a witness, you see.”
Cordelia turned to Gordon, who raised both palms in peace. “Your aunt called me to witness her giving her final wishes to Togers—sealed.All I know is that I was to be a pallbearer, and that no one, except the stonemason and Togers himself, should be permitted entry to the crypt.”
“Cordy,” Eustace said, reaching for her. “Come on. If the man wants privacy so he can put our aunt’s body to rest, we’ll give it to him.”
Cordelia rounded on her, shocked after all of Eustace’s outrage over their mother’s death, her burning speech the day before about putting the pieces together.
“She’s already dead,” Eustace said, tugging on Cordelia’s arm. But as Cordelia allowed herself to be pulled away, Eustace leaned down and whispered where only she could hear, “We’ll come back. Tonight.”
CHAPTER NINETHEDINNER
CORDELIA FELT SUDDENLYexhausted upon returning to the house. Normally, getting up at 5A.M.wouldn’t be a problem for her. All she could think was that the confrontation at the crypt, the surrealness of the morning, had drained her.
“I’m famished,” Eustace exclaimed as they trudged into the kitchen. “I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks.”
Cordelia eyed her sister. “Yeah, well, I don’t think I can hold my eyes open a moment longer. I’m so tired I can barely stand.”
Eustace was already rummaging through the pantry like a hog rooting for food. She poked her head out, a box of Danish biscuits in one hand. “You go rest,” she said, pupils dilating as she bit into her first cookie. “I am going to prepare a feast in honor of our aunt!”
Cordelia looked at her strangely. “You?Cook?Your idea ofepicureanis adding cannabutter to your Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.”
