Chapter 19 - Beatrice Without the Funeral Home
Beatrice was released before Derek.
She lived with her daughter in Richmond.
No funeral license.
No business.
She worked bookkeeping for a florist.
The irony almost felt scripted.
She requested meeting with me.
I refused.
Then Arthur asked.
WHY?
“Why what?”
NO MEET.
“I don’t want to.”
He nodded.
Later:
MAYBE SHE KNOWS MORE.
Police case closed regarding Clara.
Financial cases largely resolved.
“What more?”
Arthur shrugged.
Curiosity.
I eventually agreed to a thirty minute mediated conversation.
Beatrice looked older.
No black suit.
No funeral home composure.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“I want to tell you why I rushed burial.”
“I know. Vance.”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
“Teresa.”
My jaw tightened.
“She begged me.”
“For what?”
“To make everything finished before you came home.”
“Why?”
“She thought if you saw Clara, you’d ask questions.”
“That was true.”
“She also thought Lily would calm down once funeral happened.”
I stared.
“Calm down?”
“She kept saying children accept what adults make final.”
That sentence chilled me.
Close coffin.
Hold funeral.
Bury Clara.
Make the story irreversible.
That was Teresa’s mindset.
Not Vance’s only.
Beatrice continued.
“I knew it was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I kept telling myself burial wasn’t destroying evidence because hospital had records.”
“But you knew there were bruises.”
“Yes.”
“You knew fall was not unwitnessed.”
“Yes.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
Then:
“There was one thing I didn’t destroy.”
My body tightened.
“What?”
“A photograph.”
She slid a sealed envelope across table.
Nora opened.
Photo from Beatrice’s phone Monday night.
Taken accidentally? No, deliberately.
Clara on floor after fall.
No graphic detail.
Derek crouched nearby.
Vance standing at bottom of stairs.
Teresa against wall.
Arthur in wheelchair.
Timestamp 9:36.
“What is this?”
“I took it because I was afraid Vance would blame me.”
Of course.
Everyone collecting leverage.
“Why wasn’t it in evidence?”
“It was. My lawyer turned it over. But I kept authorized copy after case.”
“Why give me?”
“Because look at Arthur.”
Arthur’s left hand pointed toward something behind Vance.
A wall mirror.
In reflection, a small child.
Lily.
She had been at hallway corner.
Watching.
My stomach dropped.
We knew Lily saw aftermath.
Not how much.
The photo showed she saw Vance standing over Clara before ambulance.
That explained why she feared “boss man.”
I did not show Lily.
Not necessary.
The photo had already been evidence.
No new case.
No sequel.
Just one final understanding.
Lily’s memories were not imagination.
Every time adults told her she was confused, they were trying to overwrite something she had actually seen.
I left meeting.
May you like
Beatrice asked nothing.
Good.
