“My mother was buried there. I was nine. I’m trying to understand why there isn’t a record of her death.”
Martin became quiet.
Then he said, “Miss Whitlock, I think you should contact the state vital records office before drawing any conclusions.”
She agreed.
But she was already drawing them.
The Pennsylvania vital records response arrived eight days later.
There was no certified death record matching Marianne Elise Whitlock, born June 14, 1980, under her married name, maiden name, or the identifying information Audrey had provided for the supposed 2015 accident.
The letter explained that the search did not establish whether a death had occurred in another jurisdiction.
Audrey read that sentence three times.
Then she searched for accident reports from the date.
She found nothing that matched.
She contacted the state police records division.
There was no report under the case information her father remembered.
She requested the archived funeral paperwork.
And when Martin Keene finally called, his voice was different.
“Miss Whitlock, we found the original file.”
Audrey was sitting on her dorm-room bed.
“Okay.”
“The arrangements were paid for by a woman named Caroline Bellamy.”
Her aunt.
Audrey went still.
“Caroline was my mother’s sister.”
“I see.”
“What else?”
“The service was memorial-only.”
Audrey frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“There was no transfer of remains through our facility.”
She stared.
“But there was a coffin.”
“According to the invoice, a closed ceremonial casket was supplied by an outside vendor.”
Audrey felt the blood drain from her face.
“You’re saying it was empty?”
“I can’t establish what was inside it.”
“Then why was there a coffin?”
“That would be a question for whoever arranged the service.”
Audrey looked toward the window.
Students were crossing the courtyard with backpacks and coffee cups.
She could hear someone laughing in the hallway.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She ended the call.
Then she called her aunt.
Caroline Bellamy answered immediately.
“Audrey, sweetheart. What a lovely surprise.”
Audrey stared at the wall.
“Aunt Caroline.”
“Everything okay?”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Why did you arrange Mom’s funeral?”
Silence.
Then Caroline said, “What?”
“The funeral home told me you paid for it.”
A pause.
“Well, yes. Your father was in no condition to handle everything.”
“Why didn’t Dad know?”
“He knew we helped.”
Audrey swallowed.
“Was there a body?”
Caroline said nothing.
“Aunt Caroline.”
“Audrey, what on earth has brought this on?”
“Was there a body in my mother’s coffin?”
Caroline inhaled sharply.
“Of course there was.”
“Then why doesn’t the funeral home have a record of receiving one?”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Eleven years.”
“Exactly.”
Audrey stood.
“Where is her death certificate?”
“Your father must have it.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then request another.”
“I did.”
Caroline was silent.