At the funeral home, the manager met me in his office.
“That case had special authorization,” he admitted when I pressed him. “The family requested no viewing. The paperwork was signed.”
“By who?”
He hesitated.
“The deceased’s aunt. A woman named Marlene.”
He hesitated.
“Did anyone confirm identity?”
“There was an accident report,” he said.
“But was there a body?” I asked plainly.
He went silent.
That was answer enough.
He went silent.
That evening, I drove to Marlene’s house. She opened the door and attempted a smile.
“Katie.”
“You forged documents,” I said. “You signed off on a closed casket without verification. You submitted paperwork to the county.”
Her composure slipped immediately. “We were protecting him.”
“You falsified a death, Marlene. Don’t you see the problem with that?”
“We were protecting him.”
“He would have gone to prison,” she snapped.
“And now?” I asked. “Now he will. And so will you.”
Her front door creaked behind her. A woman from across the street, church hair, Sunday cardigan, paused on her porch and stared.
Marlene’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Katie, please. Katie, you wouldn’t.”
“And now?”
“I already spoke to the county clerk,” I replied, “and the funeral director. This is insurance fraud, identity fraud, and filing false documents with the state.”
Her face drained of color.
“You involved me in a crime without my knowledge,” I continued. “Collectors came after me because legally, I was his widow. I lost my home, and you left me to clean up the financial wreckage while he started over.”
“This is insurance fraud.”
By Thursday, detectives had knocked on my door; Mrs. Denning from 3B had already told them what she heard in the hallway.
Ron didn’t deny it when they questioned him. Marlene didn’t either.
Carla came to my apartment that evening, her eyes swollen from crying.
“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “About your baby. I didn’t know anything about this, Katie. I promise.”
Ron didn’t deny it.
