Page 182 of Trust No One

He poured and then sipped coffee. “Did you sleep well?”

And in all seriousness, she said, “Yes. No ghosts woke me up.”

A faint smile. “That’s good, right?”

“I wanted to meet one.” Pouting, she looked out the back window as the sun was peeking above the distant mountains. “Why are the trucks here?”

“They’re digging holes,” he said.

Molly frowned but didn’t press. She was a smart kid. And if she guessed the answer, she didn’t want to talk about it.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Judson

Saturday, October 24, 2026, 9:00 a.m.

When the Hale cemetery was first built, graves were dug by men with shovels, sweating in the heat, freezing in the cold. Now one man and a machine could do the work. According to the funeral director, my grandfather had anticipated this progress, and he’d expanded the railing and modified the northern fence so heavy equipment could get through.

Two workmen hammered mallets on hooks joining the sections. After relentless pounding, the pegs rattled loose. Together, two men heaved the iron panels aside.

The funeral home’s black hearse parked on the grass by the open side of the cemetery gate. A small backhoe rattled off a trailer and rumbled toward the wrought iron fence.

Judson glanced up toward Hale House. No sign of Raine or Molly. Good. They didn’t need to see this.

The backhoe lurched forward, cutting a path to the grave in the far corner. Mrs. Hale’s marker stood tall, next to her husband’s. It was etched with dates and dutiful words. Beloved. Wife. Mother. But nothing overly personal to suggest anyone had loved her deeply.

Seventeen years ago, I’d stood with Raine and watched the casket go into the ground. Neither of us, nor the small gathering around us, had spoken a word as the local minister said his final prayers.

Raine had been stoic, wooden, and silent through it all. And when the workmen shoveled dirt onto the casket, I’d taken her hand in mine because I didn’t know what else to do. She’d looked up at me, her blue eyes bright with anger and resolve.

I’d never seen her shed a tear.

Now, Meg arrived and strode toward me with her camera. “Document it all?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Will do.” She checked the settings on her camera and raised it.

The operator lowered the blade, slicing the sod in neat layers. He worked with steady precision, back and forth, until the grass and topsoil had disappeared. Within forty-five minutes, the hole tunneled six feet deep.

The operator motioned that he’d reached the casket vault.

Meg snapped pictures as the two mortuary men moved in, looping straps around the vault and then the dozer’s rig. The dozer strained, the straps snapped tight, and the dozer raised the vault out of the ground.

As the workers wedged open the top, I moved forward. The white casket was grayed by seventeen years in the ground.

The dozer operator pulled levers. The straps strained, and slowly the casket rose. The casket was angled onto a waiting wheeled carriage.

In the distance, a door at Hale House opened and closed. A child’s voice carried. An engine roared.

When I turned, Raine’s car was heading down the main driveway toward the brick pillars by the road. I wasn’t sure how she was taking this. It was still hard to read the thoughts behind the cool exterior. I was certain that, if not for Molly, she’d have been here at the graveside.

The funeral director crossed to me. “Agent, the gravedigger will complete the spots for Mr. and Mrs. Durant. I’m leaving with the coffin for the medical examiner’s office now. Anything else?”

“The burial is scheduled for Tuesday.”

“Okay, thank you.” I caught Meg’s gaze. “Go with them to the medical examiner’s office.”