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My mother’s face changed.
“Arthur, what have you done?”
That was the exact moment something inside me shifted.
Until then, I had been trying to believe there was some innocent explanation.
I had been trying to convince myself that grief was making everything look suspicious.
But now I was holding my dead wife’s phone.
My daughter said Derek had taken it.
My father had hidden it.
And my mother was clearly terrified of what might happen if I asked too many questions.
I borrowed my cousin’s phone.
My mother grabbed my arm.
“Who are you calling?”
I looked directly at her.
“Police.”
Her grip tightened.
“No.”
I looked down at her hand.
Then back at her face.
“Let go.”
“Alex, please. Family problems should stay inside the family.”
I pulled my arm free.
“When someone dies unexpectedly and people start hiding phones, it isn’t a family problem anymore.”
Then I called 911.
The dispatcher asked whether Clara’s body was still inside the home.
“Yes.”
“Has she been examined by law enforcement or a medical examiner?”
I looked at Aunt Beatrice.
“Has she?”
Beatrice hesitated.
“She was seen by a physician.”
“What physician?”
“Dr. Kessler.”
Our family doctor.
“Was an autopsy performed?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Her death appeared natural.”
“What was the cause?”
Nobody answered.
Not my mother.
Not Beatrice.
Not Derek.
Nobody.
The dispatcher heard the silence.
“Sir, officers are on the way. Don’t allow anyone to leave or disturb anything.”
I repeated the instruction.
Derek immediately started toward the hallway.
“I’m going outside.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
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