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But this time, he wasn’t pointing upstairs.
He pointed underneath himself.
More specifically, beneath the seat cushion.
I stared at him.
“What?”
Dad pointed again.
I moved toward him.
Aunt Beatrice stepped into my path.
“Alex, this isn’t appropriate.”
I stared at her.
“What isn’t?”
“Turning a funeral into an interrogation.”
“Then everybody should stop acting like suspects.”
Her face tightened.
“Let Clara rest peacefully.”
I moved around her.
Dad lifted himself slightly using the armrests.
I reached underneath the cushion.
My fingers touched something flat.
I pulled it out.
A phone.
Not Dad’s.
Clara’s.
I knew it immediately.
The cracked corner of the case was unmistakable. Clara had dropped it in the kitchen two months earlier, and I’d teased her about needing a new one.
The screen was dead.
I stared at my mother.
“You said Derek took Clara’s phone.”
Lily nodded.
“He did.”
I looked at Dad.
“How did you get this?”
Dad pointed toward Derek.
Then he made a motion with his hand as if something had fallen.
Derek took one step backward.
My mother quickly interrupted.
“Arthur probably found it somewhere.”
Dad shook his head violently.
Then he pointed toward his chest.
Then upstairs.
Then toward me.
I tried to understand.
“You hid it?”
Dad nodded.
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