The summer heat was beating down hard on the quiet town of Oakridge, Connecticut. Inside the Grandview Funeral Home, the air conditioning was running high, but the room felt heavy and suffocating. Tyler Miller stood near the back of the small chapel, clutching his mother's old silver necklace tight in his fist. He was only seventeen years old, but over the last three weeks, he felt like he had aged twenty years. His mother, Eleanor Miller, had supposedly passed away after a sudden and severe illness while on a short trip overseas. At least, that was the official story his father Arthur had told everyone in town.
Arthur: Sit down, Tyler. People are starting to look at you.
Tyler: Why is the lid closed, Dad? Mom always said she wanted an open casket.
Arthur: Her body was brought back from a foreign hospital, son. The funeral director said it was best to keep it sealed.
Tyler: But that does not make any sense at all. She was fine last month.
Arthur sighed heavily, adjusting the gold cufflink on his crisp white shirt under his dark grey suit jacket. He put a firm hand on Tyler's shoulder, squeezing just a little bit too hard. Arthur was a successful real estate manager in town, always obsessed with keeping up appearances and looking perfectly put together. He had married Eleanor fifteen years ago, becoming a step-father to Tyler and his older sister Chloe. Chloe was twenty-two and worked as an accountant at a local firm. Strangely, Chloe was nowhere to be seen at her own mother's memorial service today.
Tyler: Where is Chloe anyway? Why is she not answering her phone?
Arthur: She is taking this very hard, Tyler. She is resting back at the home sunroom right now.
Tyler: She would never miss Mom's service. She loved her more than anything.
Arthur: Stop making a scene at your own mother's memorial, Tyler. Have some respect.
Tyler pulled his shoulder away from his father's grip. Something felt deeply wrong inside his chest, like a cold knot twisting tightly in his stomach. He looked around the chapel at the few extended family members and neighbors sitting quietly in the polished wooden pews. Arthur had rushed this service together in less than two days, claiming that Eleanor's last will demanded a swift burial without any delay or fuss. When Tyler had asked to see the legal papers or the official medical reports, Arthur had brushed him off, claiming he was just a confused kid who did not understand complicated family affairs.
Tyler: I want to go home and check on Chloe right now.
Arthur: We are staying right here until the service is completely over.
Tyler: I am going home, Dad. You can not keep me here.
Tyler turned around and walked briskly down the carpeted aisle of the funeral chapel, ignoring Arthur's harsh whispers behind him. He stepped out through the heavy glass double doors into the blazing hot summer afternoon. He did not call an taxi or wait for a ride; he simply started running down the pavement toward their house three miles away. As he ran, his mind kept spinning back to the strange phone call he had overheard last night. Arthur had been standing on the back porch late at night, speaking softly into his phone about a large life insurance policy, a mortgage payoff, and a heavy wooden transport box that had arrived earlier that afternoon.