Before his hand fell away, she grabbed it and pulled it close to her chest.
“What is it?”
“Do you think,” she gasped, sucking in a sharp breath, “that the letters have something to do with Leith?”
Ben hadn’t considered it, but it was not entirely out of the question. He meant to tell her his suspicions regarding Leith’s death but hadn’t had the chance. Unsure of what to do and worried he would upset her further, Ben had decided against sharing. Better to ease her into it once he was sure of his own father’s death. Without proof, he had nothing but layers of speculation.
“Whoever sent those letters…” Remi’s voice strained, and her brows furrowed. “They might have seen him as—”
Her sadness pierced his heart, and he drew her into his arms without a moment’s hesitation. She folded into him, shaking from tears or fear. He could not blame her for either, and he did not deny her the relief that grieving brought. His bath would be cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He would stay until every last one of her tears had dried itself against the fabric on his chest.
EXHUMATION
BEN
Placing his father’s casket inside the mausoleum’s stone coffin days ago was difficult with three sets of hands. Removing it with one less man was nearly impossible. More than that, he was glad that he happened to wear the same jacket he’d worn the day they deposited him. Without the key to get in, their trip would have been for nothing.
“Lucky that.” Ben had said to himself when he found it there, cool against his fingers.
“This is damned difficult.” Jacques heaved against the stone after they made it in.
Ben and Jacques used as much force as they could muster to budge the stone lid. When strength alone could not move it, they went in search of a sturdy, fallen branch. With added leverage to fully support the stone, they managed to hoist it. Inch by painful inch, they moved the lid just enough to retrieve his father.
“Remind me why we aren’t doing this during daylight hours?” Jacques grunted.
“Because that would draw too much suspicion.”
Jacques wheezed as he lifted one end of the casket. “Whose suspicion?”
“Remi’s,” Ben said, hoisting the other end of the polished wood. “Martin’s. Everyone’s. It isn’t safe.”
“It isn’t safe now,” Jacques hissed.
With careful precision, they lifted the casket from inside the stone sarcophagus. It sat on the ground between them as they pushed the slab back into place. Once shut, they stopped to catch their breath.
“That was miserable,” Ben groaned.
“It was your idea,” Jacques said.
Ben let the snide remark pass. He looked down at the floor where his father’s body waited, snug inside the casket, his chest aching with guilt and grief.
Am I doing the right thing? He wondered. More than once on their short journey to the cemetery, Ben caught himself second-guessing his motives. If they were discovered, there would be serious consequences. Disturbing a grave was unforgivable. Yet, it was the only way he could get the answers he needed.
Much more desperate men have done worse, he assured himself.
“Let’s get moving.”
On a three-count, they hoisted the casket upward. They waded through the darkness with no light to show them where they were going or what they might bump into.
“How much farther?” Jacques complained.
An answer came in the form of the carriage colliding with Ben’s shoulder. He winced at the sharp pain, nearly dropping his father from the force.
“You drop it,” Jacques snapped in a hushed voice, “and you’re carrying him into the cellar by yourself.”
Ben believed him.
With great effort, they managed to maneuver the casket into the carriage. Part of it hung from the side, the door unable to close. Ben climbed inside and held it in place as Jacques led the carriage back to the manor.
“I think you would be ashamed of me,” he whispered in the dark.
His shame would have to wait, as would the many years of anger and disappointment he’d endured. This would all be worth it in the end if he was right about his father’s death.
“It’s been sixteen years,” Ben breathed, wishing his father could hear him, “and after all that time has passed, this is how I’m welcomed home. Is that what you wanted? To leave before I could say my piece?”
There was nothing but the rumbling gravel underfoot.
“If you had called me home sooner, I would have forgiven everything. For Soleil, for sending me away, for marrying Remi…I would have forgiven it all. But here we are. One Leone left alive, and the other a stiff corpse wrapped up in an old sheet.”
His father did not respond.
The carriage came to a stop.
“Let’s get him inside,” Jacques said as he hoisted one end of the coffin.
Carrying the casket into the wine cellar was an easier feat than carrying it in the cemetery. Once concealed behind the wine racks, they opened the casket. Both of them turned their noses up at the smell, hardly able to contain their disgust. But they persevered, carefully lifting the body onto an empty table.
Ben tried not to stare at what had once been his father’s face. It was easier to imagine he was another of the cadavers he’d worked on in school. Nothing he couldn’t stomach.
