Rain had been falling over Blackthorn Point since dawn.
By six in the evening, the sea below Harrowmere House had disappeared behind a wall of gray mist, and the old mansion seemed to float alone above the cliffs.
Inside, nearly a hundred guests stood beneath crystal chandeliers, speaking in voices so low that the storm outside sounded louder than grief.
At the center of the great hall rested a polished glass-topped casket.
Inside lay Celeste Vane.
Philanthropist.
Heiress.
Founder of the Vane Children’s Trust.
Wife of Adrian Vane.
Dead at forty-eight.
At least, that was what everyone had been told.
June Mercer stood near the rear doors, dressed in the plain black uniform she had worn for thirteen years as manager of the Vane household.
She had organized Celeste’s dinners.
Packed her luggage.
Remembered every anniversary Adrian forgot.
Sat outside her bedroom during migraines.
Made tea when Celeste couldn’t sleep.
And, during the final year, watched a strong woman become strangely fragile.
Celeste had begun forgetting appointments.
Losing her balance.
Dropping glasses.
Falling asleep in the middle of conversations.
Doctors blamed stress.
Adrian blamed exhaustion.
Celeste blamed herself.
June had never believed any of them.
Something had been wrong.
And now Celeste was dead.
Officially, she had collapsed in the greenhouse two mornings earlier.
Adrian said he had found her beside the orchids.
Their private physician, Dr. Nathan Kerr, arrived twenty minutes later.
An ambulance came after that.
But there had been nothing to save.
Or so June had been told.
Now Adrian stood beside the casket accepting condolences.
He looked perfect.
Dark suit.
Silver tie.
Controlled expression.
One hand resting over his heart whenever somebody embraced him.
“My wife loved this house,” he told an elderly senator.
June watched from across the room.
Loved.
Past tense.
Adrian had been using it all day.
Celeste loved the cliffs.
Celeste loved the foundation.
Celeste loved the garden.
As if he had been practicing being a widower long before his wife stopped breathing.
June turned away.
That was when she saw it.
A pale cloud appeared on the inside of the casket’s glass panel.
She frowned.
Then it vanished.
June moved closer.
Someone stepped into her path.
Rosalind Dane, Celeste’s cousin, touched her arm.
“You should sit down, June.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
June barely heard her.
Another patch of mist appeared beneath the glass.
Small.
Circular.
Gone again.
Her heart began to beat faster.
“Rosalind…”
“What?”
June stared at Celeste’s face.
Nothing moved.
The body lay perfectly still.
White silk dress.
Pearl earrings.
Hands folded over the waist.
A silver pendant resting against the throat.
Then June saw something else.
The pendant shifted.
Not much.
Perhaps the width of a grain of rice.
But it moved.
Up.
Down.
Up.
June stepped forward.
Adrian noticed.
“June?”
She ignored him.
“June, what are you doing?”
She reached the casket.
Pressed her palm against the glass.
Celeste’s face was colorless.
Still.
Beautiful.
Then her lips parted.
Barely.
June gasped.
“Open it.”
The room quieted.
Adrian stared at her.
“What did you say?”
“Open the casket.”
Several guests turned.
Adrian approached slowly.
“This is neither the time nor the place.”
“I saw her breathe.”
A woman near the front whispered something.
Adrian’s expression hardened.
“You’re exhausted.”
“Open it.”
“June.”
“Open it!”
Her voice cracked through the hall.
Conversation stopped completely.
Even the pianist in the adjoining room lifted his hands from the keys.
Adrian leaned close.
“You are embarrassing yourself.”
June looked directly into his eyes.
And there it was.
Not grief.
Not confusion.
Fear.
A deep and immediate fear that disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
June moved toward the release mechanism beneath the casket.
Adrian grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t.”
One word.
Too sharp.
Too desperate.
June froze.
“Why?”
Adrian released her.
“You’re disturbing my wife’s body.”
“She may still be alive.”
“She is dead.”
“How certain are you?”
His jaw tightened.
Dr. Kerr stepped forward from among the guests.
“I examined Celeste personally.”
June looked at him.
“And?”
“There were no vital signs.”
“Then opening the casket won’t hurt her.”
“June,” Rosalind whispered.
But June was already pulling the emergency latch.
Adrian reached for her again.
Rosalind moved between them.
“Let her.”
The lock released with a metallic click.
June lifted the glass panel.
Cold air escaped.
For one second nothing happened.