Back to the Day of His Fake Death

...

We pulled up to the crematorium, where Evelyn paced the entrance.

Her face twisted in impatience. "What took you so long?"

Laura shot us a pointed, exasperated glance at me and Beth.

Evelyn's glare zeroed in on me like a laser. "You useless brat. Trying to doom your father's soul to eternal limbo?"

"Ma'am, what's the scheduled time?" Laura asked.

"12:45 on the dot. Don't worry. I squared it away. They'll flag us when it's go-time," Evelyn replied.

Their so-called scheme was code for the rigged swap. Someone would push Hank in front, whisk him out back, and palm off phony ashes to Beth.

Laura didn't bother verifying the clock.

Evelyn eyed Hank's shrouded form with lackluster sorrow. She pivoted to unleashing a verbal assault on Beth and me.

She branded me a worthless brat and Beth a barren witch who couldn't produce an heir.

"It's your doing, you harpy! You jinxed my boy and left him childless," she cursed.

Beth wept silently, absorbing the barbs without retort. Her mind was lost in memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises, now ashes in the wind with her "departed" love.

I couldn't fault her innocence. She'd been cocooned in luxury, her heart pure and trusting. She'd aimed to wrap me in the same bubble until Hank's scheme shattered it all.

But it had, and I'd paid the price in blood and tears.

Evelyn's tirade droned on, mingled with Beth's stifled sobs.

Earlier, I'd looped in Rufus to tamper with the clocks here, advancing them just enough to throw off their plan.

"Time's up, folks," a crisp voice announced from the office.

They scrambled, wheeling Hank toward the chamber and sliding him into the maw of the furnace.

The technician flipped the switch, and flames erupted with a whoosh, hungry tongues licking at his form.

Beth let out a guttural cry and collapsed. The nanny caught her just in time to cushion the fall.

Evelyn spun, spat disdainfully on the floor, and ignored Beath's plight.

Minutes ticked by as the blaze roared. Laura and Evelyn shared a conspiratorial nod, slipping toward the rear exit to collect their living prize.

I opened my mouth to intervene when a gruff voice boomed from behind. "We agreed on 12:30. What's with the early bird special? The clock says we've got five minutes to go."