Chapter 16: A Funeral, A Warning
The church smelled faintly of lilies and rain-soaked coats. The pews were packed—half the town crammed into the narrow space, their voices hushed, their eyes darting toward the closed casket at the front.
Noah stood in the back, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He didn’t know the boy’s family, not really. But the case was already tied to him whether he liked it or not.
A man in a worn black suit shuffled up beside him. White hair, thin frame, eyes like dark glass. “You don’t belong here, Keene,” he said quietly.
“I’m here to pay my respects,” Noah answered.
“That’s not what I meant.”
The organ swelled, but the man’s voice cut through it. “You’re back in the snake pit. Bellview buries truth before it rots. You know that, right?”
Noah studied him. “Do I know you?”
“Reverend Cole.” He offered no handshake. “I buried your mother.”
Noah’s breath caught for a second. “You were there?”
“I was in the ground with her, son—shoveling dirt. I know what this town does to people who dig too deep.” Cole glanced toward the front pew, where the teen’s parents sat stiffly. “And I know the difference between justice and show business.”
“This isn’t show business,” Noah said, his voice low.
“Everything in Bellview is show business. Trials, elections, funerals. They put on a display for the public, and the truth stays locked in the basement.”
Noah tilted his head. “What basement?”
Cole smirked faintly. “That’s the right question. Problem is, asking it gets you killed.”
The preacher started to walk away, but Noah followed. “You said you buried my mother. You know what happened to her?”
Cole stopped, glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “She wasn’t the target.”
Noah froze. “What?”
“They wanted to break your father. She was just the match they struck against him.”
Noah stepped closer, voice sharp. “Who’s they?”
Cole’s eyes hardened. “Don’t you get it? Everyone here is part of it in some way. If they’re not pulling strings, they’re holding them for someone else. And some strings? They end in a noose.”
The preacher walked back toward the altar as the choir began to sing. Noah stayed rooted in place, the words sinking into him like cold rain.
Halfway through the service, an usher tapped his shoulder. “Family wants you to sign the guest book.”
Noah followed the man to the vestibule. The book was open on a small table. As he picked up the pen, his eyes caught on the line above—someone had signed in shaky handwriting:
Ask the janitor.
The same phrase from his father’s hidden files.
His grip tightened on the pen.
When he left the church, the rain had turned to a light drizzle. The preacher stood under the awning, hands folded.
“One last thing,” Cole called out.
Noah stopped.
“They’ll let you dig—at first. But only deep enough to bury yourself.”
Noah didn’t answer. He just walked to his car, the wet gravel crunching under his shoes, his mind already spiraling back to that single phrase: Ask the janitor.