Page 99 of Disturbing the Dead
Dad’s arm goes around me as he chuckles. “Consulting detective, huh?”
I tense as I realize what I said, and I want to pull it back, to pretend I was joking or frame it as a dream. But I let it sit there, and I listen to their breathing and try to analyze it, to tell whether they’re holding back the obvious worry that their daughter seems to actually think she traveled through time.
As if reading my thoughts, Dad leans over and whispers, “We believe you, sweetheart,” and my eyes fill with tears as I lean against his shoulder.
Mom’s hand tightens on mine. “Now, tell me what happened up here?”
When I don’t answer, she adds a soft “Please.” Then, “We’d really like to know. Something happened up here…”
“Nothing bad,” I say finally. “Not even anything big. Duncan—Dr. Gray, that’s the—”
“The scientist you work for.” Mom’s lips twitch. “As a housemaid.”
“World’s worst housemaid. Well, no, I’m actually not too bad, thanks to parents who made me get work experience cleaning homes for seniors.”
“Didn’t I say you’d thank me someday?”
I roll my eyes.
“So you were out with Dr. Gray…” she prompts.
“We were passing here, and I said I’ve always wanted to come up here at night. So he brought me. It was late and quiet and…”
I gaze out and shrug, unable to find words. No, that’s a lie. I can find them. Special. Magical. Enchanting. But those aren’t the sort of words I ever use.
“It was nice,” I say finally. “We talked about what the view was like in my time and then about…” My throat catches. “About me wanting to go home. That was tough for him, knowing I’d leave the moment I got the chance. He’d just gotten used to having me as an assistant, and yet he knew if I got the chance to go home, I’d snatch it. I said that didn’t mean I wasn’t happy there. I just… I had a life here, and maybe it would have been easier if…”
I take a deep breath. “Easier if I didn’t have an amazing family I wanted to get back to.”
Dad’s arm tightens around my shoulders.
I continue, “Duncan said he’d never wish for me to have had a worse life.”
“And then?” Dad prods.
“Well, and then someone yelled ‘Murder’ below, which totally spoiled the mood.”
Dad pulls me over to kiss the top of my head. “I’m sure it did.”
We stand there, Mom’s hand on mine as I lean against Dad. When I glance at Mom, she’s watching me. She says nothing, though, and we just stand there, in peaceful silence, together.
THIRTY-ONE
The funeral is perfect, of course, because Mom’s in charge, and part of that means that every detail is covered, but it also means that she asked what Nan wanted and made sure she got it. The result is a Scottish funeral that’s really more of an Irish wake, with lots of laughter and lots of whisky, and a parade of people telling me what a wonderful woman my grandmother was.
The next day, I’m in the rented apartment, trying to catch up on work emails, but my brain keeps turning to the mummy case. I remind myself that is not my responsibility. It’s long solved, and I promised Nan I wouldn’t look up anything from that time.
I’m trying not to worry about that. Did she find something in her research that she didn’t want me to see? If she did, then is it something I can change? Should I look?
No, my gut tells me that I should not research anything or anyone from that time, if only to avoid knowing something I shouldn’t, good or bad. Also, I remember Nan’s final words to me.
I’ve seen what you will do there, the life you will lead, and I could not be happier for you.
That’s good, right? Of course, it does make me wonder what she saw—
“Mallory?” Mom calls from the living room. “Tea?”
I walk into the room to find a full spread waiting. I take my seat at the tiny dinette with my parents, and we dig into a plate of scones with clotted cream and jam. The quintessential British “afternoon tea,” even if it wasn’t what Mrs. Wallace served on Robert Street.
