Chapter 3 - Veronica Had Seen Bertha Hide The Envelope
Once Christopher was separated from us and chapel staff suspended the cremation, I took Veronica into a private family room.
She climbed into my lap like she had when she was four.
For several minutes, I asked nothing.
A grieving seven-year-old should not be interrogated.
Eventually she spoke on her own.
“Mom put something under her skirt.”
“When, sweetheart?”
“Before she died.”
“How long before?”
Veronica counted on her fingers.
“Two sleeps.”
Two nights.
“What did it look like?”
“A flat bag.”
“Paper?”
She nodded.
“Mom put papers in it. And the little silver thing.”
That could mean almost anything.
“Where did she put it?”
Veronica touched the side of her own dress.
“Inside here.”
The lining.
“Did Mommy tell you what it was?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you why?”
Veronica frowned, concentrating.
“She said Daddy kept looking in her desk.”
That sent a chill through me.
Then she remembered more.
Bertha had been in her bedroom getting dressed while Veronica sat on the bed coloring.
She placed several folded documents and a small silver USB drive into a clear waterproof envelope.
Then she safety-pinned the envelope inside the lining of her navy skirt.
Veronica asked why.
Bertha replied:
“Because sometimes grown-ups need a backup.”
Then she crouched in front of her daughter and said:
“If Grandma Evelyn comes this weekend, remind me about the skirt.”
That was all.
Bertha had not told a seven-year-old about fraud.
Or death.
Or cremation.
The more disturbing sentence came later.
The morning after Bertha died, Veronica had been sitting outside her father’s study while Christopher and Melissa argued inside.
She heard Melissa say:
“We still haven’t found what she copied.”
Christopher answered:
“It doesn’t matter once she’s cremated.”
Veronica did not understand what he meant then.
At the chapel, when Christopher refused to let me touch Bertha and started yelling about cremation, the pieces connected in a child’s mind.
Mom hid papers under her skirt.
Dad said something missing wouldn’t matter after cremation.
So she whispered to me:
Dad was planning to burn the evidence.
May you like
Her wording was childish.
Her memory was terrifyingly coherent.
