Chapter 24 - The Funeral That Never Ended
The sniper vanished before tactical officers could establish a perimeter.
Only the black chess king remained.
Michael placed it inside an evidence bag.
"No fingerprints," Detective Nolan reported after a quick examination.
"Professional."
Father Benjamin looked toward Richard Collins' portrait hanging inside the house.
"He wanted you frightened."
Margaret slowly shook her head.
"No."
She turned the chess piece over once more.
"He wanted me to remember."
Edward frowned.
"Remember what?"
Margaret closed her eyes.
Every Sunday evening, Richard had insisted they play chess together.
He almost never tried to win quickly.
Instead, he arranged long games that lasted for hours.
Whenever Margaret became impatient, Richard smiled and repeated the same sentence.
"The opening tells you very little. The ending tells you nothing. The truth lives in the middle."
Suddenly her eyes opened.
"The middle..."
She hurried into Richard's study.
His old chessboard still rested inside the glass cabinet exactly where he had left it.
The pieces remained frozen in the middle of an unfinished game.
Michael carefully compared the positions.
Richard's black king occupied the exact same square as the chess piece left at the gate.
Margaret's heart skipped.
"Richard left me a message."
Rebecca photographed every piece.
Edward searched Richard's journal.
Several pages later he found a hand-drawn copy of the same board.
One square had been circled in blue ink.
Michael carefully lifted the corresponding piece.
Beneath the wooden square lay a tiny brass compartment.
Inside rested a folded strip of paper.
Only six words were written on it.
THE FUNERAL NEVER REALLY ENDED.
Everyone exchanged confused looks.
Father Benjamin quietly whispered,
"I was afraid he would write that."
Michael turned toward him.
"What does it mean?"
The old priest hesitated.
May you like
"It means someone at Richard's funeral..."
"...was never there to mourn."
