Monday morning arrived gray and cold, with a bitter wind that cut through the black wool of Clara's funeral dress as she stood beside two matching caskets at St. Mary's Catholic Church. The sanctuary was fuller than she'd expected—Eddie's coworkers from various construction sites, teachers from Jimmy's school, neighbors she barely knew but who had come to pay their respects to a family destroyed by senseless tragedy.
Father Miguel Santos delivered the eulogy with the kind of gentle dignity that made Clara understand why Eddie had liked him, despite their infrequent church attendance. The priest spoke of Eddie's quiet integrity, his devotion to his family, his willingness to help neighbors with home repairs without expecting payment. He spoke of Jimmy's bright spirit, his kindness to younger children, his excitement about the future that had been stolen from him.
Clara barely heard the words. She sat in the front pew between Elizabeth and Adam, staring at the framed photographs displayed beside the caskets—Eddie in his wedding tuxedo, laughing at something she'd whispered in his ear; Jimmy at his last birthday party, chocolate cake smeared on his face as he blew out thirteen candles.
The guilt was almost unbearable. While Eddie had been discovering evidence that would cost him his life, Clara had been planning secret meetings with his cousin. While Jimmy had been asking his father about the mysterious documents, Clara had been texting another man. She'd been living a lie while they'd been living in danger, and now they were dead while she remained to face the consequences of choices she couldn't undo.
"Clara?" Adam's voice was soft, concerned. "Do you want me to speak to Father Santos? Tell him you'd like to say something?"
Clara shook her head. What could she say that wouldn't be another lie? That Eddie had been a wonderful husband when she'd been planning to leave him? That Jimmy had been the light of her life when she'd been too distracted by her affair to notice he was worried about his father's investigation?
The processional to Riverside Cemetery passed in a blur of bare trees and gray headstones. Clara found herself walking behind the hearses with mechanical precision, accepting condolences from people whose faces she couldn't quite focus on. Elizabeth held her arm, steady and strong despite her own grief, whispering the names of mourners Clara should acknowledge.
At the graveside, Father Santos spoke of resurrection and eternal peace while cemetery workers prepared to lower her husband and son into holes that seemed impossibly deep. Clara watched dirt hit the caskets and thought about how Eddie had always been afraid of small spaces, how Jimmy had slept with a nightlight until he was ten because he hated the dark.
After the service, people gathered at Elizabeth's hotel for a reception that Clara couldn't bear to attend. She stood in the cemetery parking lot, still in her funeral dress, watching cars disappear down the winding road until only Adam remained.
"Clara, you shouldn't be alone right now."
"I need to go home." Her voice sounded strange, distant. "There are things I need to do."
Adam stepped closer, and for a moment Clara thought he might try to embrace her. Instead, he kept his distance, recognizing something in her demeanor that warned against casual comfort.
"What kind of things?"
Clara looked past him toward the fresh graves, toward the place where her old life was buried along with her husband and son. "I need to understand what really happened to them."
"The police are investigating—"
"The police are lying." Clara's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "The medical examiner is lying. Everyone is lying except the person who killed them, and that person is walking free while Eddie and Jimmy are in the ground."
Adam's face went pale. "Clara, you're in shock. You're not thinking clearly. Let me take you home, let Elizabeth take care of you—"
"I'm thinking clearly for the first time in years." Clara finally looked at him directly, and Adam stepped back from the coldness in her eyes. "Eddie was murdered because he discovered something that powerful people wanted hidden. Jimmy was murdered because he was with his father. And everyone who's supposed to seek justice for them has been bought or scared into silence."
"You don't know that—"
"I know my husband never drank and drove. I know Jimmy wasn't the kind of boy they're trying to make him seem in their reports. I know someone is working very hard to make this look like an accident, and I know that if I don't find the truth, no one will."
Adam reached for her hand, but Clara pulled away. "Clara, what we had... what we were to each other... it doesn't have to end because of this. I know you're grieving, but when you're ready—"
"What we had was a mistake." Clara's words cut through him like glass. "A selfish, stupid mistake that distracted me from what really mattered. If I'd been paying attention to my family instead of sneaking around with you, maybe I would have noticed Eddie was in danger. Maybe I could have protected them."
"That's not fair—"
"Fair?" Clara almost laughed, but the sound was bitter. "Adam, nothing about this is fair. Eddie and Jimmy are dead. You and I are alive. And I have to figure out how to live with that."
She walked away from him then, leaving him standing in the cemetery parking lot while she drove home to the empty house that still smelled like her son's cologne and her husband's coffee.
Elizabeth was waiting for her when she arrived, having returned from the reception with leftover casseroles and the exhausted look of someone who'd spent hours accepting sympathy she didn't want.
"People mean well," Elizabeth said, unpacking covered dishes in the kitchen. "But I swear if one more person tells me Eddie and Jimmy are in a better place, I'm going to say something unchristian."
Clara managed a weak smile. It was the first genuine emotion she'd felt all day, this moment of connection with the only other person who truly understood the magnitude of what they'd lost.
"Mrs. Henderson from next door made her famous tuna casserole," Elizabeth continued. "And Father Santos brought soup from the church. We'll be eating sympathy food for weeks."
Clara watched her mother-in-law moving around the kitchen with familiar efficiency, organizing meals and washing dishes because practical tasks were easier to handle than the enormity of grief. Elizabeth had lost her only son and her beloved grandson, but she was still taking care of Clara because that's what family did.
"Elizabeth, I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth."
Elizabeth stopped arranging casseroles and looked at Clara with the kind of steady attention that had made her such a good mother and grandmother.
"When Eddie called you last Sunday, when he asked about Ray Kowalski—did he say anything else? Anything about being worried or scared?"
Elizabeth sat down at the kitchen table, suddenly looking older than her sixty-two years. "He said he'd stumbled onto something that was bigger than he'd expected. Construction companies cutting corners, inspectors taking bribes, city officials looking the other way. He said if he was right, it meant buildings all over Millhaven weren't safe."
"Did he mention any names besides Kowalski?"
"He was being careful. But he did say something about the companies getting the biggest city contracts being the worst offenders. Said it made sense because they had the most political connections."
Clara felt pieces clicking into place. The biggest construction contracts in Millhaven were awarded to companies with ties to the Russo family. If Eddie had discovered systematic corruption in those projects, he'd essentially stumbled onto evidence of a criminal conspiracy worth millions of dollars.
"Elizabeth, there's something else. The police investigation—there are problems with it."
Elizabeth's eyes sharpened. "What kind of problems?"
Clara told her about the contaminated evidence, the revised medical examiner's reports, the pressure being applied to witnesses. Elizabeth listened without interruption, her expression growing grimmer with each detail.
"They're covering it up," Elizabeth said finally. "Someone killed my son and grandson, and now they're covering it up."
"The question is what we do about it."
Elizabeth was quiet for a long moment, staring out the kitchen window toward the Malone family backyard where Jimmy's basketball hoop stood like a monument to interrupted childhood.
"Eddie always said I was tougher than I looked," Elizabeth said finally. "He used to joke that I could survive anything because I'd already raised him and his father. But I never thought I'd have to bury my own child."
"I know."
"What I'm saying is, if someone thinks they can murder my family and walk away, they don't know me very well." Elizabeth's voice was quiet but steel-hard. "Whatever you're planning, Clara, I want to help."
That evening, after Elizabeth had gone to bed, Clara sat at her kitchen table with Eddie's investigation files spread before her. She'd made lists—construction companies, city officials, dates and locations of suspicious inspections. A pattern was emerging, centered around projects tied to Russo family businesses.
Her phone rang at 9:30. The caller ID showed a number she didn't recognize.
"Mrs. Malone? This is Marcus Washington. I knew your husband."
Clara didn't recognize the name. "I'm sorry, how did you know Eddie?"
"I do odd jobs around construction sites. Clean-up work, stuff like that. Your husband was always decent to guys like me—paid fair, treated us with respect. I heard what happened, and I'm real sorry."
"Thank you, Mr. Washington."
"Ma'am, the thing is, I think I know why your husband got killed. And I think you should know too."
Clara's grip tightened on the phone. "What do you mean?"
"Eddie was asking questions about the wrong people. People who don't like questions. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen. Said he had a responsibility to speak up."
"Mr. Washington, can we meet? I need to hear what you know."
"That might not be safe for either of us. But I'll tell you this—if you want to find out who killed your family, you need to look at the Riverside Heights development. That's where it all started."
The line went dead, leaving Clara staring at her phone in the quiet kitchen. Riverside Heights was one of the city's most ambitious development projects—a mixed-use complex of condominiums, offices, and retail space that had been under construction for two years. It was also, according to Eddie's notes, one of the projects where systematic violations had been documented.
Clara opened her laptop and began researching the Riverside Heights development, following connections between construction companies, city contracts, and political donors. What she found made her sick with understanding.
The development was a joint venture between three companies, all with ties to the Russo family. The city had fast-tracked permitting and provided tax incentives worth millions of dollars. And according to public records, the project had received approval for construction techniques and materials that were significantly below standard building codes.
If the building collapsed—when it collapsed, because buildings constructed with substandard materials and no real inspections eventually failed—hundreds of people could die. Families would be destroyed, just like hers had been. Children would lose their parents, wives would lose their husbands, parents would bury their own kids.
Eddie had discovered evidence of mass murder waiting to happen, and he'd been killed to keep him quiet.
Clara closed the laptop and sat in the darkness of her kitchen, thinking about choices and consequences, about justice and revenge, about the difference between the woman she'd been and the woman she was becoming.
Outside, Millhaven slept peacefully, unaware that Clara Malone was no longer interested in healing or moving on or finding closure. She was interested in truth, and justice, and making sure that the people who'd killed her family paid for what they'd done.
And if the system wouldn't help her get those things, she'd find another way.
She thought about Jimmy's basketball hoop in the backyard, about Eddie's empty spot in their bed, about the future that had been stolen from all of them by people who valued money more than human life.
By the time she went to bed, Clara had made her decision. She was going to find everyone responsible for the murders of her husband and son, and she was going to make them pay.
Starting with the person who'd been behind the wheel of that Mercedes.
Starting with Vivienne Russo.