Part 3Smart Homes Make Perfect Death Traps

The next morning at the funeral home, the air was thick with the scent of lilies and staged mourning.

Adrian was a vision of the grieving widower in a charcoal suit, a white rose pinned to his lapel. He shook hands with every guest, his eyes suitably puffy. People whispered about what a "devoted husband" he was.

Melanie stood nearby, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

I walked up to Adrian. I didn't offer my hand. "My condolences."

His tie was done in a perfect Windsor knot. Megan used to hate that knot; she said it was too tight, too much like a noose. Adrian had never worn one when she was alive.

"Thank you for coming, Cassidy," he said, his voice a practiced rasp. "Megan would have appreciated it."

I walked past him to the open casket.

Megan was buried under layers of heavy "restorative" makeup, but it couldn't hide the massive, deep purple hematoma on her forehead. The ME said it was from the toilet rim, but I knew better. Cheap styrofoam doesn't cushion a blow; it collapses and lets the skull take the full force of the hit.

After the service, we moved to the cemetery. I lingered at the back of the crowd. Melanie slowed her pace to match mine.

"Cassidy, I know things were tense yesterday," she said softly. "Adrian hasn't slept in days. Don't hold it against him."

I stopped walking. "Why would I be angry?"

Melanie sighed. "The autopsy request. He felt like you didn't trust him. It really hurt him."

I looked her in the eye. "If he’s got nothing to hide, why is he hurting?"

Melanie’s expression stiffened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," I said, moving forward again. "I just think it’s a strange coincidence. Dying right after she took out that massive accidental death policy."

Melanie froze. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them: "What insurance policy?"

I turned back, catching the flicker of pure, unadulterated greed in her eyes. "You didn't know? Megan took out a five-million-dollar policy last month. Adrian is the sole beneficiary."

Melanie’s pupils dilated. Five million dollars. Adrian clearly hadn't shared that piece of information with his partner-in-crime.

I turned and kept walking. The seed was planted. Greed would do the rest of the work for me.

As the burial ended and the guests began to drift away, Adrian called out to me. "Cassidy."

He was standing by the headstone, lighting a cigarette. "I want you to be a witness for the estate settlement."

I walked over. "How are you splitting it?"

"I'm selling the condo and the car," he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the grey afternoon. "Donating the proceeds to a mental health charity. For Megan’s sake." He looked at her photo on the stone. "I don't want any of it. It’s all too painful."

I let out a short, cold laugh. "And the five-million-dollar payout? You donating that too?"

Adrian’s hand froze mid-air. An ash fell onto his expensive shoes.

"What payout?" He turned to me, his gaze sharpening into something predatory. "What are you talking about?"

He was playing dumb.

"The policy from last month," I said. "The digital confirmation is on her burner phone. Didn't you find it?"

Adrian’s jaw set so hard I heard the bone pop. He dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. "I don't know anything about a burner phone. Cassidy, did you take something from that house?"

I stepped back. "I took some old coats, Adrian. You saw me."

He stared at me, his eyes cold and venomous. "For your sake, I hope that's all."

He turned and marched toward the parking lot where Melanie was waiting by the car. Even from a distance, I could see them start to argue the moment they were inside. Melanie was waving her arms wildly. She was definitely asking about the five million.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a contact. "Hey, it’s me. I need a full run on Adrian’s finances. Look for gambling debts, high-interest loans, anything that puts him in the red."

I hung up and hailed a cab. "1200 Harbor Drive."