When I stepped inside the church, I was surrounded by people, but all I could hear was my wife’s voice taunting me. Guests came up in turn, telling me how sorry they were. None of them were as sorry as I was.

It was impossible to believe that a little over a week earlier, I’d been in Bangkok, meeting with government officials and representatives from Thailand’s national museum about how to recover stolen artifacts. It had been oppressively hot and humid, to the point where the air seemed to shimmer at midday. I attempted to focus my mind in that direction.

It wasn’t enough to stop my heart from thudding a fatal drumbeat.

Get out of my house.

Those were the last words Caroline said to me before she died.

All I wanted was to steel myself to deliver her eulogy. I ducked into a tiny alcove at the back of the church for a few moments of quiet. Instead, I found my father and sister, chatting away like magpies.

“You have to admit it’s an impressive turnout,” my father said. “I haven’t seen this many people inside one building since the pandemic hit. Caroline was truly adored, wasn’t she?”

“They’re expecting a show, and they love a free lunch,” Juliet answered drily. “Half of them don’t know who Caroline was. The rest want to see what she looks like in the casket.”

“Your jealousy is showing again,” my father replied. “It’s downright ugly, Juliet.”

“Am I supposed to pretend I’m sorry she’s dead?”

That was the moment they noticed me. My father was the first to recover.

“Theo. How are you holding up, son? You look exhausted. Are you sure you’re up to delivering the eulogy? You don’t have to, you know. I would be honored to speak about Caroline.”

“I don’t need your help.” I was dreading the eulogy, but I’d be damned if anyone else delivered it.

“There it is, the old Thraxton charm,” Juliet said. “Sweet as a viper and twice as deadly. What a lady-killer.”

My sister was four years older than I was, and we despised each other. I felt bad about snapping at my father, because my sister was the one who deserved it.

“You look ridiculous,” I said. “Thanks for providing the comic relief at a funeral.”

It wasn’t much, but Juliet was sensitive about any comment on her appearance. She flinched.

“Stop it, both of you,” my father whispered, as if we were still children.

“Someone should greet the guests, instead of hiding back here,” Juliet said. “I guess I’m stuck doing all the work, as usual.” She strutted off, without a backward glance.