Chapter 3

The estate was old, sprawling, and isolated.

Brenda Jenkins met me at the door. She wore expensive jewelry, but it looked slightly mismatched, like she' d thrown it on in a hurry. Her eyes were red, her face puffy. Grief-stricken.

Her "husband," Howard, stood beside her. Stoic, silent. He just nodded.

They led me into a large room. A ceremonial candle, tall and thick, was already lit, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

I took out my special ledger and a quill-like pen.

"I need some details for the record, for Ethan," I said softly.

"His full name?"

"Ethan Bell," Brenda whispered.

"Age?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Date of birth?" She gave it.

"And the cause of death?"

"A sudden heart condition," Brenda said, her voice catching. "He was a brilliant scholar. It was so unexpected."

I wrote his details on a small piece of parchment.

From my kit, I took out a small, white dove. It was one of my ritual supplies.

I attached the parchment to its leg.

"This symbolizes the sending off of worldly ties," I explained, opening a window.

The dove cooed softly, then flew out into the twilight.

Brenda watched it go, a hand pressed to her mouth.

Then, she led me towards another part of the house. "The viewing room is this way."