The homeless had already reached the display. They lifted the casket of mixed ash and bone and slammed it to the floor, hard.
As if settling a vendetta, they stomped on the scattered fragments.
Someone burst out laughing.
“Guy probably did bad things when he was alive—no wonder he’s getting trashed after death!”
“Exactly! If he’s on display like this, his son must’ve abandoned him!”
Sophie laughed even louder.
“Told you—Uncle Robert’s death had nothing to do with me. He brought it on himself.”
Michael chuckled, ground the toe of his shoe into a hand bone that had rolled to his foot, and crushed it.
“Sophie’s right.”
I let out a small, mirthless laugh.
“Let’s see if you’re still laughing in a minute.”
His eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”
The doors swung open again.
A familiar voice rang out—
