"Clay." Each word fell from my lips like a blade, my voice steady and laced with bone-deep cold. "Read the name on that tablet. It says Nancy Farley. Your mother. The woman who gave birth to you and raised you. The birthday banquet you threw for her? Her funeral is right next door. The mother you keep calling your 'most beloved'? She's lying in there. She's been cold for three days."
The color drained from Clay's face in an instant, as if something had struck him square between the eyes. He stood frozen, unable to move.
The moment she heard the commotion, Audrey squeezed her way to Clay's side. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin up, looking down at me as though I were something beneath her notice.
"Dorothy, quit playing dumb and spouting nonsense! My mom is perfectly fine. It's her birthday, and she'll be here any minute. Your mother didn't know her place, faked an illness, and got herself killed. That's on her. Don't you dare try to pin this on Evangeline!"