Fifty-nine“I was there,” Hector said. “I saw them.”
Misty nestled in the sofa corner, mopping her slowing tears with a white linen handkerchief that smelled of peppermint. She sniffed. “Things weren’t what they seemed.”
“Obviously.” Hector turned to Cyrus. “How long have you known about this?”
Cyrus shrugged. “Since forever. But it was only ever whispered. Never openly discussed. Bully was the keeper of secrets, the confidante of the king. And they had the royal blessing, so no one dared speak of it.”
“I can’t believe it. You’re telling me Archie staged a funeral? Deliberately faked those two little coffins? The man is more of an arch-fiend than I ever imagined.”
His mouth was so dry his words weren’t forming properly.
“Cyrus, can I have some water? I’m parched here.”
Misty rose. “I
