23Maggie could smell ashes, something burning. No, the fire was already out. It wasn’t smoke she smelled but singed hair and burnt flesh. She searched but couldn’t see through the fog. Where was the smell coming from?
Then she saw it.
Another boat was floating on the river. She kept her eyes fixed on the boat while she pointed at it.
“Row up a little closer,” she told Cunningham without looking back at him.
He didn’t say a word, but obeyed.
Closer. Just a little bit closer.
The fog grew thick. Now she wasn’t sure if it was fog. Or was the air filled with ashes?
Suddenly the boat appeared right in front of them. Too late to stop. Their rowboat crashed into it. Only it wasn’t another boat.
It was a casket.
Smooth, dark wood, polished with brass rails and soft, tufted fabric peeking
