What The Dead Man Did

“Are you sure that’s Uncle Joe?” Shelby whispered, leaning toward her brother, Barry. Her voice barely rose above the soft piano music and the low murmurs of the mourners around them.

The chapel was dim, illuminated by flickering candles that painted uneven patterns on the casket's polished wood. The air was heavy with the overpowering scent of lilies, wrapping around her senses like a fog.

“Of course it’s him,” Barry replied, glancing at her with a hint of irritation. “Who else would it be?”

“I don’t know,” Shelby murmured, her fingers nervously creasing the edge of the funeral program. “It just doesn’t feel right. Uncle Joe was larger than life—and now, he’s...dead?”

Barry sighed, shifting in his seat. “People die, Shelby. Even Uncle Joe. Don’t start.”

Shelby folded her arms, but her eyes stayed locked on the casket. Its glossy wood reflected the soft candlelight, surrounded by white flowers arranged in a neat, symmetrically arranged display.

Beside it were photos of Uncle Joe—standing by the lake with a proud grin, a fishing pole, and a giant fish in hand, and another of him in his signature leather jacket on a Harley. That same jacket now lay beside him in the casket, with his Louis Vuitton sunglasses perched on top.

But the man lying there looked...different. Shelby frowned. His face was hollow, unfamiliar.

She knew death could change someone’s appearance—like Cousin Paul, who didn’t look quite the same at his funeral—but this felt like more than that. Something was wrong, though she couldn’t explain why.

“Shelby.” Barry’s voice pierced her thoughts. “Enough. You’re imagining things again.

She turned to him, her voice a whisper. “Doesn’t this feel...off to you?” Her words hung in the air as the unease refused to fade.

The service began. The officiant’s voice rose above the low murmur of voices, warm and practiced as he spoke of Joe’s wit, charm, and loyalty to those he loved.

He invited those gathered to reflect on their fondest memories of Joe, prompting quiet exchanges and the occasional soft laugh. The stories shared were tender—comforting reminders of the man so many believed they had known, though they felt polished, almost rehearsed.

Shelby struggled to focus on the words. They sounded hollow to her, like borrowed fragments from another eulogy, another man’s life.

Her thoughts kept returning to the last time she had seen Uncle Joe. Just a month ago, at their father’s birthday, he had been restless—distracted. Shelby vividly remembered him by the window, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, glancing outside as if expecting someone to arrive.

When she’d asked if he was all right, he had given her a faint smile—one that stopped short of reaching his eyes. “I’ve got some loose ends to tie up,” he had said, his tone flat, as though speaking to himself more than to her.

Now, Shelby sat up straighter, her chest tight with unease. Loose ends. The words echoed through her mind, relentless. She couldn’t focus on the service. While others around her smiled softly at shared memories, Shelby’s gaze remained fixed on the casket, her thoughts swirling with questions that grew louder with each passing moment.

For her, the stories felt disconnected—fragments of a man who didn’t quite resemble the figure lying before them.

“I need to check something,” Shelby whispered to Barry.

“What are you doing?” Barry grabbed her arm as she stood, his grip firm. “Sit down. This isn’t the time for one of your—” He cut himself off, his irritation clear in the furrow of his brow.

Shelby didn’t respond. She slipped out of his grasp and moved quickly toward the back of the chapel, her pulse quickening with every step. Once in the hallway, she pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through her messages.

There it was—the encrypted email Uncle Joe had sent her the morning after the party. The subject line alone had unsettled her, but now it took on a new weight. The message was short, strange, and completely unlike him.

If something happens to me, don’t trust anyone. Look in the jacket.

Her heart raced, and she instinctively glanced back toward the chapel doors. The jacket. The leather jacket lying beside the man in the casket.

A knot formed in her chest as her mind raced. What had he meant? What was she supposed to do now?

Before she could act, a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. She froze, her breath catching, and turned to find Mr. Stanley—Uncle Joe’s business partner. His kind eyes were sharp now, scanning her face intently. His grip on her shoulder was steady, almost unyielding.

“Shelby,” he said quietly, his tone measured and just on the edge of suspicion. “What are you doing back here?”

“I...just needed some air,” she stammered, quickly sliding her phone into her pocket.

Stanley’s gaze lingered, piercing and unrelenting before his expression softened just slightly. “I know this is hard for you. Joe thought the world of you.”

She nodded stiffly, her mind spinning. Stanley. Uncle Joe had warned her about him more than once. Don’t trust anyone, the email said.

“Thanks,” Shelby muttered, brushing past him and stepping back into the chapel. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, but one thing was certain—she needed to figure out what Uncle Joe had meant, and she needed to do it fast.

Her mind was made up. As the service ended and the congregation began to rise and file out, Shelby leaned toward Barry. “I need to check something,” she said, her voice low.

Barry grabbed her arm, his brow furrowing with a mix of irritation and concern. “Shelby, don’t. This isn’t the time.”

She shook him off and stood, her jaw set with resolve. Her footsteps seemed louder than they should as she approached the casket, slow and measured, appearing to pay her final respects. Barry followed a step behind, his unease clear in the tightness of his expression.

“What are you doing?” Barry asked, his tone tight, brow furrowed and clenched jaw, betraying his unease.

Shelby didn’t respond. Her hands trembled as she reached for the leather jacket lying beside the body in the casket. Her fingers slipped into the inside pocket, her breath hitching when they brushed against the edge of folded paper. Her pulse quickened as she carefully retrieved it and unfolded it with shaky hands.

Uncle Joe’s unmistakable bold scrawl stared back at her. The note was brief, but its weight hit her like a punch: If you’re reading this, it means I had to disappear. Don’t let them find me. Protect the truth.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and her gaze shot to the man in the casket. Her breathing grew uneven as the realization hit her—it wasn’t Uncle Joe.

Barry leaned in, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does it say?” he asked, his face taut with worry.

“Uncle Joe’s alive,” Shelby whispered, clutching the note tightly, her fingers trembling. The departing crowd faded from view as the realization struck her, leaving her completely motionless and utterly speechless.

She handed Barry the note, her hands unsteady. He scanned the words, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “This can’t be right. If he’s alive... then who is that?” His gaze darted to the motionless figure in the casket.

“I don’t know,” Shelby said, her voice shaking. “But Uncle Joe wouldn’t have written this unless something was seriously wrong. We need to figure out what’s going on.”

Before Barry could reply, Shelby turned abruptly. Mr. Stanley, Uncle Joe’s long-time business partner, stood a few feet away. His sharp eyes flicked to the note in Barry’s hand before settling on Shelby.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice smooth yet probing. The calm tone only heightened Shelby’s unease. Uncle Joe had warned her more than once—Stanley couldn’t be trusted.

“Fine,” Shelby said quickly, her voice tighter than she intended. Barry handed her the note, and she tucked it into her pocket in one swift motion. “Just saying goodbye.”

Stanley’s lips curved into a faint smile, but something in his gaze made her stomach churn. “Joe thought the world of you,” he said softly.

Shelby nodded stiffly, her eyes following him as he turned and walked toward the doors. Only when he disappeared did she lean toward Barry, her voice trembling. “We need to leave. Now.”

Barry hesitated, his eyes darting around the room. “What are you talking about?”

“Now,” Shelby repeated, her tone firmer but still wavering at the edges. “Trust me.”

The last mourners trickled out, leaving the chapel steeped in heavy silence. The faint scent of candles and flowers hung in the air, amplifying the stillness.

Standing at the casket, Shelby’s hands trembled as she reached for the leather jacket. She slid it off the edge, folding it tightly against her chest. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as she hesitated. After a moment, she grabbed the sunglasses too, tucking both items into her oversized handbag. The weight of them pressed down on her, feeling heavier than it should.

A door creaked somewhere in the chapel, cutting through the silence. Shelby spun around, her pulse hammering, but the room appeared empty. Still, the sensation of being watched lingered, creeping along her neck and leaving her tense and uneasy.

Outside, the late afternoon sun stretched across the parking lot, its warmth doing little to ease the tension in the air. Shelby and Barry walked quickly to the car, their footsteps hurried but their thoughts miles apart. Neither spoke until they were safely inside.

Shelby gripped her bag, her mind racing with questions that only grew louder with each passing second. Barry stared straight ahead, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “How? We don’t even know where to start,” he muttered, his voice low.

Shelby pulled the note from her pocket and read it again, the words strengthening her determination. “He left this for a reason. He’s counting on us.”

Uncle Joe wasn’t in the casket. She didn’t know where he was or what he was running from, but she knew one thing—the truth wasn’t buried with the dead.

Uncle Joe’s disappearance wasn’t the end. It was the start of something far bigger. And Shelby was determined to uncover it.