The Next Wife by Kaira Rouda (speld decodable readers txt) 📕

he would die before he got away from her. Oh, Dad, why did you mess everything up?

Why did you have to leave me?

CHAPTER 16

TISH

Officer Taylor hands me a cup of coffee and tells me I don’t have to go to the morgue if I identify John’s body here, at the hospital. This place is bad enough. I can’t imagine what the morgue looks like. I glance up at the officer, standing next to me like a guard dog. He’s so kind and because he is, another round of tears springs to my eyes.

“They brought John’s body here from our condo. They know who he is. It’s already online everywhere. Tell them to google him.” I take a sip of coffee. It’s terrible.

“It’s just a formality, ma’am.” He stands up. His dark hair is slicked back and receding, creating deep V-shaped peaks on both sides. It works for him, I must say.

Focus, Tish.

“OK.” I follow him down the hall and into the last bed in the emergency department. He pulls the curtain back, and when I nod, he pulls down the top sheet.

I cover my mouth. I haven’t had to identify a dead body before, and I’d like to avoid it in the future. He looks terrible, his mouth frozen as if he’s trying to scream. I turn away.

“That’s him,” I say, and feel my knees buckle.

Officer Taylor rushes to my side, helping me back to a chair in the waiting room. “What happens next is the coroner will collect the body, take legal custody. He’ll want to talk to you, too. There will be an autopsy.”

“No,” I say. “Please. He wouldn’t want that. He was under a lot of stress. He had a bad heart. It was a ticking time bomb. We all knew it.”

“I understand. Nobody really wants a loved one opened up, not unless it’s foul play or something. You can tell him your feelings when he calls, but it’s Colorado law,” Officer Taylor says.

The ER doctor on call comes by to give her condolences, says John was dead on arrival and that she’s so sorry. I wonder briefly why an ER doctor is overweight. Isn’t that a health risk? Lead by example and all. She probably stress eats french fries or doughnuts, like John did. Poor John. I sign some forms she hands me.

“The coroner will be here any minute. His name is Dr. Welty. He’s quite good, very compassionate.” The ER doctor stands. She’s finished with me.

I watch a lot of Law & Order. I mean, who doesn’t? So I expected a pale, frail older man to play the part of the coroner. But no. This Dr. Welty is at least six feet, is tanned, and has perfect white teeth. Store bought. We shake hands.

“Mrs. Nelson. I’m terribly sorry to meet in this manner. Could we step into a conference room? I have a few questions,” he says.

Officer Taylor and I follow him down the hall and into a tiny all-white room. I feel like a criminal in this room, pinned in by a cop and a movie-star coroner. But I’m not a criminal, I’m the wife. A tear rolls down my cheek.

“Did your husband have a heart condition?” Dr. Welty asks, typing notes on his phone.

“Yes. High blood pressure. He was on medicine,” I answer. “Edira is the name.”

“Any other prescription drugs?” he asks. “Recreational?”

“No. John enjoyed a stiff drink now and again, nothing else. But he was under a lot of stress. Our company just went public. We celebrated last night,” I say.

My heart thumps in my chest. Do I sound like I’m hiding something?

“Yes, I read about that. Unfortunately, news of his death leaked almost immediately. We have launched an internal investigation,” he says, white teeth visible even while frowning. I wonder if he drinks coffee. No way.

“I was surprised by the media coverage, too. But he is, was, an important man. That’s why I need to take John home, for a proper burial,” I say.

“I understand. I’ll perform the autopsy sometime tomorrow. It’s standard in a sudden death like this, especially if alcohol is involved, section A.3,” he says.

“I’d rather you not. It was a heart attack,” I say.

“It’s the law, ma’am. But I’m not expecting to find anything suspicious. Were you two perhaps drinking more than usual last night?”

I smile. “It was a special evening. Yes, we were celebrating the IPO, and well, our anniversary. It was our place. We were going to retire here.” I drop my head, momentarily unable to speak. I am embellishing the purpose of our trip, of course, but John did propose to me right here in Telluride.

“Unfortunately, we see this happen quite often. Mountain Village sits at more than 9,500 feet. You combine drinking and altitude with a heart condition, well, it can be trouble.”

“I didn’t realize,” I say. “He’d just been working so hard. I was trying to help him unwind.”

“I understand. Mrs. Nelson, if you could provide me with the name of Mr. Nelson’s cardiologist, I think I have what I need for now.”

I write down the cardiologist’s contact info. “When will I be able to take John home?”

“There’s a process, ma’am,” Officer Taylor says.

“Yes, indeed,” Dr. Welty agrees. “Once the autopsy is complete, and as long as there is nothing suspicious, we try to release the body within a couple of days. You’ll need to wait for the official death certificate before removing him from the state. Give us a week, Mrs. Nelson. We’ll be in touch.”

Dr. Welty leaves the room, and I slump into my chair. I’m trapped here, it seems. All I can do is wait and hope they don’t find anything “suspicious” that holds things up. They won’t, though, I’m certain of that. I start to cry, and across the table Officer Taylor shifts in his seat.

“Can I drop you somewhere, maybe with a friend? You’re not going to want to go back home until the scene is cleared and cleaned.”

My mind flashes to John’s body, the vomit, the smell. “I don’t know anyone