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

here. Can you take me to a hotel?” I ask him. I didn’t realize I’d be stuck in Telluride, waiting for John. But it would look terrible if I flew home without him, so I will stay.

Officer Taylor opens the passenger door of his squad car, and I slip inside. I’m glad he didn’t make me ride in the back like a criminal. As we pull out of the parking lot, I book a room on my phone. A suite. “The Peaks, please.”

“Nice choice,” he says. “Best place on the mountain.”

Oh, I know. There are winners and losers in life. I like to stay where the winners stay.

CHAPTER 17

TISH

My phone rings, but I don’t recognize the number. I almost ignore it but realize it’s a Telluride number. I’ve been stuck here in my hotel room for three days waiting for news about John. Sure, it’s a beautiful suite, but I feel trapped. I’m cranky and restless. Hoping for any information, I answer the phone.

“Mrs. Nelson. It’s Dr. Welty,” he says, and I see a big toothy grin.

My heart thumps in my chest. “Yes, hello. Have you, um, finished with John?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be releasing the body. The cause of death was cardiac arrest due to or as a consequence of hypertension and heart disease. The death certificate should be processed soon. Again, my condolences.”

I realize I’ve been holding my breath. “Thank you.”

“Any questions for me?” Dr. Welty asks.

“I just wait for the death certificate, and then I’ll take him home, right?” I feel as if the weight of the world is off my shoulders. I take another deep breath.

“Yes, that’s all you need to do. Take care, Mrs. Nelson,” he says and hangs up.

Well, that’s not all I need to do, not by a long shot.

Here’s another truth when you marry a man who is twenty-five years your senior: he will die before you. Everyone knows it. Not sure why there had to be any questions, any “investigations.” Yet, according to Officer Taylor, that’s what they have been doing since he died. Recreating John’s last day, retracing his steps. It’s absurd and gruesome. Maybe they don’t have much action up here? I assume all of that nonsense stops now that the coroner’s report is in.

I take a sip of tea and rub my tired eyes. Before he dropped me here, Officer Taylor handed me the business card of a company that specializes in cleaning up after deaths in the home. A gruesome way to make a living, but they were there this morning after the scene was cleared to “take care of things.” Cleaned or not, I will never be able to set foot in that condominium again, I know as my stomach lurches at the memory. Not after what I saw.

Because John is dead. Cardiac arrest. Underlying heart disease. Period.

His obituary is in the paper today in Telluride, Ponte Vedra Beach, and Columbus. That all happened seemingly by magic. A single call to handsome, helpful Lance at EventCo, and everything was set in motion. I didn’t have to make any calls. Not to Kate, or Ashlyn, or to the rest of the company. Lance handled all of that. He said I had enough on my plate. He even offered to fly out, help with the arrangements.

The arrangements.

I am in charge of the body. Just thinking about it, right now, my skin prickles into goose bumps. I mean, it turns out there are a lot of decisions to make when you’re the wife of someone who has died. In Ohio, where we live and where he’ll be buried, the wife has all the rights. It is all up to me, no matter how much Kate and Ashlyn want to make it about them. And they do. They call me, or at least Kate does, every other hour. I’ve taken to sending her to voice mail. She leaves messages saying she just wants to help, blah, blah, blah. That she’ll handle everything. To think of Ashlyn. To have some compassion.

No way. I’m in charge now. John was my husband, not hers. I told them not to fly here, that there was nothing for them to do. They called me again, just this afternoon, together, in a wonderfully overwhelming show of strength and solidarity, and left a long voice mail.

“Please, fly the body home to the family mausoleum. John’s parents are buried there. I know that is what he would have wanted. Let Schoedinger Funeral Home handle this, please. I’ve already talked to them, and they expect his remains. It’s all been prearranged. Tish, please, I know—knew—John better than anyone. Better than you. Please.” Kate sounded firm, but she was desperate. She always wants to be in control.

They don’t know anything. I don’t care what morbid plans John and Kate made when they were married. I’m in charge now. To me, cremation is the answer. It’s good for the environment, and really, you become dust anyway. I found a good guy here. Funeral home directors are so helpful to us grieving widows, even though they pretty much have you at their mercy, don’t they? They know everything, and you’re just trying to clean up a gross mess.

Kate needs to understand what I’ve been through. I am the wife now.

My phone lights up. It’s Kate. Again. She’s such a bother.

I pick up the phone. “Look, I got your messages, but you should know I’ve already lined up the funeral home here to take care of things. I’m in charge of his body.”

“How dare you. John had plans in place for this with the funeral home here in Columbus. You should respect his wishes. I can handle it. For the love of god, it is what he wanted.” Kate’s voice is frosty through the phone.

I hear Ashlyn sobbing. It grates on me.

I’m tired of both of them. Kate is acting like she’s the boss of me or something. I hate that tone. Where’s the compassion for the grieving widow anyway? “John will be flown