The Coroner, page 26
Before the first shift nurse could come check on her, Emily wandered out to the nurses’ station to make sure she was on the discharge list for the day. She informed the nurses that she needed the doctor on duty to release her by noon. Yes, it’s true what they say, she thought. Doctors make the most obnoxious patients.
At 12:17 PM, the nurse wheeled Emily out of the hospital’s front doors to Nick, who had volunteered to drive her home and was waiting with her Leaf in the pickup area.
As they zipped to her dad’s house, Nick informed her that he had investigated a single-car fatality early that morning. The victim had been brought into the morgue.
“Guy wrapped himself around a tree. Found a half a case of empty beer cans scattered on the interior. So, should be a simple case.”
“Is this your coy way of asking if I’ll do an autopsy?”
“Only if you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’ll need an assistant,” she said and smiled at him.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into the driveway.
“That’s odd,” said Emily, looking with dismay at the overgrown grass. “I hired a service to cut the lawn.”
“Your father probably thought he could do it himself.”
“No doubt,” said Emily as Nick shut the car off.
“I can cut it while we’re here. You head on inside and see your dad.” They exited the Leaf, and Nick made his way toward the barn.
Emily stood at the front door for a minute to collect herself. She had rehearsed this in her mind a thousand times. Could she remain gracious and respectful? Could she weather the results? Could she believe her father? All remained to be seen.
Emily rapped on the door and waited for an answer. When none came, she rapped again.
“Dad, hey, it’s me,” she called out. “Dad!”
She cracked the door open. In the backyard, she could hear Nick start up the lawn mower.
“Dad, are you in there?”
Maybe he’s out in the garden, she thought. Cracking the door open a little farther, Emily was accosted by an acrid whiff of smoke that wafted out from the crack in the door.
“Dad, it’s Emily. Are you in here? I’m coming in!”
She rushed to the kitchen to find a smoky haze clouded the room, making it difficult to see whether her father was in there. Emily rounded the kitchen counter and spied him slouched against the cupboards, his head hanging over his chest.
“Dad? Are you all right? Dad!” She knelt quickly at his side. “Oh my gosh, what happened? Dad!”
Dr. Hartford’s eyes cracked open, and he tried to focus.
“Em. Thank God,” he muttered.
Her medical training kicked in as she reached for his wrist to check his pulse. Scanning his face, she noted his pallor, his face gray and his forehead wet with perspiration.
“Your pulse is really weak,” she said. “Can you hear me? Dad, what happened?” Emily leaned in so she could hear her father’s feeble voice.
“The pot. On fire.”
Emily gazed up and saw the ceiling covered in dark soot and white foam. A used fire extinguisher lay at her father’s feet.
“Dad, did you pass out while you were cooking?” she said, raising her voice so he could hear her.
“I think so,” her father said.
“I warned you this could happen,” she said with fright in her voice.
“I’m fine. Just need meds,” he panted.
“No. You’re not fine. Your heart is dying,” she said, reaching for her phone and dialing 911.
“Don’t call … no ambulance,” he wheezed.
Emily jumped up to the sink and filled a glass with water. She cracked opened the kitchen window and searched quickly for Nick in the yard. She could hear the mower, but he was nowhere in sight. He must have started with the front lawn.
“Nick! Nick!” she yelled, her futile cry getting lost in the distant roar of the lawn mower motor. She gave up and knelt back down next to her father.
“Dad, this is why you can’t be here alone,” she said, chiding him out of fright and frustration.
“I’m not alone. Cathy lives here,” her father mumbled argumentatively. “I’m not alone.”
“She’s not here right now,” said Emily, kneeling back down by his side with the glass.
The 911 operator answered, “Hello, what is your emergency?”
“Yes, I need an ambulance at Dr. Robert Hartford’s home address. He’s conscious now, but he needs immediate medical attention. I’ll stay on the line.”
“Where are your heart meds?” Emily asked. Her dad pointed to a lazy Susan on the counter. Emily found the right pill bottle and crouched down next to her father as she pressed the pill between his lips, onto his tongue.
“Swallow this,” she instructed, handing him the water. Dr. Hartford drank.
“I need more time,” he said.
“More time for what?”
“More time with you,” said her father, whose skin had an ashen look to it. “I want the surgery.”
“You do? For sure?” Emily said.
“Yes.”
“That’s great. Yes, we’ll do that right away,” she replied.
“Can you stay for it?”
“Of course. Yes. I’ll stay,” Emily said with great relief. “That’s what I came here to tell you. I’m staying in Freeport for a while.”
“Good. Good.” Her father slid to the floor and lay on his side.
“Dad, hey, talk to me,” Emily said. “Don’t pass out. Keep your eyes open.”
“Your mother … we need to talk about your mother,” he said in a whisper.
“Yes, I’d like that.” Emily felt a wave of relief.
“She died, you know …” He trailed off, and Emily’s heart sank.
“I know she died, Dad.” Was the diminished supply of oxygen making him delirious?
“No. You don’t know.”
“Yes, I was there, Dad. But we don’t need to talk about that right now. Conserve your energy. The ambulance is on its way. Focus on me. Eyes open.”
Sweat was running down Dr. Hartford’s forehead now. He continued to pant for breath.
“No. The real reason … how she died …”
Emily froze at the mention of it. She fixed her eyes on her dad as his eyelids drooped down over his pupils. He began to drift toward unconsciousness. Emily frantically searched for a pulse.
“What happened, Dad?” She pressed her ear closer to his mouth so he wouldn’t have to strain his voice.
Robert panted out his answer in staccato phrases. “It. Was. My. Fault.” He struggled to inhale.
“What’s your fault? Dad?”
“Mary … Mom …” He couldn’t catch his breath.
“Okay. Don’t talk. Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe,” Emily instructed.
Robert found the strength to utter two words. “She had …”
“Dad … shh …”
“Cancer.”
“What?”
“I didn’t know … until the autop—
He slipped into unconsciousness.
“No. No. Dad. Come on. Stay with me.”
Emily leaned in toward his chest, listening as each breath became more prolonged than the one before it. She agonized over his last words. What did he mean, she had cancer? Surely, that’s not what killed her. Why didn’t he know? Why had Mom kept this from them? And what did all of this have to do with her accident? It still didn’t explain the blue slipper. His news churned in her gut with a sick sensation. Where was that ambulance?
Emily kept her fingers on her father’s dwindling pulse. She closed her eyes, pinching out a tear, and with all her being, willed him to live.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jennifer Graeser Dornbush is the daughter of a medical examiner, whose office was in her home. She investigated her first fatality, an airplane crash, when she was ten years old. Since that first case she has had decades of on-site experience in death investigation and 360 hours of forensic training through the Forensic Science Academy. Jennifer now uses these experiences to pen crime fiction for film and TV.
ALSO AVAILABLE BY JENNIFER GRAESER DORNBUSH:
God Bless the Broken Road
Forensic Speak: How To Write Realistic Crime Dramas
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-623-7
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-624-4
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-625-1
Cover design by Erin Seaward-Hiatt
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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First Edition: August 2018
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Jennifer Graeser Dornbush, The Coroner
