“It’s lividity, not libidity, when the blood settles to the lowest part of the body.”
“Guess I’ve never seen it written down.”
“So what did you do then?”
“It was then that I . . .”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. Up until now, the shock of finding Dad’s body and the terror of letting -people in the house had blotted out everything else. But now, the reality that Dad was dead came crashing down on me, making my eyes sting. I recognized the feeling from a long time ago. I was going to cry, and I couldn’t decide whether I was sad that Dad was gone or elated that I was finally going to be free. Free to live the normal life I’d always dreamed of.
But I couldn’t cry, not in front of these strangers, couldn’t show weakness. Weakness was dangerous. I thought of Deirdre Walsh again and remembered what she always did when she was in danger of crying. I cleared my throat.
“It was then that I determined that he was deceased. I estimated the time of death, based on the stage of rigor, to be around ten A.M. this morning, so I did not attempt to resuscitate him,” I said, remembering Dad’s cool, waxy dead skin under my hand. “Subsequently I retrieved his cell phone off his nightstand and called Mr. King.”
“Randy King?”
I nodded.
“Why didn’t you call 911?”
“Because Dad told me to call Mr. King if something ever happened to him.”
The deputy stared at me like I’d admitted to murder. Then he looked away and stood.
“I think the coroner is almost done, but he’ll want to talk to you.”
While I waited, I huddled on the couch, thinking about how my life was going to change. I’d have to buy groceries and pay bills and taxes and do all the things Dad had never taught me how to do.
The coroner appeared in the doorway. “Miss Moshen?” He was a large zero--shaped man in a cardigan.
“Yes?”
He sat on the kitchen chair the deputy had vacated.
“I need to ask you a -couple of questions,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. I was wary. The deputy had been slight and small, and even though he’d had a sidearm, I could have taken him if I’d needed to. I didn’t know about the coroner, he was so heavy and large.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
I began to repeat my account, but the coroner interrupted me. “You’re not testifying at trial,” he said. “Just tell me what happened.”
I tried to do as he asked, but I wasn’t sure how to say it so he wouldn’t be annoyed.
“Did your dad complain of chest pains, jaw pain? Did his left arm hurt?”
I shook my head. “Just said he didn’t feel good. Like he had the flu.”
“Did your dad have high cholesterol? High blood pressure?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was the last time he saw a doctor?” the coroner asked.
“He didn’t believe in doctors.”
“Your dad was only fifty--one, so I’ll have to schedule an autopsy, even though it was probably a heart attack. We’ll run a toxicology panel, which’ll take about four weeks because we have to send it to the lab in Topeka.”
The blood drained from my face. “Toxicology?” I said. “Why?”
“It’s standard procedure,” he said.
“I’m pretty sure my dad wouldn’t want an autopsy.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You can bury him before the panel comes back.”
“No, I mean Dad wouldn’t want someone cutting him up like that.”
“It’s state law.”
“Please,” I said.
His eyes narrowed as they focused on me. Then he stood.
“After the autopsy, where would you like the remains sent?”
“Holt Mortuary in Niobe,” a voice from the living room said.
I rose from the couch to see who’d said it. Randy King stood with his back to the wall, his Stetson low over his eyes.
The coroner glanced at me for confirmation.
“I’m the executor of Mr. Moshen’s will,” Randy said. He raised his head and I saw his eyes, light blue with tiny pupils that seemed to bore clear through to the back of my head.
I shrugged at the coroner.
“Would you like to say goodbye to your father before we transport him to the morgue?” he said.
I nodded and followed him to the stairs, where he stood aside. “After you,” he said.
“No,” I said. “You first.”
Dad had taught me never to go in a door first and never to let anyone walk behind me. The coroner frowned but mounted the stairs.
Upstairs, Dad’s room was the first one on the left. The coroner stood outside the door. He reached out to touch my arm and I took a step backward. He dropped his hand to his side.
“Miss Moshen,” he said in a hushed voice. “Your father looks different from when he was alive. It might be a bit of a shock. No one would blame you if you didn’t—-”
I walked into Dad’s room, taking with me everything I knew from all the cop shows I’d watched. But I was not prepared at all for what I saw.