Aria swept past me out the door, leaving me alone with my anxiety. It was better this way; I had wanted to avoid forcing Aria to endure these “interview” sessions, especially without an attorney representing us. I had barely had a day to figure things out, let alone pack some meager belongings and find a place to sleep, as everything was moving so quickly with the investigation. How did anyone throw together a defense team on such short notice? Milk, bread, and a criminal defense team weren’t exactly part of our family budget. Anyway, if I had immediately lawyered up, that would only make me look guilty, or at least suspicious.

I hurriedly brushed my hair and splashed water on my face to make myself somewhat presentable, but I didn’t have time to hide the dark rings under my eyes or the pimples splotching my temples from stress.

A knock on the door, a detached greeting, a declined offer for a cup of burned coffee. Whoever had stayed here before me had cooked a crisp black residue to the bottom of the carafe, which no amount of scrubbing could clean. After pouring myself a cup—cheap coffee being the only sustenance I’d had in twenty-four hours—Detective Rossi directed me to the cheap round dining room table that accommodated four, if squished knee to knee.

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” he began, setting his briefcase on the table. “The preliminary autopsy report came back. I have some news.”

I swallowed a mixture of anticipation and fear, waiting for him to continue. He passed a folder to me, opened it up, and pointed to the top piece of paper with the heading Autopsy Report.

“According to the medical examiner, your husband didn’t die from the stabbing, Mrs. Fischer. He was already dead from lethal cardiac arrhythmia before his throat was cut.”

I ran my finger down the long line of medical jargon that I didn’t fully understand.

“Wait—what does that mean?” I couldn’t make sense of the words. Something about Owen already being dead . . . that couldn’t be possible.

“Lethal cardiac arrhythmia is a heart attack. Your husband was already dead from a heart attack before the perp cut his throat.”

I looked up at the detective, who chomped on a piece of gum. The man sure loved his spearmint.

“How were they able to determine this?”

He ran his finger under a line of text. “It explains it here, but you may have noticed when you found your husband that there wasn’t much blood coming from his neck.”

“Honestly, I was in such a panic when I found him, I didn’t really notice anything but the big gash.”