The Forensic Wife Who Autopsied Her Own Murder

"She was the cleanest part of my life."

Damon gripped the edges of the mahogany podium. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a classic actor's trick to force water to the eyes. His voice cracked perfectly on cue, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the memorial hall.

I sat in the last row. The rough wool of my dark coat scratched my neck. A black medical mask covered the lower half of my face. The mass text he sent out last night ensured a packed house.

"Vivienne gave everything to those around her," Damon told the crowded room. He adjusted the microphone, staring out at the sea of black suits. "She loved without condition."

My knuckles turned white against my knees. I dug my nails into my slacks.

"I don't know how to walk into an empty house," he whispered. A single tear slipped down his cheek. "I don't know how to wake up without her."

Lie number one. Lie number two. Lie number three.

I counted the falsehoods like the stolen pearls currently resting on Margot’s collarbone.

Margot sat in the front pew. She sniffled loudly, pressing a white lace handkerchief to her eyes.

"We have to hold onto the light she brought into our lives," Damon continued. He looked directly down at Margot. "Margot, you have been my rock these past few days. Viv would be so grateful to you."

"She was my best friend," Margot choked out. She dabbed at her perfectly dry eyes. "I'll never forget her."

"We will keep her memory alive," Damon promised the crowd. "Her clinic will remain open under new management. Her charity work will continue."

He was already liquidating the practice. I had seen the email alerts on Iris’s tablet this morning.

"He's so strong," a woman in the row ahead of me whispered to her husband.

"To lose a wife like that... I can't imagine," the husband replied.

"They say he tried to run into the flames to save her."

"The police had to hold him back."

I pressed my lips together under the mask. Damon hadn't run toward the flames. He had stood on the embankment, watching the fire burn his insurance policy into the metal frame.

The officiant stepped up to the podium, placing a hand on Damon's shoulder. "We will now begin the procession. Please form a line to pay your final respects."

The congregation shifted. Wooden pews creaked as dozens of people stood.

I stood and merged into the center aisle. I kept my head bowed, staring at the scuffed heels of the man in front of me.

"Did you know Viv well?" the man asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"I was a patient of hers," I answered. The medical mask muffled my voice.

"She fixed my daughter's overbite last year," he said. He shook his head. "I still don't understand how it happened."

"It was a sudden crash," I said softly.

"They say the fire was so intense they had to rely on her wedding ring to identify her," the man continued. "Damon found it in the ashes."

"Is that what Damon told the police?" I asked.

"That's what he told everyone. Such a devoted husband. He refused to leave the scene until they recovered it."

Devoted. He had planted the ring on the corpse before he struck the match.

"It's a tragedy," I replied.

"Yes. Horrible."

I stepped forward again. The polished oak casket sat under a harsh overhead spotlight. The scent of white lilies hung heavy in the air, thick enough to coat the back of my throat.

My turn.

I stopped at the edge of the velvet rope. I had exactly four seconds before the usher would wave me along.

One. My eyes scanned the folded hands resting on the satin lining. The mortician had covered them in thick white gloves to hide the fire damage.

Two. My gaze tracked up to the face. A sheer white veil draped over the features. The fabric obscured the charred skin, but the underlying bone structure held a rigid, unnatural angle.

Three. The intense spotlight illuminated the parted lips beneath the gauze. The mortician hadn't wired the jaw completely shut.

Four. I caught the gleam.

Perfectly even, bright white teeth. All-ceramic crowns on the lower left jaw.

My pulse steadied. I recognized that exact margin work--the same bevel, the same polish, the same conservative reduction I used on every crown I placed. Whoever had done this dental work had studied my technique down to the last micron.

A face flickered at the edge of my memory: some blonde patient, some routine filling, buried under weeks of chaos. I couldn't place her. But one thing was certain. Damon hadn't found a random blonde woman off the street. Someone with real training had gone to enormous trouble to make a stranger's mouth look exactly like mine.

"Please keep moving, miss," the usher whispered. He reached out and touched my elbow.

I stepped away. A cold, sharp satisfaction anchored my chest. Damon thought he buried a secret, but he only put my hard evidence on display. The county medical examiner would receive my report by tomorrow morning, and those ceramic crowns would destroy his entire alibi.

I returned to the back of the hall. The line thinned out until the last mourner took their seat.

The officiant returned to the microphone. "Before we close the casket, I invite family and close friends to step forward for a final goodbye."

Damon stood up first. He reached down and offered his hand to Margot.

She took it. As she stood, the overhead light caught the fifty-two luminous pearls resting against her black silk dress. My mother's pearls.

Margot didn't walk toward the casket.

Instead, she turned around. She scanned the crowd. Her eyes swept past the front pews, past the middle rows, until her gaze hit the back of the room.

She stopped. Her eyes locked directly onto mine above the mask.

She dropped Damon's hand.

"Margot?" Damon asked, his voice low.

She ignored him. Margot walked down the center aisle, her pace quickening until she stood three feet away from my row.

"You," Margot said, her voice cutting through the quiet hall. "I think I've seen you before."