Page 8 of Hidden Hero

“What’s up?” Jeremy asked.

“I heard Mr. Rudolph’s son was coming to the Shore today. Could you stop by the hospital since it’s closer to you? You could just hang around until Cora is finished and talk to the son before he leaves. I would do it, but I have a meeting in thirty minutes.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said, inwardly sighing.So much for keeping my distance.

It didn’t take long to drive to the Shore’s only hospital. Jeremy walked into the building, flashing a smile at the receptionist when he showed his badge. Heading down the quiet hall toward the morgue, he felt a faint unease. He had only visited this area of the hospital once before. He pressed the intercom button on the wall next to the door.

“Can I help you?” a male voice called from inside.

“This is Detective Jeremy Pickett from the drug task force. I’m here to speak with Mr. Rudolph’s relatives. I understand they’re coming in today.”

“I’ll buzz you through.”

The door lock disengaged with a soft click, and Jeremy pulled it open. Inside, a man in scrubs and a white lab coat greeted him with a polite smile. A hospital ID hung from his pocket, and his demeanor was calm but professional.

“I’ll need to see your badge, please.”

Jeremy nodded, opened his badge, and handed it over. The man scrutinized it, logging the information into a computer before returning it.

“Dr. Wadsworth is with Shirley Adams’s family right now,” the man said. “Mr. Rudolph’s family should be here shortly.”

Jeremy’s brow furrowed in surprise. “Dr. Wadsworth scheduled both families so close together? I’d think it might be a little... sensitive, considering Mr. Rudolph caused the accident that killed Ms. Adams.”

The lab tech’s expression shifted, his brows snapping together as he glared at Jeremy. “I assure you, Dr. Wadsworth handles the identification of remains with skill, tact, and a great deal of compassion. She has everything under control.”

Jeremy opened his mouth to respond but decided against it. Instead, he nodded, offering a quiet, “Of course.”

He was directed down a short hallway lined with closed doors. As he approached an open doorway, the faint sound of crying reached his ears. A female hospital employee stood nearby, peering into the room, but she didn’t seem startled by his presence. Offering her a slight nod, Jeremy stepped closer, positioning himself so he could see inside.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

Cora sat at a small table with several photographs spread before her, each showing the face of the deceased woman. Unlike the dramatized scenes from TV or movies where grieving families were shown the body under a sheet, this hospital used images for identification. But it wasn’t the photos that caught Jeremy’s attention—it was Cora herself.

Instead of sitting across from the grieving woman, Cora was seated beside her. Her hand rested gently on the woman’s back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles as she spoke softly. The compassion in her voice was palpable, the words low but comforting.

“I know how hard this has been for you,” Cora said. “I promise we’ve taken great care of your mother, treating her with dignity. Everyone who works here respects all those who come through our doors.”

The woman sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a tissue, and turned to Cora with tear-filled eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Wadsworth. That means so much to us.”

Cora replied gently, “A hospital social worker is waiting outside to help with anything you need. She can guide you through making funeral arrangements or transferring your mother to a funeral home.”

Jeremy stared, unblinking, as Cora’s words drew a slight but grateful nod from the woman. There was nothing robotic or clinical about her now. Her face radiated care and understanding, and Jeremy couldn’t help but wonder if Cora had once been in this grieving woman’s shoes.

The woman leaned into Cora, who wrapped her arms around her in a brief but warm embrace, whispering something Jeremy couldn’t hear. Whatever she said brought a small, tearful smile to the woman’s lips before she stood and exited the room to meet the social worker.

Cora’s shoulders slumped as she let out a long sigh. She meticulously gathered the photographs, placing them into a folder before rubbing her temples. Jeremy could see the weight of her work pressing down on her, a burden she carried with quiet strength.

For the first time, he honestly considered what her job entailed—not just working with the deceased but also shouldering the grief of the living. He winced, remembering his flippant remarks in the past and how he’d reduced her role to clinical detachment. It hadn’t even occurred to him that she met personally with grieving families instead of delegating the task to someone else.

Maybe her need for control, her rigid professionalism, wasn’t about being aloof or robotic. Perhaps it was about navigating a job where so much was beyond her control.

Still lost in thought, he blinked as she straightened her spine, smoothing her hand over her hair—still in its perfect bun—and stood. When she turned to leave the room, her gaze caught his, her brown eyes widening slightly in surprise before narrowing in confusion.

“Detective Pickett. Did we have an appointment that I forgot about?”

“No, Dr. Wadsworth. We didn’t,” Jeremy said, his voice steady and measured. “I’m very sorry to intrude, but I was told you’d meet with Mr. Rudolph’s family today. I was hoping to have a chance to talk to them, but I can see this isn’t a good time. I’ll leave and call them after they’ve finished here.”

Cora blinked, her lips pressing into a tight line as she studied him. For the first time since they’d met, she seemed momentarily thrown off balance, as though unsure how to respond. Behind her gray-framed glasses, her warm brown eyes flickered with surprise, and the usual edge in her expression softened. She swallowed, visibly composing herself, and Jeremy waited, his face carefully neutral, his mouth firmly shut.

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