Page 22 of Chosen Path
Just then, the kettle whistled.
“Hold that thought.”
Molly hopped up and removed the kettle from the heat. She returned to the table with two mugs of hot water, an assortment of bagged teas, honey, and two spoons.
Hope flipped through the tea bags and found one that looked interesting. She dunked the ginger turmeric concoction into her water to steep. Molly fixed herself a cup of lavender bergamot breakfast tea and returned to Hope’s question.
“You don’t consider seven deaths in six months to be a cluster?”
“Don’t you mean eight?”
Molly winced as if Hope had slapped her. She sighed heavily. “Possibly eight. We don’t know why Corrine died. Her death might be unrelated.”
“But you think the others are related? I don’t understand. Mr. Lundgren, all those people, they died of natural causes. Wait. My mom?” She sucked in a sharp breath.
Molly stirred her tea. She seemed to be choosing her words with care.
Finally, she said, “In each death that occurred since I took over Doctor Larson’s practice, including your mom’s, I wasn’t able to determine a cause. I reached out to the medical examiner’s office, to see if they would investigate, but each time, they declined. So, yes, your mother’s death certificate states ‘undetermined natural causes’ as the cause of death.”
Hope had to strain to hear the words over the hammering of her pulse. “But you don’t think that’s true?”
Molly pressed her lips together in a firm line for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know, Hope. What I do know is usually a doctor can establish a link between an acute or chronic illness or injury and death. I haven’t been able to do that here. It concerns me.”
Hope’s thoughts spiraled. Her words came out in a jumble. “But Mr. Alden—George—he was ninety. I remember there was a big celebration for his birthday last spring.”
“He was,” Molly confirmed.
“So, he died of old age, right? Didn’t all those people die of old age?” Hope’s voice quavered.
“Hey, take a breath.”
Molly waited. Hope complied. She inhaled, filling her lungs with air, then let it out in awhoosh.
“Good. Do it again, and try to feel your stomach expanding. Breathe down, not up, if you can imagine that.”
Hope did as she asked. “Like yoga breathing?”
“Exactly.”
She did another cycle of breath, in and out, then met Molly’s eyes. “I’m okay, really. Please, go on.”
The doctor eyed her closely before continuing. “Everyone who’s died in the past year has been over sixty-five, except for your mother, who was one month shy of her birthday.”
“And Corrine, if her death is related,” Hope noted.
“That’s true. She’s fifty-nine. But I don’t think it’s accurate to describe all the others as dying of old age. Did your mom strike you as elderly or infirm?”
Despite the pain in her chest, Hope had to laugh. “No, of course not. Did you know she taught a belly dancing class at the library twice a week? She had moves.”
Molly smiled. “She never mentioned it, but she did show me her activity tracker at her final appointment. She was crushing it.”
“She was strong, too. Every October, she special ordered a fifty-pound bag of flour for her Christmas baking. She’d drive over to the mill to pick it up, load it in the car, and lug it into her house by herself.” Hope’s eyes filled with tears, and she made no effort to hold them back. “I still have last year’s flour. She never got to make her cookies.”
“I’m so sorry, Hope. Your mom was a gem. She brought me a plate of food on Thanksgiving because George Alden died and I had to miss her dinner.”
Hope wiped her tears away and barked out a rough laugh. “I’m sorry George died, but believe me, the timing worked in your favor. That dinner was a disaster.’”
Molly raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
