Page 32 of Chosen Path
While Bodhi would concede Hope had amassed an unusually high body count for a civilian, it seemed to be premature to measure her for an orange jumpsuit. He was about to suggest the police officer take a less aggressive tone when Molly stepped between Booth and Hope.
“I’m sorry, officer. This woman is my patient, and she’s in a fragile emotional state. She suffered a shock this morning. Just as she suffered when she discovered her deceased mother in December.Andas she suffered when, as a teenager—a mere child—she found her homeroom teacher unconscious in his classroom.”
The details took the wind from Booth’s sails, and she visibly deflated.
Molly threw Bodhi a look and said in an undertone, “Comatose. DKA.”
He nodded. “He was diabetic?”
“LADA,” Molly confirmed.
Booth swiveled her head from Molly to Bodhi and back again, following their conversation as if it were a tennis match.
“Speak English,” she demanded.
“Mr. Wolf had a somewhat rare type of diabetes. He developed a condition called diabetic ketoacidosis, which resulted in a coma that proved fatal.” Bodhi was careful to keep his tone neutral and nonjudgmental as he explained to the police officer how wildly off-base her initial assumption had been.
Booth turned back to Hope and used a kinder tone. “That sounds like a truly unfortunate experience. And I’m sure finding his wife this morning was doubly upsetting.”
“Thanks,” Hope sniffled.
“I have just a few questions about what happened when you found Corrine this morning. Is there somewhere we can talk?” She was addressing Hope but looking at Molly.
Hope also turned to Molly with a pleading expression, not unlike the one Booth had shot Bodhi when they walked into the kitchen. Molly nodded almost imperceptibly.
“I don’t have another appointment until after lunch, and I’d like to be present. As Ms. Gardener’s doctor, of course. As Doctor King can confirm, she was hyperventilating earlier.”
Booth glanced at Bodhi, who nodded.
“That’s fine,” she said grudgingly.
“Perfect. If Bodhi doesn’t mind covering the phone for me, we can talk in my living quarters upstairs. It’s more private up there, and nosy Frank should be by with the mail any minute, so …”
Molly trailed off as Officer Booth chuckled, and Bodhi knew the doctor had turned the prickly law enforcement officer into, if not a friend, then an ally.
The reference to the meddlesome mail carrier jogged his memory. “Oh, before I forget, Corrine’s medication was delivered today. Frank gave it to me so we could keep it refrigerated.”
Molly looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “Her hypertension medicine came already? How is that even possible? I just wrote the refill prescription yesterday. And it doesn’t require refrigeration.”
He shrugged and unzipped his bag. “I don’t know what to tell you, but I have it right here.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Molly insisted. “She takes—took—a calcium channel blocker.”
Officer Booth cleared her throat. “Could you just stick it in the fridge and figure it out later? I need to get to the mortuary and get in touch with Corrine’s next of kin before Kimberly Dickerson activates the potluck phone tree for the post-funeral luncheon.”
The reference sailed over Bodhi’s head, but Molly giggled, and even Hope managed a ghost of a smile.
“That sounds like a good plan. And I’m happy to answer your telephone.”
Molly mouthed ‘thank you.’
Bodhi watched the three women walk through the sitting room and toward the stairs. Then he looked down at the package in his hand. It definitely instructed the patient to “keep refrigerated.”
But Molly was right. As far as he knew, there were no calcium channel blockers that required refrigeration. He knew he could solve this minor mystery easily. But opening a package addressed to a dead woman felt violative. Instead, he opened the refrigerator and placed the envelope on the shelf next to Molly’s milk.
He was about to pour himself a glass of water when a sound caught his attention. He paused and listened.
Faint, distant ringing. Molly’s office phone.
