Page 39 of Chosen Path
“You haven’t been here very long, and we all understand that Doc Larson’s sudden death made for a messy transition. We’re a patient breed. You have to be, to live up here. But our patience isn’t without limits.”
“Meaning?”
He cleared his throat before he answered. His voice rang out in the empty shop. “Your job when a member of our community passes away is to sign the death certificate. That’s the full extent of it.”
Hot anger burned in her belly and spread to her chest. She clenched her hands into fists, then took a breath.What would Uncle Al do? What would Bodhi do?
They’d smile at Greg, politely thank him for his insights, and walk away with their dignity intact. The answer came to her almost instantaneously—just not quite fast enough to stop her mouth.
“I’ll thank you not to tell me how to do my job. You may be the head of the village council, but the last time I checked, I’m the only villager with a medical license.” She whipped her head around and stormed out of the store.
It wasn’t until she stood on the sidewalk, shaking with anger, that she regretted allowing herself to be baited. Because there was no doubt that Greg Rockman’s rudeness and condescension were deliberate. He wanted her to storm off. And she’d played right into his hands. The raw April wind whipped her hair away from her hot cheeks and tore the strangled scream of frustration from her lips.
* * *
Greg watched the doctor barrel out of the store, red-faced and seething. In fact, he thought he heard her scream before she started to walk toward her office. He waited until she’d crossed the street, then he retrieved his mobile phone from the cubby under the register and called the second number on his speed dial.
It rang four times, then the voicemail message began to play. He tapped his fingers on the glass countertop while Kimberly Dickerson recited an overly long set of instructions for callers. As if people didn’t know what information to leave on a voicemail at this point in modern history. He waited for the beep, per Kimberly’s wholly unnecessary exhortation to do so.
Beep.
“It’s Greg. We need to talk. Doctor Hart was just in here asking questions about Derek. We need to shut this down before it goes any further. Call me.”
He ended the call and returned the phone to its spot under the counter. He picked up his seed catalogue but his mind wasn’t on the heirloom tomatoes, the sugar snap peas, or the beets. His mind wandered to the last time he had seen Derek.
It had been an accidental sighting. He’d taken Wendy to dinner and a show in Montreal for their thirtieth anniversary. Afterward, they stopped in at an upscale restaurant around the corner from Terminus Centre-Ville for dessert and a nightcap. Wendy had gone to the ladies’ room while Greg paid the bill.
He was signing his name to the charge slip when a fist pounded on the plate-glass window to his right. He started and turned to see a disheveled, long-haired man standing out on the sidewalk, shouting something inaudible and gesturing.
An efficient waiter had bustled outside and shooed the man away. When the waiter returned, he apologized profusely to Greg. “Désolé, monsieur.I’m so sorry. He thought he knew you. Bah!” The waiter shook his head as if such a thing weren’t possible.
Greg laughed off the encounter, and Wendy walked up to the table. He helped her into her coat and hurried her out of the restaurant and across the street to the parking garage, nearly running. He’d swiveled his head from side to side, looking for Derek Wolf, but saw no one who resembled him.
Greg had recognized him the instant their eyes had met. Derek’s glittering green eyes were so like his father’s that no amount of dirt and shabbiness could conceal his identity. He never mentioned the run-in with Corrine, although from time to time he did wonder what Derek had wanted with him. Did he, after all this time, blame Greg for banishing him from Scandia Bluff?
He shook his head, pulling himself out of his reverie. Whatever Derek had wanted all those years ago, it hardly mattered now. Doctor Hart had been right about one thing: it had been a blessing for everyone involved that Derek had started over in a new town. There was no reason to bring him back to Scandia Bluff. Not even to lay his mother to rest. The risks were too great.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Bodhi brought Hope another cup of tea and lent an ear as she ranted about her older sister’s behavior in the wake of their mother’s death. Tea and sympathy, Buddhist-style. It was all he could offer her in the moment. She felt betrayed by Kara’s actions, and he couldn’t change that for her.
After she’d talked herself out, she rolled her shoulders and laughed sheepishly. “You’re a good listener.”
He smiled and gave a small nod of thanks for the compliment. “Feel any better?”
“Some. I think I need to hash things out with Kara once and for all. But I’m not ready yet.”
“You’ll know when the time’s right.”
“Yeah, I guess. I am feeling a bit stir crazy, though. Do you think I could start going through Doc Larson’s files? It’d give me something to do.”
Molly had ginned up a simple independent contractor agreement, based on the one Bodhi used for his pathology consultations. It stated that any work Hope did was to assist Molly and that she understood she was bound by patient confidentiality regulations not to reveal or use any of the personally identifiable patient health information she came across in the process. Molly had declared it sufficient for her purposes.
Bodhi and Hope left Molly’s cozy living room and walked down the stairs to the old house’s library. He opened the pocket doors to reveal the unusual round room. Hope caught her breath when he turned on the lights. The sconces on the walls illuminated the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that curved around the room.
“Isn’t it a marvel?”
She nodded, taking in the intricate wood beading, then clapped with glee when she spotted the ladder. “I always dreamed about having a home library with a ladder! Just like Belle inBeauty and the Beast.”
