Page 4 of Chosen Path
“Has she reached out to the medical examiner?”
“Yes. Under Vermont law, the sudden death of a person who’s in apparent good health is a reportable death. So she called the medical examiner’s office the first six times. But in all six cases, the ME’s office declined to investigate. No investigations, no autopsies. She’s written ‘old age,’ ‘undetermined natural causes,’ or the combination of ‘old age, undetermined natural causes’ as the cause of death seven times in six months.”
“Seven, not six?”
“The most recent death just happened yesterday. She’s filled out the death certificate, but she’s holding off entering it into the state database. She’s trying to get in touch with an out-of-state family member to see if they’ll consent to an autopsy, but she’s not hopeful.”
Bodhi sipped his tea and fell silent for a long moment. Then he lowered the mug to the small table and peered at Al. “Don’t take offense, but why’d she call you? As you say, this isn’t your speciality.”
“I’m not offended. It’s a fair question. She called me for two reasons. One, all the deceased were over age sixty-five. Now, that’s not what I consider an advanced age.” He paused to chuckle, then said, “And not only because I am well past it. But, in the modern era, sixty-five isn’t old. With good nutrition, comprehensive health care, and a social support system, many people live productive, happy lives for decades after that.”
“You say there are two reasons Doctor Hart called you. What’s the second one?”
“She’s my niece,” he said simply.
“Ahh.”
“She didn’t know who else to call, so he reached out to her old uncle Al. I told her I’d do everything I could to find someone capable of helping her. That’s you. So—will you help her?” He exhaled and studied Bodhi’s face.
Bodhi eyed him back, lifted his mug, and drank his tea. After a beat, he stood and pushed back his chair.
“I will. I’m intrigued by the cluster, and the village itself sounds like an interesting place. If you’ll give me your niece’s number, I’ll call and make the arrangements. Right now, I need to stir my vegetables so they don’t stick to the bottom of the roaster. Would you care to join us for an early supper?”
“That’s very kind, but I need to get back to my office.” As Al declined the dinner invitation and rose to his feet, a wave of sheer relief washed over him.
Molly was out of her depth, and he couldn’t help her. But he was certain he’d found someone who could.
CHAPTERTHREE
Scandia Bluff, Vermont
Population, still 588
Wednesday morning
Molly narrowed her eyes as she listened through the stethoscope.
“Take a deep breath for me.”
Corrine Wolf obliged, then coughed. It was a wet, rattling sound.
Molly eased the silicone earpieces out from her ears and allowed the stethoscope to dangle around her neck. “How long have you had that cough, Mrs. Wolf?”
Corrine hacked again, then pulled a crumbled tissue from the sleeve of her sweater and wiped her mouth. Molly lifted the wastepaper basket and intercepted the used tissue before the woman could stuff it back up her sleeve. Then she held out her box of tissues, and Corrine plucked a fresh one. She folded it into a careful square and slid it under the cuff of her sweater before answering Molly’s question.
“It’s nothing,” she protested. “Happens every spring. The wet weather, you know? What about my blood pressure?”
“It’s good,” Molly assured her. “The medication Doctor Larson has you on seems to be working well. So, as long as you’re not experiencing any side effects, I’ll be happy to renew the prescription.”
Relief flooded the woman’s face. “That’s great. No, no side effects. And you’ll use that mail-order place for the drugs, right? So I’ll get three months at once.”
“Yes, I will,” Molly confirmed. The nearest pharmacy was all the way over in Greenview. Most of her patients got their medicines from a mail-order pharmacy that Doctor Larson had found. The rest crossed the border to have their prescriptions filled in Canada, which was both closer and less expensive than the Greenview Apothecary Shop.
Corrine slid off the metal exam table and bent over to pull on her rubber boots. Molly eyed the clumps of mud clinging to the soles of the boots and suppressed a sigh. When she interviewed with Doctor Larson over the summer, the old Victorian home that housed both his practice and his residence—and now served as hers—had been spotless. In contrast, Molly seemed to be losing a war with the mud. She was certain she spent more time mopping her floors than making patient notes.
“Mrs. Wolf, how did Doctor Larson keep the floors so clean?” She blurted out the question before she could stop herself.
Her patient paused, her hand on her bootstrap, and looked up at her. Molly was surprised to see a grin flash across the woman’s face.
