Page 47 of Chosen Path
“Great. We can hammer out the details sometime soon. But, I’m not going to lie—if we could somehow get the medical files into shape first, my quality of life will improve dramatically.”
Molly raised her glass to Bodhi. “Thanks for your brilliant idea and for making this amazing dinner.”
He nodded. “It was my privilege to cook for you. And as far as the archive goes, I hope it works out the way you both want it to.”
Molly cocked her head at what seemed to be a strangely unenthusiastic response considering the project was his idea in the first place. But he gave her a warm smile, and she decided she must have misinterpreted it.
“Cheers to that,” Hope chimed in.
“Cheers,” she echoed.
Bodhi bowed his head over his bowl and closed his eyes. After he gave his silent thanks for the food, they all dug into the food.
Time passed quickly as they ate and talked and laughed. At some point, a second bottle of wine was opened and enjoyed. Molly felt more alive than she had in a long time. She noted the irony that aliveness came to her in the middle of a cluster of deaths, but one thing she had learned from Uncle Al was that when joy came your way, you grabbed it with both hands and held on for the ride.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
I am subject to death; I am not exempt from death.
The Buddha, Upajjhatthana Sutta, AN 5.57(3)
* * *
Friday morning
Very early
Bodhi finished his morning meditation and moved through a quick yoga flow to greet the sun as it rose over the cold mountains. A new day, a clear slate, and, he hoped, no more deaths. He was at peace with the unyielding inevitability of death—or at least of his death, and most death. But these deaths in this small village didn’t feel inevitable. They felt … wrong. Much about this small village felt wrong. The place and many of the people he’d met were insular and unwelcoming despite their ostensible charms. There was something unpleasant just beneath the surface.
He hoped he hadn’t erred in suggesting the archival project to Molly and Hope. Both women had bloomed to life at the prospect of creating the archive. Hope had brightened visibly, and Molly seemed lighter, more at ease. But, in the instant after he proposed the idea, a deep unease had settled in his belly.
The sensation stayed with him for the rest of the evening, and it was there still. A churning worry about unintended consequences and ripple effects. He knew—or thought he knew—the genesis of his restiveness.
A deep dive into the past has a way of uncovering secrets that some people would rather leave consigned to the dustbin of history. He knew better than most the lengths to which a person might go to protect a hidden secret. As he lay in bed last night trying to quiet his mind, his thoughts kept returning to Davina Truth Jones. He’d helped the archeologist dig up the past, and she’d paid for her curiosity with her life.
He centered his breathing and reminded himself that the past was past and the future was not real. All he had was this present moment. He couldn’t control what might be concealed in Scandia Bluff’s past any more than he could control what might happen tomorrow.
Molly’s office phone rang, muffled but insistent behind the library doors. Nobody called their doctor at six-thirty in the morning unless it was an emergency. Molly and Hope had stayed up late, finishing the wine and planning the archives, which had grown into a history center, based on the snatches of conversation that floated up the stairs. Hope had obviously spent the night, seeing as how she was currently sound asleep on the waiting room couch. He hadn’t heard any noises from upstairs to suggest that Molly was up and moving around.
He tiptoed past Hope, eased the library doors open, then closed them silently before grabbing the phone from its base.
“Doctor Hart’s office,” he said in a low voice.
“Is this her answering service?” a female voice asked briskly.
He recognized that brisk female voice. “Officer Booth? No, this is Bodhi. Doctor Hart isn’t available at the moment. Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m sorry to call so early. But the Lundgren funeral is today, so I’m going to be on traffic duty starting around eleven and I wanted to follow up on the doctor’s message before the day gets away from me.”
“Sure, no problem. What can I do for you?”
“Doctor Hart was pretty excited last night, something about Derek Wolf having diabetes. I didn’t quite see the importance of that fact. What am I missing?”
“I don’t think the diabetes diagnosis was the crucial piece of information—we just found it interesting. We found Derek’s patient records in Doctor Larson’s old files, including the contact information for Derek’s doctor in Maine. As far as we know, he’s moved on from that town, but there’s an excellent chance that doctor will have current contact information for him. Molly left a message for the doctor, too.”
“Oh, that is promising—especially since Perth didn’t find anything in the house that would lead to Derek. Keep me posted.”
“Of course.”
