Page 52 of Chosen Path
Pratt’s Mortuary and Funeral Home,
7:30 am, sharp
Officer Booth was waiting outside the loading dock in the back parking lot for Bodhi and Molly. She had one hand on her hip and was tapping her foot.
“Are we late?” Molly whispered.
“We’re right on time. She’s just impatient because she has a busy day,” Bodhi assured her.
As they walked up to meet her, Bodhi considered making a joke about meeting in back alleys, but he reconsidered once he saw her expression. Instead, he led with gratitude.
“I—we both—really appreciate this, officer. Sincerely.”
“You should,” she told him. “Let’s get this over with.”
She led them around the corner to a small metal door set into the far wall of the crematorium attached to the funeral home.
“She’s being cremated?” Molly sounded surprised.
“I don’t think so. But the funeral home side is buzzing with folks getting ready for the Lundgren viewing. They’re busy, and you need to stay out of the way.”
Officer Booth paused with her hand on the door and gave them both a long look that Bodhi read as ‘it would be for the best if nobody saw you.’ He nodded his understanding.
She yanked the door open and went inside. They followed her into a dimly lit tiled hallway. The smell that Bodhi associated with morgues—a contradictory mixture of antiseptics and decay—permeated the air.
“I can’t believe they leave this door unlocked,” Molly observed.
Officer Booth turned, whipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “They don’t ordinarily. I asked them to. The fewer people who know you’re here, the better.”
“I’m not sure why I have to sneak around to see my own patient,” Molly protested.
Booth stopped so suddenly that Bodhi barely avoided crashing into her. She faced Molly and said, “I’m doing this for your benefit, Doctor Hart. You may not realize it, but you’re in a precarious position. Once Perth and I had to pull an ice fisherman out of Alpine Lake. That lake was frozen solid, and it was the dead of winter. He thought he was perfectly safe, it was a cloudless day, and the winter sun was bright. And he just happened to pick a spot that was in direct sunlight most of the day. He didn’t notice when the ice started to sweat and soften. The next thing he knew, the ice all around him cracked and he was submerged in freezing water. He’s darned lucky we got him out.”
Molly studied the police officer. “You’re telling me that I’m on thin ice.”
“Well, yes, you are. But the moral of this particular story is that the ice fisher was Ed Pratt, and he owes me one for preventing him from becoming his own customer.”
Bodhi hid a smile. Officer Booth reminded him of some of his favorite Buddhist monks. He was never sure if their stories were metaphorical, intended to teach an ethical lesson, or pragmatic and reality based.
The police officer resumed walking, and they did, too. When they reached the end of the long hallway, she opened an unmarked metal door that led to a cement stairwell. They followed her up two flights, their shoes singing as their soles struck the metal stairs. When they reached the second landing, she pushed open another door.
When they walked through the doorway, they left behind the drab, utilitarian mortuary and entered into a different world. The funeral home side of the building boasted thick carpeting in a red so deep it was almost purple. The walls were covered with cream-colored wallpaper embossed with a diamond pattern.
“Stay right here,” Booth ordered.
Then she disappeared around the corner. Bodhi and Molly waited in silence. After several minutes, the police officer returned with a tall, thin, harassed-looking man in tow. Judging by his somber black suit and perpetual sorrowful expression, he could only be Ed Pratt. He looked like he was born to be a funeral director—or perhaps a vampire. His hair was so blond it was almost white. He wore it slicked back from his forehead, which accentuated his prominent widow’s peak. His skin was pale and—Bodhi hated to even think it, but it was the most accurate description—sallow. He was younger than Bodhi had expected him to be, but he carried himself like an old man. His shoulders were rounded and his wrists dangled out of his slightly too short shirt sleeves. He looked as if he’d never fully thawed out after his ice-fishing debacle.
“Molly, you know Ed, right?” Officer Booth said.
“Of course. Thanks so much for accommodating us today, Ed. I know you’re busy.”
“I am, but I can’t say no to Jenny.”
Booth flashed him a tight smile. “And this is Doctor Bodhi King, the forensic pathology consultant.”
Ed sized him with piercing dark brown eyes. “I’ve heard of you. You helped the Provincial Forensic Laboratory up in Montreal determine how that designer drug was turning people into the living dead.”
“I was on the team, yes.”
