Page 73 of Chosen Path
Kimberly lobbed her apology over her shoulder as she stalked toward the two women. She didn’t want Doctor Hart to get any further. As she pushed her way through the small crowd, she could feel the police officer following in her wake like a pilot fish.
She pulled up short in front of Doctor Hart and Laura’s daughter, blocking their progress into the funeral home. “Doctor Hart, what are you doing here?”
Her unnaturally loud question cut through the murmur of conversation, and the people nearest them fell silent, watching and listening.
“The same thing everyone else is, I imagine.” Molly Hart’s answer was polite, but firm.
Hope took a half-step forward and waved to someone standing near the wall.
“Hello, Hope,” Nancy Grant called to her.
Kimberly turned to give the librarian a warning look and spotted Officer Booth and Greg walking toward their small group. She turned back to the doctor and appraised her for a moment. “You were warned.”
“Yes, I was,” Doctor Hart agreed. She glanced over Kimberly’s shoulder. “Excuse us. Hope and I need to have a word with Officer Booth.”
The two women walked around Kimberly as if she were a piece of furniture and beelined for the police officer. Before Kimberly had fully processed the snub, Greg approached her.
“Is everything okay?”
“I advised Doctor Hart not to come,” she hissed. “She’s stirring up trouble and she shouldn’t be here.”
“Kim, be reasonable. Like it or not, she’s the village doctor now. How would it look if she skipped a patient’s funeral?”
Greg’s patient, logical tone served only to stoke her anger at Molly Hart’s disrespect. She fisted her hands, then relaxed them, trying hard to stay calm. If someone made a scene today, it wouldn’t be her, she promised herself.
With superhuman effort, she smiled. “You’re right.”
He patted her arm. “We’re all under stress. Things’ll feel more settled after—”
“After we bury Corrine?” She finished the sentence for him.
“Exactly.”
The three tiny vials of insulin, wrapped up in a silk scarf and nestled in the bottom her purse, couldn’t weigh more than two ounces, containers included. Yet somehow they were heavy, dragging her shoulder down. She needed to ease the burden by sharing it.
“Can we speak in private for a moment?”
His eyes flicked over her face, searching for something. Some hint as to what she wanted to talk about.
“Council business,” she hissed. “Bodhi King is a problem.”
His smile wavered. “Let’s catch up with Wendy and Ron. We should make the rounds and then head over to the church soon. We can find a quiet corner to talk during the luncheon.”
She bristled at being put off. He might be the official head of the executive council, but they both knew she was the true leader. She was the one who’d stepped up in November, not him.
She asserted herself. “That’s fine. But we need more than a quiet corner. We’ll slip next door and use the meeting room in the municipal building.”
“That works, too,” he acquiesced easily.
As they walked toward the sitting room to find their spouses, Kimberly was hyperaware of the police officer trailing behind them. Greg noticed, too.
“Has he been following you all morning?” he asked out of the side of his mouth.
“Yes, ever since I got here. I don’t like it.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he assured her. Only he didn’t sound sure at all.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
