Page 76 of Chosen Path
Hope drank in the conviction and strength in Molly’s expression and felt her own confidence unfurl in her chest like a monarch spreading its wings. She gave Molly’s hand a squeeze. “Go on.”
Molly walked through the doorway and out into the hallway. Officer Booth closed the wide metal doors behind her and locked them.
Then she nodded at Hope. “You’re on.”
Hope took a deep breath before she walked to the front of the room, under the quilt that her very own confirmation class had made as a gift to the church nearly twenty years ago, back when Saint Olaf’s still had enough kids to run a confirmation class. She positioned herself directly in front of the square that contained the dove she’d sewn onto the blanket and told herself it was a good sign.
“Hi, everyone,” she began.
A few conversations died down as curious eyes turned to look at her, but most of the crowd was oblivious, caught up in their storytelling or recipe swapping or child wrangling.
She felt her skin heat and knew that the telltale red splotches that developed when she was embarrassed were working their way up her neck. She glanced back at her dove, cleared her throat, and started again, her voice louder and stronger.
“Hi, everyone. Sorry to interrupt your meal, but if I could have your attention for a few minutes?”
She waited. Chairs scraped against the floor as people turned in her direction, wives elbowed husbands, husbands dropped their forks to their pie plates, and the room went still. Still and silent.
“Thanks. So, I think you all know me. But just in case some of you don’t, I’m Hope Gardener. I work at the library. Laura was my mom. Johnny Gardener was my dad, though he’s been gone a long time now. And you probably all remember my sister. Kara was—still is—the social butterfly of our family. But she lives down in Connecticut now. Um, anyway. As a resident of Scandia Bluff, I’m requesting that we convene an emergency village meeting, as set out in the village charter.”
She paused to let the shocked murmur roll through the room.
When it died down, she continued, “I’m sure you’ve all noticed that this reception in memory of Mr. Lundgren marks the seventh time in six months that we’ve come together as a community for a funeral. And we’ll be doing it again next week to say farewell to Corrine Wolf. Mrs. Wolf was my friend. I’m the one who found her body, actually.”
Another low rumble of conversation swelled then faded.
She went on, “The charter permits any villager to call an emergency meeting in the event of a public health emergency. My friends, there’s no doubt that we have one. Our new doctor, Molly Hart has brought in a medical expert as a consultant, and Doctor Hart and Doctor King are prepared to discuss the spate of deaths with the community this afternoon.”
She drew a deep breath. “So I’m asking you all to stick around after you finish your meals so we can honor Nikolas, but also Corrine, and George Alden, Macy McAllen, Dorit Jordan, Charles Morgan, Annalise Sparr, and my own mother, Laura Moss Gardener, by making sure their deaths meant something. Please.”
She swallowed hard and walked to the back of the room on shaky legs.
“Good job,” Officer Booth whispered.
After a moment of hushed debate, Wendy Rockman pushed back her chair and spoke in a clear voice. “As the village clerk, I have to say Hope’s correct. We have a quorum present here, and the current situation does meet the requirements needed to call an emergency meeting, which can be convened by one villager if they are joined by a second. Does anyone second?”
There was a long—too-long—pause. Hope’s heart hammered against her breastbone. Nobody spoke. Her stomach dropped and she rounded in on herself. She’d failed. Hot tears pricked behind her eyelids.
And then.
Then Ron Dickerson stood. He scanned the room as if he expected his wife to jump out from a corner and tackle him. He straightened his shoulders and said simply, “I second.” He sat back down in a hurry.
Booth whispered, “You did it.”
Hope gave her a worried look. “I did the easy part. Molly and Bodhi have the hard part.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Bodhi waited for Molly under the awning in front of the municipal building. The driving wind pushed a trashcan several inches and lifted the awning overhead. It rose, fell, then flapped wildly. Molly raced across the parking lot and joined him under the rippling awning.
“You ready?”
She nodded, breathless. “As I’ll ever be.”
“Let’s do it.” He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders, fastened the strap across his chest, and pulled the door open.
Officer Perth raised his head at the sound of the heavy wooden door hitting the doorstop. He nodded as Bodhi and Molly walked inside, the wind blowing hard at their backs. He walked toward them. His footfalls were surprisingly light and quiet for a man of his size.
“They’re in the first meeting room,” he whispered.
