Page 35 of Forgotten Path
She was right. He paused to formulate an answer that comported with the Buddhist precept of right speech. He didn’t want to say something unfounded or harmful. Finally, he spoke. “The way his neck broke suggests a more violent impact than a stumble—even one from a height of seven feet.”
“As if he was thrown or pushed from the loft?”
“Yes. But, again, I can’t say that for sure—certainly not yet.”
“I hear you. What else?”
“His cell phone is missing. And, of course, his keys are, too. I’m not sure how a dead man gets rid of his phone and keys and locks himself inside.”
There was a long—interminably long—pause.
When Felicia Williams spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “Oh my God. Joel.”
He waited a beat for her to process the truth. Then he said, “I’m not sure anyone at the scene has pieced it together yet.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Well, I didn’t talk to the FDLE investigators. Just the CSI team and one uniformed officer from Oyster Point. She was green—I mean, green as in a rookie. Well, also green.”
“First body?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed. “I’ll text you the number of the officer in charge of the FDLE team. You should talk to him directly.”
“Okay. One last thing. Do you happen to know what the letters ‘WWBD’ mean?”
She laughed, a genuine belly laugh. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Felicia, are you okay?”
“Yes,” she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. “I do know what it means. It’s a running—well, not a joke, exactly—it’s a question Joel and I asked ourselves and each other all the time.”
“What does it mean?”
“It stands for ‘What would Bodhi do’?”
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
As soon as Theo told Brianna the news, she headed up the hill to the Juice Joint without giving it conscious thought. It was an instinctive reaction to a crisis or disaster. People were hard-wired to seek out company in the aftermath of tragedy. And much like water seeking its own level, they flowed to people like them. It was a truth of both hydrostatics and social dynamics.
The old-timers would gather at Saint Lou’s, the outsiders and newcomers would meet at the Juice Joint, and, if she had to guess, the new-money crew and tourists at the Oak Barrel would toss back their twenty-dollar doubles of bourbon without so much as a word to Doc Ashland’s memory. Brianna had decent health insurance, but there was a dearth of healthcare providers in town, so she’d been to the clinic a time or two. Doc Ashland had been a good man.
She pushed open the door to the juice bar and made her way through the sea of people who were milling around, speaking in hushed, shocked tones. She reached the counter and caught Steffi’s eye.
“Is it true?”
Steffi nodded and slid a glass across the surface. “I was there when Bodhi found him.”
Bodhi, again. Who is this guy?
“Oh my goodness, that’s awful!”
“It was.” Steffi’s expression was a study in misery.
“I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine.” Brianna raised her glass to her nose and took a sniff. “What is this?”
“A G&TT—it’s gin and Tupelo Tonic with lime syrup. It’s some concoction Doc came up with at the town holiday party last year. Bottoms up.” Steffi lifted her own glass and took a long swallow.
