Page 43 of Forgotten Path
Bodhi stared down at the four quadrants he’d drawn in his notebook and the list of patients and conditions he’d written in each square. He was seeing the same pattern Joel had seen. Not a sudden unexplained death cluster, exactly. But a persistent unexplained sickness cluster. What was making this town so very ill?
He turned his attention from the patient notes to Joel’s collection of scientific journals and the pages he’d tabbed. Joel had been pursuing a theory, and Bodhi was making the same connection Joel’d been dancing around: it was something in the water. A marine toxin, possibly related to a harmful algae bloom.
Had that theory gotten Joel killed?
Bodhi closed his eyes and considered the possibility that it had. If so, then it was more likely than not that Joel had been right. In Bodhi’s (unfortunately) considerable experience with homicide, keeping a secret hidden was a common motive for murder. He supposed his next consideration ought to be whether proceeding down the path that Joel had laid out would put his own life in danger. But that was hardly a concern. He owed it to Joel to bring the truth to light. And more than a debt to the dead, he had an obligation to the living and to Oyster Point.
Decision made, he picked up his phone to leave a message for Dr. Owens. He explained to the medical examiner’s voicemail that he would be unable to make it to Panama City to attend the autopsy but that he had full faith and confidence in her judgment and would call her later to discuss her opinion. He gathered the files, journals, and notes and swept them into his backpack in a neat stack. He reached into the front pocket to retrieve his keys and the message that had been left on the windshield. Although he had the words committed to memory, he reread it anyway:Go to Emerald Estuary Estates. Talk to Ralph.
“Okay, Brianna,” he said aloud. “I’ll bite.”
He had no doubt that Brianna Allen had written the note. She’d been agitated from the moment he’d met her. At first, he’d chalked her mood up to the shock of Joel’s death, but her outsized interest in Joel’s Jeep and her reaction when he’d asked her about the red tides had set alarm bells ringing in his mind. She knew something. It was time to find out what, exactly, that was. Step one: find Ralph.
* * *
Bodhi parked justoutside the construction entrance to the development and walked through the gate. A handful of men milled around the worksite, drinking coffee from metal Thermoses and likely waiting for the supervisor to arrive. He approached a pair of men squatting in the dirt, rolling dice. He squatted alongside them.
“Hi, I’m looking for Ralph.”
Without looking up, the man closest to Bodhi pointed toward a pair of office trailers with temporary signs that read ‘Glazier General Contractors.’“Por ahí.”
Bodhi followed his finger to ‘over there.’“Muchos gracias.”
The men returned to their dice game as Bodhi stood. He circled behind the trailers but saw nobody. A path from the trailers snaked past a portable toilet into a section of woods that had not yet been clear-cut. He set off on the path between the trees.
He spotted a short, wiry man wearing a gray uniform that screamed ‘security guard.’ The guard was sitting on a log reading the sports section of a newspaper whose name Bodhi couldn’t make out.
He made it a point to walk noisily toward the log. He doubted the man was armed, but there was no harm in ensuring he didn’t startle the guy. He’d seen his fair share of fatal gunshot wounds that had resulted from surprising gun owners. Despite the ruckus Bodhi was making, the man didn’t turn around.
Bodhi cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Excuse me, are you Ralph?”
“Yep.”
That was the totality of his response. He didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder.
Bodhi recognized the man’s behavior for what it was—a show of dominance. That was fine. Bodhi was content to let this man underestimate him. He walked around to stand in front of the lot and considered how to approach the man. Presumably, Brianna wouldn’t want him to mention her by name, given the anonymous way she passed along her suggestion.
Instead, he asked, “I’m wondering if Doctor Ashland’s been out to visit recently.”
Ralph’s eyes remained on the sports section. Bodhi waited.
Ralph squinted up into Bodhi’s face, his vision no doubt hampered by the bright sun still making its morning climb up the sky, and studied him for a long moment. “Who wants to know?”
“I do.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bodhi King. I’m a friend of Joel’s.”
Ralph eyed Bodhi’s hand for a moment before snorting derisively. Then, he stood and spat, expertly directing the stream of tobacco juice to the six inches of parched ground between Bodhi’s feet. Bodhi resisted the urge to glance down and kept his impassive gaze on the man’s face.
After a beat, Ralph scuffed the toe of his boot into the dirt. “Yeah, Doc’s been out here, and, before you ask—yeah, I ran him off the property a few times.”
“Why?”
“He was trespassing.”
“What was he doing?”
“I just told you. Trespassing.”
“I mean, why was he trespassing? Was he just walking around? Was he digging up soil samples, taking clippings from the plants, snapping pictures? What was he doing on the property?”
