Page 55 of Forgotten Path
“Nice to meet you, Craig.”
“Now, listen. If you don’t go now, we won’t have time before the food bank. And then Rhoda will be closed when we’re done, and your rash will just get worse. Go now. I’ll be fine here.” She patted his arm.
Craig frowned but pocketed the card and headed for the door. They watched him walk out, and then Judy led Bodhi to a table for two. She lowered herself into her seat with a deep, dry cough.
“Can I get you some water?” He looked around for the server, but Judy waved him off.
“It’ll pass. Always does. So, who told you to come and see me? Steffi at that juice shop?”
He smiled. “No, but the person who sent me your way told me you know everyone and everything. Looks like that’s accurate.”
She shrugged. “I’ve lived here a long time, Dr. King.”
“How long? And, please, Bodhi’s fine.”
“My whole life—eighty-one years. And Bodhi’snotfine. You’re a doctor, young man. Act like it. You sound like Doc Ashland.” She shook her head. “Must’ve spent the first five years trying to get people to call him Joel or at least Doc Joel.”
He sensed a fondness behind the judgment. “I’m sorry about Joel’s death. Of course, I am, personally. He was a friend. But also, I’m sorry for Oyster Point. It seems like the loss of the clinic will be a massive blow to the people here.”
She frowned deeply. “It will be. But I don’t know how we can keep it going without him. No physician in his—or her—right mind would move to a dying town.”
“I can put out some feelers. Maybe another doctor living on the coast would be willing to come in once a month like Joel did.”
He’d ask Mirabelle Owens. Even if the medical examiner wasn’t up for the job, she might know someone.
Judy considered his offer with a skeptical look. “And why would you do that? You don’t know us.”
“No, I don’t. But I do know that everyone who lives here needs access to health care.”
“We don’t need outsiders poking their noses in like we can’t take care of ourselves,” she sniffed.
He decided not to point out that Joel Ashland had, at least initially, been an outsider. Inside, he remembered Mrs. Wolfe’s admonition not to make the mistake of thinking anyone in Oyster Point was fragile. Despite her frail appearance, it was clear that Judith Lowell was anything but.
“Well, we can talk about whether I can help you later. Right now, I’m wondering if you can help me.”
“So you said. I still don’t know what you think I can do for you.” She leaned across the table and stared at him. “Out with it.”
Fair enough. “The morning Joel died, he was supposed to meet with someone. I’m trying to find out who.”
“He was supposed to meet with a lot of people. He opened the clinic doors no later than nine and usually earlier.”
“Not a patient, a donor,” he clarified.
“A donor? What kind of donor? A blood donor? An organ donor?”
“A financial donor. Someone who wanted to make a large monetary donation to the clinic.”
She pursed her lips. “How large?”
“Fifty thousand dollars, I think.”
She scoffed. “Not a chance.”
“He definitely got a call while he was at Steffi’s place getting his morning drink. She said he was excited by the prospect of getting a big donation for the clinic. And I found some notes on his desk. The figure he’d written down was fifty thousand.”
Her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. “Nobody around here has that kind of money,” she breathed.
“Someone must. Maybe one of the business owners?”
