Page 14 of Chosen Path

“I don’t understand. Then what?”

Bodhi weighed his words carefully. “Every truly puzzling death cluster I’ve investigated was unique. In each case, the cause of death was novel, unexpected, or rare. But each of those investigations shared one thing in common.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. “Okay, what is it?”

“In each instance, there was someone who wanted the cause of death to remain undiscovered. Someone who didn’t want the truth to come out.” He lowered his cup to the table. “Someone who would stop at nothing—and I do mean nothing—to keep a secret.”

“What do you mean, stop at nothing?”

“I mean they would kill to prevent the truth from coming to light.”

She shook her head, slowly at first and then vehemently. “No. That wouldn’t happen here.” She managed a shaky laugh. “Not in Scandia Bluff.”

“Okay.” He picked his tea back up.

“You don’t believe me.”

“It doesn’t matter if I believe you. What matters is if you believe me.” He held her gaze a moment longer. “I hope I’m wrong.”

“You are,” she assured him. “Come on, I’ll show you the guest room and you can get settled in while I get the water boiling for pasta.”

He mustered up a smile. “Sounds great.”

CHAPTERSEVEN

Scandia Bluff, Vermont

Population, 588 plus one interloper

Wednesday night

Shortly after 10:00 pm

Greg was dozing on the couch when the knock sounded on his front door. He started awake at the noise.

“Wha?” he muttered blearily.

From her seat beside the fire, Wendy aimed the remote at the television to turn off the game. Then she met his eyes. “There’s someone at the door.”

“At this hour?” he grumbled.

She looked meaningfully toward the front hall as their uninvited caller banged on the door again. He shoved his feet into his slippers and trudged to the door. Kimberly Dickerson’s red hat and pale face bobbed in the window as she hopped on her toes trying to look in. He flipped on the porch light, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden flood of bright light.

He yanked the door open. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

She swept past him into the hallway, unwinding her scarf and unbuttoning her coat. She leaned around to peer into the living room.

“Hi, Wendy.”

Wendy stuck her crochet needle into the skein of yarn, dropped it into the wicker basket beside her chair, and came to stand behind Greg in the hall. “Kimberly, what’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need to talk to Greg.”

Wendy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. The pose spoke volumes.

“Council business,” Kimberly told her.

Wendy twisted her lips into a shape that indicated she wasn’t impressed by the answer.