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“I would absolutely love to,” she said.
Turk barked, sensing now as the moment when it was all right for him to join the conversation. David smiled broadly at him and held his arms out for a hug. Turk obliged, leaping into the doctor’s arms and licking his face exuberantly, tail wagging like a puppy’s.
David laughed and endured the onslaught of affection for a moment before setting the big dog on the ground and leading both of them inside. A few minutes later, the three of them sat in the kitchen, Turk happily working through a bowl full of the fancy dog food that David kept on hand, the two humans working through a plate of eggs, sausage links and fried potatoes served with a cup of some fancy heirloom coffee that David had picked up from Morning Glory—the local coffee shop where Faith had first met him.
She thought wryly that David and Michael would get along swimmingly, if for no other reason than their love of fancy coffee. She chuckled, and David looked quizzically at her. She shook her head. "Just thinking of another friend of mine who likes fancy coffee."
“Hey, I can buy some cans of the cheap stuff for you if you’d prefer,” David teased.
“This is fine,” Faith said, sipping her brew. “Thank you.”
There was a momentary pause where both steeled themselves for the uncomfortable conversation ahead. Then David asked, “So when’s the memorial service?”
“Next week,” Faith said. “He’s being released from the coroner today and cremated tomorrow. They’re waiting a few days more for the memorial so his family from Ireland can attend.”
“They’re not doing a wake?”
“I think they are,” Faith said, “after the memorial.”
“You should go,” David said, “I’ll bet they’d love to hear your stories about him.”
Faith tensed slightly. She appreciated the thought behind a joyful celebration of a person’s life, but she couldn't believe that drinking and laughing and joking would eliminate the pain and void of death, even for a moment. Not for her, at least.
“Maybe,” she said. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, though.”
“What is it?” he asked.
She sipped her coffee and sighed. She didn’t relish the argument she knew she was about to have, but she knew she had to endure it.
“The killer—the one who killed Gordon—he threatened you.”
David blinked. “Me? Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I’m not supposed to tell you about this, since it’s evidence, but the killer left a note for me with Gordon’s body.”
“A note for you?”
“Yes. He told me that it was my fault for getting Gordon killed, and that if I didn’t back off, he would come after you and Michael next.”
“He said those words exactly?”
“Well, not exactly,” Faith admitted, “but it was clear from the subtext of the message that’s what he meant.”
David’s expression shifted. It was slight, too slight for most people to notice, but Faith was trained to notice things like that, and she could tell by the subtle tic at the left corner of his mouth and the tightening around his eyes that he didn’t believe her.
“I’m not being paranoid,” she said, “this is real, David.”
“I didn’t say you were being paranoid,” he replied carefully. “I didn’t say anything, in fact.”
“David, please believe me,” Faith pressed. “You’re in danger. You need to get somewhere safe.”
“What do you mean, somewhere safe?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “Somewhere out of the Philadelphia area. Probably out of state.”
“You want me to go out of state?” David sighed, and Faith’s trained eye told her he had rejected the threat out of hand. “Faith, I can’t do that. I have patients.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Patients who need you. Patients who don’t want to see you killed by a crazed murderer.”
