Chapter 12 - Dr. Price Comes Calling
Harlan Price was dead.
Yet for several weeks after Ethan proposed, Martha kept expecting him to walk through a doorway.
Not literally.
She expected the consequences of him.
The patients he had harmed.
The families he had manipulated.
The lies he had spent twenty years building.
Dead men could leave long shadows.
Federal investigators descended on Ridgewater.
Charles Vale confessed to financial fraud in exchange for consideration regarding other charges.
Bernard Shaw faced conspiracy charges.
Morrow began talking once he realized nobody intended to rescue him.
Every statement brought another name.
Another account.
Another family.
Martha helped Dr. Ward organize medical evidence.
They compared Naomi’s notes with Price’s patient records.
The pattern became undeniable.
Small doses.
Long illnesses.
Financial pressure.
Land transfers.
Price rarely killed quickly.
He preferred slow decline.
It looked natural.
It made families grateful for his constant attention.
That realization disturbed Martha most.
He had stood beside suffering people and pretended concern while causing their pain.
One afternoon Ward found her staring at a record.
“Your mother would be proud.”
Martha closed the file.
“You didn’t know her as my mother.”
“No.”
“She burned biscuits.”
Ward smiled.
“Did she?”
“Constantly.”
“She threatened me with a broom once.”
“That sounds right.”
Martha looked at him.
“People keep talking about her like she was some wise healer.”
“She was.”
“She also snored.”
Ward laughed.
Martha smiled.
“I don’t want her becoming a legend.”
“Why?”
“Because legends stop being human.”
Ward nodded.
“And you miss the human.”
“Yes.”
He placed one hand over hers.
“Then remember all of her.”
That evening Martha returned to the ranch.
Ruth was walking with a cane.
Her vision had improved.
Not entirely.
Ward believed some damage might remain permanent.
But she could see faces again.
For Ethan, that was enough to look like a miracle.
He was repairing the barn when Martha arrived.
He descended the ladder.
“You’re late.”
“You sound like a husband already.”
“Practice.”
“That concerns me.”
He kissed her cheek.
Martha still had not become accustomed to casual affection.
Part of her hoped she never did.
“Mail came.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Wedding invitations.”
She groaned.
Ruth shouted from the porch.
“June!”
Martha stared.
“What?”
“I chose June.”
“You chose our wedding month?”
“Yes.”
Ethan whispered, “She’s unstoppable.”
Martha called back.
“September.”
Ruth frowned.
“Too late.”
“August.”
“Too hot.”
“October.”
“Snow.”
Martha looked at Ethan.
“Your mother negotiates like a cattle thief.”
“She taught me.”
Eventually they chose July.
Ridgewater reacted as though preparing for a royal wedding.
The same people who had once laughed when Martha walked past now smiled too brightly.
Some apologized.
Most did not.
Martha preferred the honest ones.
Mrs. Pritchard cornered her outside the general store.
“I always knew Ethan needed someone like you.”
Martha nearly asked when exactly she had discovered that wisdom.
Instead she smiled.
“Did you?”
Mrs. Pritchard failed to notice the sarcasm.
“You’re so fortunate.”
Martha looked across the street.
Ethan stood beside a wagon arguing with a wheelwright.
He caught her watching.
His entire expression softened.
Martha smiled.
“Yes,” she said.
“I am.”
Then she added, “So is he.”
Mrs. Pritchard looked surprised.
Martha walked away.
A week later, something strange arrived.
A package addressed to Martha.
No return name.
Inside lay a teacup.
Old porcelain.
Cracked near the handle.
Ruth recognized it.
“That was mine.”
Martha froze.
“From when?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
Ruth touched it.
“Twenty.”
Underneath lay a note.
Ask Ruth what Naomi found in the cup.
Martha looked at Ruth.
The older woman sat slowly.
“I had forgotten.”
“What?”
“The first time Naomi treated me.”
Ruth stared at the porcelain.
“She tested my medicine.”
Martha’s pulse quickened.
“What did she find?”
“Something in my tea.”
“Price?”
“I never knew.”
Martha turned the cup over.
A symbol was scratched into the bottom.
The Briar Ridge mark.
Ethan entered.
“What happened?”
Martha showed him.
His face hardened.
“Who sent it?”
“No idea.”
Ruth looked toward the window.
“There was another person.”
Everyone turned.
“Who?”
“A young man working for Price.”
“When?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“Name?”
Ruth struggled.
“Thomas.”
Ward, who had entered behind Ethan, stopped.
“Thomas Avery?”
Ruth nodded.
Ward looked disturbed.
“Thomas Avery disappeared eighteen years ago.”
Martha asked, “Who was he?”
“Price’s first assistant.”
“Like Phelps?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he go?”
“Nobody knows.”
The package suggested someone did.
That night Martha searched Naomi’s journal again.
Near the center, she found a name she had overlooked.
Thomas A. came tonight. Afraid. Says H.P. knows. Must hide what he brought.
Below it was a drawing.
A teacup.
Three drops falling into it.
Martha stared.
Three drops.
The phrase Walter had used.
This method had existed for more than twenty years.
Price had not invented it alone.
Thomas Avery knew the beginning.
If he was alive, he might know exactly what had happened to Naomi.
And whoever sent the package wanted Martha to find him.
The following morning a second note appeared beneath the ranch door.
Thomas Avery lives in Silver Creek under another name.
Ethan read it.
“That’s two days away.”
Martha began packing.
He sighed.
“I knew you would.”
“You’re coming?”
“Obviously.”
Ruth smiled from the kitchen.
“Try not to become engaged again.”
Ethan stared.
Martha laughed.
They left at sunrise.
Neither knew who had sent the messages.
Neither knew whether Thomas Avery wanted to be found.
But somewhere in Silver Creek lived the one man who might know exactly how Naomi Boone died.
And when Martha finally stood before him, he would tell her something she never expected.
Harlan Price had not been the person who administered the fatal dose.
Someone else had.
May you like
Someone Naomi trusted enough to allow inside her home.
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