I sighed. “It was nice having him back for a little while. Now I’ll miss him all over again.”
We walked slowly toward Seth’s car and Mort’s cruiser.
“By the way, Mrs. F, I got a note from Denise Lennon about you.”
“You did?”
“She wants to know what to do with the fifty-thousand-dollar reward for the person responsible for the arrest of her husband’s murderer. She says you turned it down.”
“I don’t want to be singled out. It was a group effort. We all worked on finding Joseph Lennon’s killer.”
“I think someone had better accept it,” Seth said.
“Now why would you say that?”
“With her husband gone and Mrs. Lennon focusing on teaching her son the business, I doubt we’ll have Lennon-Diversified financing the next Independence Day celebration.”
“And a good thing that is,” I said. “I think the town should appoint Chester Carlisle to chair the committee for the next Fourth of July. He needs something to keep him busy and make him feel important. He had enough to say about this year’s event. Let’s see if he can do better.”
“Good thinking, Mrs. F. Maybe I’ll just tell Mrs. Lennon to give the money to the committee. They can bank it and make it last for years.”
“I’d like to see Chester’s face when Denise Lennon gives the committee the money with no strings attached,” I said.
“Speaking of Chester,” Mort said, “he told me he had given Dante a T-shirt for free. He did it as a joke, but it really backfired on him.”
“That it did,” Seth said.
“What’s he going to do with all those T-shirts now?” I asked.
“He says he doesn’t want to sell them to anyone in Cabot Cove,” Mort replied, “but I heard he put an ad up on eBay.” Mort got in his car. He rolled down the window. “Whew! This car got hot fast.” He turned on the air conditioner. “Did you know they sentenced that kid that attempted to mug you?”
“I knew it was coming up,” Seth said. “What did they give him?”
“He has to go through rehab for a month and then he’ll be on probation for five years.”
“Sounds fair,” Seth said.
“He would have been on his way to prison if you hadn’t testified on his behalf.”
“Hate to see someone so young being sent to jail. He was genuinely remorseful, and fortunately for all of us, he did no permanent damage.”
“You’re a good guy, Doc.”
“Yes, he is,” I said.
“I gotta be on my way,” Mort said. “Maureen wants me to pick up some groceries at the market. She’s trying out a new recipe she saw on TV.” Mort’s expression was pained. “But nice to have the town back to normal, huh, folks?”
“Is the town back to normal?” I asked Seth when Mort had gone.
“What’s that cryptic comment supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Seth.” I took his arm and we walked toward his car. “You were thinking about hiring a company to come in and sell your practice. Is that still your intention?”
“Madam, you will be happy to hear that I canceled that appointment.”
“Oh, Seth, I am happy. What made you change your mind? I know it wasn’t my scolding.”
“That might have had a slight influence, but I don’t want to give you a big head.”
“Thanks for that.”
“Actually, it was a number of things.”
“And are you going to tell me what they are?”
“Mebbe.”
“Seth!”
“All right, woman. You have no patience.”
“I know what the first thing was.”
“And what’s that? You’re already stealing my thunder.”
“No one could do that. But when you diagnosed Rick Allcott with malaria when everyone else thought it was the flu, I had a feeling that gave you a nice jolt of confidence.”
“Much as I hate to admit it, you wouldn’t be wrong. Made me think there’s some life in the old man yet—and that a lifetime of experience comes in handy.”
“It certainly does. What else?”
“You know that day you brought Rick’s card to the emergency room?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I told you I had a couple of other patients come in. Well, one of them was Agnes Kalisch.”
“Is she all right?”
“Not yet, but she will be. She’d called the office and Harriet told her I was over at the hospital, and she followed me there. Said Dr. Boyle’s pills weren’t doing her any good, and she wanted me to do the tests I’d proposed.”
“I’m so glad she recognized that you were the right doctor for her.”
He harrumphed, a bit embarrassed, but I knew he was pleased.
“Can’t tell you what the diagnosis is,” Seth said. “That would be a breach of patient privacy, but suffice it to say she has what I suspected it might be, and we’ll be starting treatment soon.”
“You may be protecting her patient confidentiality,” I said, “but I met Agnes at the bakery this morning and she was telling everyone who would listen that she has a rare disease that only twelve people in a million get and that Seth Hazlitt is a brilliant doctor.”
“You don’t say?”
“I do. She even wrote down the name of the disease for me.” I fished in my pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “Waldenström’s macroglobulinemia.”
“That’s it, all right.”
“It’s cancer, isn’t it?”
“Of a kind, yes. And it’s incurable. But the good thing is it’s usually indolent. That means it’s slow to progress. Right now, she needs treatment, but once we’ve gotten over the hump, she could live a long and fruitful life. We’ll just have to see.”
“She’s lucky to have you as her doctor.”
“Mebbe.”
“And I’m lucky to have you as my friend.”
“I agree with that,” he said. “And now I have an important question to ask you.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” He looked at me very seriously and said, “Do you have any of that coffee ice cream left?”
I looked up at the sky as if I were pondering the answer and replied, “If you drive me home, I might be able to find some.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?”
Murder, She Wrote: Murder on Parade: Murder on Parade Page 25