David commiserated with the family, telling them what they wanted to hear: she hadn't suffered. But David had to confess his confusion as to the cause of her seizures.

"You didn't expect seizures?" Donald asked.

"Not at all," David said. "Especially since her MRI was normal."

Everyone nodded as if they understood. Then, on the spur of the moment, David went against Kelley's orders and asked the family if they would permit an autopsy. He explained that it might answer a lot of questions.

"I don't know," Donald said. He looked over at his in-laws. They were equally indecisive.

"Why don't you think about it overnight?" David suggested. "We'll keep the body here."

Leaving the ICU, David felt despondent. He didn't go directly home. Instead, he wandered over to the dimly lit second-floor nurses' station. It was a quiet time of the night. Trying to keep his mind on other things, he glanced at Jonathan Eakins' chart. As he was perusing it, one of the night nurses told David that Mr. Eakins was awake, watching TV. David walked down and poked his head in.

"Everything okay?" David asked.

"What a committed doctor," Jonathan said with a smile. "You must live here."

"Is that ticker of yours staying nice and regular?" David asked.

"Like clockwork," Jonathan said. "When do I get to go home?"

"Probably today," David said. "I see they changed your bed."

"Sure did," Jonathan said. "They couldn't seem to fix the old one. Thanks for giving them a nudge. My complaints fell on deaf ears."

"No problem," David said. "See you tomorrow."

David left the hospital and got into his car. He started the engine but didn't put the car in gear. He'd had three unexpected deaths in one week: patients other doctors had been keeping alive and healthy. He couldn't help but question his competence. He wondered if he were meant to be a doctor. Maybe those three patients would still be alive if they'd had another physician.

He knew he couldn't sit in the hospital parking lot all night, so David finally put the car in gear and drove home. He was surprised to see a light on in the family room. By the time he'd parked and gotten out of the car, Angela was at the door. She was holding a medical journal.

"Are you all right?" she asked as she closed and locked the door behind David.

"I've been better," David said. "Why are you still up?" He removed his coat and motioned for Angela to precede him into the kitchen.

"There was no way I would sleep without you here," Angela said over her shoulder as she passed through the kitchen into the hall. "Not after that note was nailed to our door. And I've been thinking. If you have to go out in the middle of the night like this, I want to have a gun here."

David reached out and pulled Angela to a stop. "We'll have no guns in our house," he said. "You know the statistics as well as I do about guns in houses where there are children."

"Such statistics are not for physicians' families with a single, intelligent child," Angela countered. "Besides, I'll take responsibility for making sure Nikki is well acquainted with the gun and its potential."

David let go of his wife and headed for the stairs. "I don't have the energy or the emotional strength to argue with you."

"Good," Angela said as she caught up with him.

Upstairs, David decided to take another shower. When he came into the bedroom Angela was reading her pathology journal. She was as wide awake as he.

"Last night after dinner you said that you wished you could help me," David said. "Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember," Angela said.

"You might get your wish," David said. "An hour ago I asked the Schiller family if they would permit an autopsy. They said they'd think about it overnight and talk to me tomorrow."

"Unfortunately, it's not up to the family," Angela said. "The hospital doesn't do autopsies on CMV patients."

"But I have another idea," David said. "You could do it on your own."

Angela considered the suggestion. "Maybe I could," she said. "Tomorrow is Sunday and the lab is closed except for emergency chemistries."

"That was exactly my thought," David said.

"I could go to the hospital with you tomorrow and talk to the family," Angela said, warming to the idea.

"I'd appreciate it," David said. "If you could find some specific reason why she died, it would make me feel a whole lot better."

17

David and Angela were exhausted in the morning, but Nikki was well rested. She'd slept through the night without a nightmare and was eager to begin the day.

On Sundays the Wilsons got up early for church, followed by brunch at the Iron Horse Inn.

Attending church had been Angela's idea. Her motivation wasn't religious, it was social. She thought it would be a good way to join the Bartlet community. She'd settled on the Methodist church on the town green. It was far and away the most popular in town.

"Do we have to go?" David whined that morning. He was sitting on the side of the bed. He was trying to dress with clumsy fingers. He'd again awakened before dawn despite having gone to sleep so late. He'd lain awake for several hours. He'd just fallen back asleep when Nikki and Rusty had come bounding into the room.

"Nikki will be disappointed if we don't go," Angela called from the bathroom.

David finished dressing with resignation. A half hour later, the family climbed into the Volvo and drove into town. From past experience they knew to park in the Inn's parking lot and walk to the green. Parking near the church itself was always a disaster. The traffic on a Sunday was so bad it had to be supervised by one of the town's policemen.

That morning Wayne Robertson was on duty as traffic controller. A stainless-steel whistle protruded from his mouth.

"Isn't this handy," Angela said as soon as she spotted him. "You guys wait here."

Darting away before David could stop her, Angela went directly to the chief of police with the anonymous note in hand.

"Excuse me," Angela said. "I have something I'd like you to see. This was nailed to our door last night while we were in bed." She handed him the note, then rested her knuckles on her hips, her arms akimbo, waiting for his response.

Robertson allowed the whistle to drop from his mouth. It was attached by a cord around his neck. He glanced at the note, then handed it back. "I'd say it's a good suggestion. I recommend that you take the advice."

Angela chuckled. "I'm not asking your opinion as to the note's suggestion," she said. "I want you to find out who left it on our door."

"Well, now," he said slowly, scratching the back of his head, "it's not a lot to go on except for the fact that it was obviously typed on a nineteen fifty-two Smith Corona with a defective lowercase 'o.' "

For an instant, Angela began to reevaluate her estimation of Robertson's abilities. But then she realized he was making fun of her.

"I'm sure you'll do your best," Angela said with commensurate sarcasm, "but considering your attitude toward the Hodges murder case, I guess we can't expect miracles."

Honking horns and a few shouts from frustrated drivers forced Robertson's attention back to the traffic, which had quickly become a muddle. As he did his best to unsnarl the congestion, he said: "You and your little family are newcomers to Bartlet. Maybe you ought to think twice about interfering in matters that don't concern you. You'll only make trouble for yourself."

"So far I've only gotten trouble from you," Angela said. "And I understand that you happen to be one of the people who's not so sorry about Hodges' death. I understand you mistakenly blame him for your wife's death."