Stodgy Hodge’s voice rustled in a dry laugh. He let the answering machine pick up the call. “I’ve seen good people die, and I’ve seen bad people live,” he said when I looked at him expectantly. “Let’s say it was … unexplained. We’ll see how long he lives without a recurrence.”
“But then, how would you know when something is a miracle?” I persisted. “Some of the folks down at the church say Roger got better because Father Olson laid hands on him.”
He shrugged. “Maybe that’s true.”
“Doctor Hodges!” I cried. “Either it is or it isn’t!”
Outside, a vehicle roared up to the curb and then stopped. A car door slammed.
“Please,” I begged, knowing my time was short, “you saw Roger Bampton. What do you think?”
He chuckled. “I know he was having copies of his blood tests framed for Father Olson.
