Third Degree

Chapter 13

Nell was standing in line for a teller at the Planter’s Bank when a blast of precognition so strong it made her dizzy hit her. She didn’t know what to call it: foreboding, ESP, the heebie-jeebies, whatever. She just knew in her heart that something was dreadfully wrong at the office. Something about Vida’s manner had rattled her to the bone, but without her quite realizing it. It was a delayed reaction, like somebody dying in the night from a blow to the head during the day.

Vida was too calm.

The situation was unraveling, yet she was walking around and joking like a jaded undertaker at a funeral. Nell hurried out to her car, drove down the frontage road, and crossed Highway 24 onto Audubon Boulevard. Then she turned into the employee parking lot, which was practically deserted, except for Dr. Auster’s Jaguar and Vida’s old Pontiac. She ran to the back door of the office, which was locked and bolted. She let herself in with her key, then moved quietly into the hall.

The door to exam room six was partly open. She saw stockinged feet sticking off the examining table. So there were still patients here. But she saw no staff whatever. As she passed X-ray, she looked in, but Sherry wasn’t at her counter. Same in the lab. No sign of JaNel, and the lights were off. The blood-chemistry machines were still running, though.

A cold chill raced the length of her body, and her shoulders jerked as though a static charge had suddenly left her. The building seemed alien to her, as though she had entered an office that looked like the one where she worked, but was not. Some of the office buildings near the hospital were almost identical. But not this one. Dr. Auster’s building had a hipped roof and dormers, unlike the “modern” boxes with flat tar roofs standing in front of the hospital.

Suddenly Nell understood the reason for her anxiety. The computers were silent. She had never been inside the office when the computers were shut off. It seemed a different place without their steady, reassuring hum. The machines gave the building a sense of being alive, whereas now the whole place seemed dead.

The clinic had always smelled of rubbing alcohol, but as Nell neared the reception area, its biting odor became overpowering. And there was something else in the air, too. Something even more volatile…

Gasoline.

She rounded the arch that led to reception and saw Vida leaning over an open file drawer. Vida was pouring something into the drawer, right onto the papers. It was alcohol, Nell realized. Rubbing alcohol from one of the brown push bottles they used in the exam rooms. Twenty other file drawers stood open to various lengths.

“Vi?” she said softly.

Vida jerked erect and whirled, but relaxed when she saw it was only her sister.

“What are you doing?” Nell asked.

“TCB, honey. In a flash. Like Elvis always said.”

“What?”

Vida laughed. “Taking care of business in a flash. I forget how much younger you are sometimes.”

“Not that much,” Nell said, very afraid and not quite sure why.

“A lifetime, baby girl. I thought I told you to clear out.”

“I had a bad feeling. Like I get sometimes, you know?”

Vida looked down at the file drawer and sighed.

Nell scanned the room, and what she saw sent her to the edge of panic. Empty alcohol bottles were all over the room. Most stood in a row on the floor by her computer, but some lay atop the file drawers. A red metal gas can stood right beneath Vida’s desktop. If someone lit a match in here, they would all die in a giant fireball.

“Why are you doing this?” Nell asked.

“No other way.” Vida opened another bottle of alcohol and dumped its contents into a drawer full of patient records. “We’re having a fire sale. Everything must go! No exceptions!”

Her laughter had a hysterical edge that scared Nell. “Is this why you went to the store today?”

“Mm-hm. We didn’t have enough alcohol. But they had loads of it at Walgreens. I had to sneak it in, inside an old Dell computer box. The Medicaid people have somebody watching the back door. They’re waiting for their pit bull to get here.”

“Pit bull?”

Vida’s humor evaporated. “You need to go, baby. Now.”

“But…how can you light this stuff without killing yourself?”

Vida’s smile was cagey. “I go down to the switch box and shut off the main breaker. Then I come back here and plug the computers and copiers back in. One more trip down the hall, flip the breaker on, and boom! Gone with the wind.”

“How do you know about this kind of stuff?”

“I had a boyfriend who did insurance jobs. Torch jobs, you know? Remember Randy?”

Nell vaguely remembered a scrawny, unshaven Cajun of indeterminate age.

“But we don’t have time for nothing fancy,” Vida said with regret. “You do the best you can with what you got.”

Nell stepped farther into the room. “There are still patients in the back, Vida. I saw somebody on the way in.”

“Just a couple. I’ll take them out with me.” Vida tossed the empty bottle on the floor. “A heroic rescue will make it look more like an accident. As if anything could. But we try.”

“Where’s everybody else?”

“I sent them home. Told them we’d had a computer crash and couldn’t keep up with billing or insurance. They were out of here like a shot.”

“And Dr. Auster?”

“He’s getting that stuff out of Warren’s house, like I promised he would.”

Nell felt a warm rush of gratitude. “Vi…why don’t we just get out of here? You’ve got money squirreled away, I know you do. Let’s both go down to Cancun. We could rent a condo by the month and just figure out what to do next.”

Vida smiled dreamily at this fantasy. “I’d love to, sweetie, but I can’t. I’ve put in with Kyle, and I’m going to stick by him all the way. If we get through clean, he’ll have to stick by me.”

Nell closed her eyes, nearly overcome with sadness. “But he won’t, Vi. You know he won’t. As soon as he’s sure you’ve saved him, he’ll find some other girl. Somebody younger, who doesn’t know what a jerk he is.”

Vida’s smile stretched so tight that Nell thought it would crack at the corners. Then it changed to a grimace. Nell heard a man’s voice behind her. She turned.

A black-haired man wearing a gray suit stood in the hall door. He looked like a lawyer or maybe an FBI man-what they looked like on TV anyway.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he said in a deep, Yankee-sounding voice. “Where’s Dr. Auster?”

“Gone,” said Vida. “We’ve been having some trouble with our computers. I think he might’ve gone to RadioShack for some parts.”

The newcomer’s eyes roamed over the computers and open file drawers. He must have seen the alcohol bottles, but he didn’t mention them.

“Ladies, I’d like you to walk slowly toward me and step out of the room. I want to talk to you for a few minutes. Nothing serious. Please don’t make any sudden movements on your way out. We’re all in grave danger at this moment.”

Vida looked back at him with an almost playful smile. “You think?”

“Just step away from the wall, Ms. Roberts. And please join me in the hall.”

Vida almost preened like a cat being petted. In some perverse way, Nell knew, it gratified her sister that they knew her by name.

“Are you Biegler?” Vida asked.

“That’s right.”

“The pit bull with a tick up his ass?”

Biegler signaled to someone out of sight down the hall. “I haven’t heard that one, but I wouldn’t doubt they say that about me.” He looked at Nell. “Would you step into the hall, miss?”

Nell felt the man’s voice pulling her toward him. It was so calm and reasonable. He seemed nothing like a pit bull. More like a good, steady Labrador. Nell moved slowly toward him, her eyes imploring Vida to follow.

But Vida would not be led. Nell realized that her sister must have noted long before she did that Biegler wasn’t holding a gun, and that even if he were carrying one, he could not use it for fear of setting off the bomb that the fume-filled room had become.

“You want to take me to jail, don’t you, Mr. Biegler?” Vida said in a challenging voice.

“That depends. If you’ll cooperate with us in trying to achieve a just resolution, you might be able to avoid punishment altogether.”

Vida laughed harshly. “You mean if I squeal on Kyle Auster, you’ll give me a get-out-of-jail-free card?”

Biegler sighed and backed deeper into the hall. “Something like that. It depends on exactly what your role in all this has been.”

Nell saw something change in her sister’s eyes. Then Vida murmured, “Run, baby girl. Run.” Nell screamed, but Vida was already reaching into her pocket. She took out her cigarette lighter, a blue Bic, and held up her thumb. Strong arms seized Nell and dragged her toward the door. Someone charged up brandishing a gun, and then a muted roar sucked the air from Nell’s lungs.

Laurel sat cross-legged on the floor behind the couch, watching Kyle Auster. Warren had forced his senior partner to sit on the hearth with his back against the marble fireplace. Warren himself was pacing the great room and periodically checking the progress of Merlin’s Magic on the laptop. Thankfully, the children had not appeared. Laurel figured Warren’s bizarre behavior upstairs had frightened them enough to keep them out of sight until someone else came for them. It hurt Laurel’s heart to think of Beth terrified, but Grant would comfort her. He happily picked on his sister every day, but if anything truly hurt or upset her, he immediately went into a protective mode.

Laurel felt a strange kinship with Kyle. After all, they both wanted the same thing, short term. Escape. Beyond that, Auster was trying to keep both himself and Warren out of jail, which made sense to her. But Warren seemed to be in the grip of some sort of guilt reaction to whatever had been going on at the office. He was like a killer who wanted to be caught. Conversation had dropped to nothing, and Auster appeared resigned to being stuck where he was. Yet something told Laurel he was only acting. Twice she had seen him wipe tears from his cheeks. Warren must have seen this, too, but when he deigned to look at his partner, his face held only disgust. Laurel tried to stay ready for anything. Even a futile escape attempt by Auster might give her a chance to smash the Sony against the floor, or even to get the kids out of the house.

“May I say something, Warren?” Kyle asked in a shaky voice.

“If you must.”

“All your life you’ve done the right thing. All your life you’ve been the golden boy. But this past year, you’ve done some things you don’t feel good about. Things you probably never thought you’d do.”

Laurel watched her husband, trying to judge the effect of these words.

“Your reasons are your own business,” Kyle went on, “but right now, you’re overcome with guilt. You think you’re about to be exposed. Ruined. You’re going to lose the respect of all those patients who think you’re Albert Schweitzer. So what do you do? Try to pull the whole house down around you before that happens. You want to show the world that nobody’s more disgusted with Warren Shields than Dr. Shields himself.”

Auster laughed ruefully. “Partner, I know about self-disgust. And I know about confession. I can tell you from experience, it doesn’t help the soul one bit. You’ll feel better for about five seconds. Then you’ll pay for the rest of your life. And if you keep doing what you’re doing now, all those bad things you’re dreading will come true. Patients won’t ever look at you the same way again. You may even lose your right to practice medicine. Is that what you want?”

When Warren refused to acknowledge him, Kyle gestured at Laurel. “Look at your wife. You’re browbeating her, trying to make her confess that she fooled around with somebody. Well, what if she did? Whose fault is that? You want to feel bad? Ask yourself that. Laurel’s a good woman, a beautiful woman, and if she’s looking somewhere else for love, then you haven’t been taking care of business at home.”

Warren’s eyes ticked up from the computer, but Kyle pressed on.

“If she confessed right now and gave you what you think you want-all the dirty details-where would you be then? Fucked, that’s where. Nine ways from Sunday. The two of you would have nowhere to go, because you’re never going to get over it. I know you, man.”

Warren’s eyes smoldered. “I didn’t know you’d specialized in psychiatry.”

Kyle actually laughed. “I wouldn’t waste my time. I already know more about human weakness than most of those cranks ever will. I went to school on myself.”

Warren’s gaze dropped back to the computer.

“I know you’re listening to me,” Kyle said stubbornly. “You’re a control freak, Warren. Everybody knows it. And that’s fine most of the time. Good for business. But now things are slipping out of control. That’s how life is, okay? It’s in the nature of things. Entropy, whatever. And a guy like me, when the water starts rising, I go with the flow. I let the current carry me, and I make the necessary adjustments to keep things in proper trim. You, on the other hand, are like a robot optimized to run within a certain set of parameters. When life breaks outside those parameters, you’re lost. Your programming no longer suits the environment. You’re like a submarine stranded in the middle of an interstate. And partner, there is a big-ass tractor-trailer headed straight for you. I’m trying to drag you out of the way, but you just won’t let me. You’re staying where you are because you don’t know how to move.”

“What’s your point?” Warren said in a monotone.

“Just let me do what I need to do, and you’ll have the rest of your life to find out who Laurel’s been kissing behind the barn, if that’s what you really want. But if you go to jail, she’ll be screwing anybody she feels like anytime she wants to, because you’re not going to be there to service her.”

“I’ll take that chance.”

Auster was about to speak again when the telephone rang. Warren made no move to answer, so the machine in the kitchen picked up. Laurel’s greeting played, and then a panicked woman’s voice reverberated through the house.

“Please pick up, Dr. Shields! Please! This is Nell from the office. Everything’s gone crazy! Everything blew up! Vida’s hurt bad. She might die. Hello? Hello…? Are you there?”

“Everybody into the kitchen!” Warren shouted, bounding for the answering machine. He looked back to make sure Laurel and Kyle were following, then stabbed a button on the machine, putting it into speakerphone mode.

“Nell, this is Dr. Shields.”

“Thank God!” Nell sobbed, and then a car horn sounded in the kitchen.

“Where are you?” Warren asked. “A pay phone. I’m scared to go to my apartment. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Calm down, Nell, and tell me exactly what happened.”

Suddenly everything tumbled out of her in a frantic rush. “Vida tried to burn the patient records at the office, the computers, too. She lit everything off with me and Agent Biegler in the room with her. Everything just exploded! Gas, alcohol, they almost didn’t get the fire out. The whole building could have gone up!”

Kyle had gone pale. He leaned over to Warren’s ear and whispered, “Ask her if the records were destroyed.”

Warren angrily shoved him away. “Where’s Vida now, Nell?”

“The ICU at St. Raphael’s. I haven’t seen her since the explosion. I called the hospital, and a nurse told me they’re going to fly her to the burn center in Greenville, if they can get her stable. What should I do, Dr. Shields?”

While Nell talked, Laurel had been studying Warren’s pocket, the one that held his gun. The butt had sunk completely out of sight, but she wondered whether she might be able to get it out with a quick grab. Should she call Kyle’s attention to it? Kyle was stronger, but then his hand was bigger. He might not be able to get it into the pocket before Warren flattened him. She considered grabbing a pot from a cabinet and trying to hit Warren over the head, but something stopped her. Maybe it was Nell’s story, which was obviously affecting him deeply. Or maybe it was her memory of the attack with the can of beans, which hadn’t worked out so well.

“You mentioned an Agent Biegler,” Warren said. “He didn’t try to arrest you?”

“When the fire blew up, something hit him. One of his men said I was arrested, but they didn’t have handcuffs or anything. I don’t really get it, because I was closer to the explosion. Biegler was trying to save me, but…” Nell sobbed once, then went on, “Something knocked him down, and then this other guy came charging in, but he was trying to take care of his boss. There was so much smoke…and blood. I tried to get Vi up, but she was knocked out, and…she’s burned really bad, third-degree for sure. Oh, God…”

“Slow down, Nell. Take your time.”

“When I saw that Vida couldn’t move, I crawled into the hall for some air. Then I just kept crawling, and suddenly I was outside. When I realized I was by myself, I started running. The fire engines were coming then. I shouldn’t have left Vi, but I was so scared, Dr. Shields-”

“It’s all right. Anybody would have done the same. Where are you now?”

“Not far from the office. Should I turn myself in or what?”

Auster shook his head violently.

“Do you think you can get downtown?” Warren asked.

“I think I can get a ride, maybe.”

“Okay. Go to my lawyer’s office on Bank Street. Don Billings is his name. Tell him I sent you to him, and he can call me to verify. Tell him I said I’d pay all your bills.”

Kyle was gaping now.

“What should I tell him?” Nell asked. “What should I say and not say?”

“Once you’re with Billings, he’s your attorney. Don’t waste time trying to protect Kyle or me. You’re the important one. You’ve got your whole life in front of you.”

Kyle looked as if he were about to stroke out, but he was obviously afraid to speak on a line that might be tapped.

“I wouldn’t lift a finger to help Dr. Auster,” Nell said. “That cheating bastard screwed my sister over so bad…I hate him.”

“I know what you mean,” Warren said, looking back at his partner. “Don’t worry. Kyle’s going to get what he deserves before this is over.”

“Don Billings?” Nell repeated, her voice shaky. “Bank Street?”

“That’s right. Everything’s going to be all right, Nell.”

“Thank you so much, Dr. Shields. I knew you’d help me.”

“Good-bye, Nell. Be careful.” Warren hung up and confronted Auster, who was backing toward the foyer. “Did you tell Vida to burn our records?”

“Hell, no! You know Vida. She spearheaded every scam I ever tried up there. She told me this afternoon that the records had to disappear, but that’s all. Man, she’s the one who told me to come over here and get the bonds and ledgers. She even put these damn rags on me!”

“Let’s talk about Vida and Nell for a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute!” Kyle cried, his face blotched red. “You heard Nell. They arrested her. You can bet your ass they have warrants out for you and me. Biegler’s liable to pull up here any second, now that you answered that phone.”

“If he does, so be it.”

“What?”

“I don’t care if I go to jail, so long as I go knowing the truth.”

“The truth? About what?”

Warren turned on his heel and walked back down to the great room. Laurel knew he was going to check the Sony again. She said a silent prayer that the program hadn’t cracked her password, then grabbed Kyle’s stinking shirt and pulled him close.

“He changed the code for the safe room, but it doesn’t matter. The bonds and ledgers are on the guest room bed. Go!”

Auster was already moving, but he looked over his shoulder and whispered, “What about you?”

“I’ve got to get my kids out.”

As Laurel started for the stairs, she saw a blur in the corner of her left eye that might be Warren moving. She sprinted up to the landing, but paused when Warren screamed, “Put that box down, Kyle!”

“Can’t do it, partner,” Auster replied. “Let me pass.”

Laurel peered over the rail of the landing. Kyle stood in the hall below, just within her sight, while Warren waited at the intersection of the hall and the foyer, blocking his exit. They were separated by less than ten feet, with Warren’s pistol pointed at the box covering Auster’s belly.

“Move aside, Warren,” Kyle said with surprising force. “I’m not your problem.”

“Put the bonds down,” Warren repeated. “Right now.”

Laurel wanted to continue up the stairs, but if one step creaked, Warren would hear her. She waited without breathing, terrified that Kyle would try to bluster his way past Warren to the door. After about five seconds, Kyle sighed, then bent and set the box on the floor. “At least Laurel got away,” he said.

Stunned, Warren looked around in panic, then up the staircase. As Laurel’s eyes met his, she sensed movement just beyond him.

Incredibly, Kyle now held a gun in his hand, a small nickel-plated automatic. Laurel stared in amazement as he aimed at Warren’s chest, silently urging him to pull the trigger. Then she heard herself scream a warning: “Warren, watch out!”

Warren ducked left as Kyle fired, the sound like a solitary firecracker. A red flower bloomed high on Warren’s shoulder, and then his gun boomed twice in reply.

Auster dropped like a sack.

Laurel stood frozen above this surreal tableau until a drumroll sounded overhead. Grant and Beth suddenly appeared above her, looking down from the second-floor rail.

“Mom, what happened?” Grant cried in alarm. “Are you okay?”

Beth’s face was nearly bloodless, her eyes round and white. “I’m scared, Mama!” she whimpered. “Come get me!”

A groan of agony rose from below. Laurel looked down and saw Kyle lying facedown on the floor, a pool of blood soaking his lower back. He was trying to crawl, but only his upper body was moving. Warren was looking up at Laurel and the kids, his right hand gripping his left shoulder.

“Mama, come get me!” Beth wailed. “Mama, pleeease!”

Warren nodded permission. “Go! I’ll take care of Kyle.”

Laurel raced up the stairs and swept Beth into her arms without even slowing. “Come on,” she hissed at Grant. “Move!”

“Where are we going?” Grant asked, running after her.

“Your room.” They reached the upstairs hall.

“How come?”

“We have to get out of here!”

“How?”

“Your tree.”

Grant’s eyes widened. “But you told me never to climb on that anymore!”

“Today you get to.”

She darted into Grant’s room and crossed to his right-hand window. Outside, the roof sloped steeply down to a gnarled mass of oak branches already thick with spring leaves. There was a tree house in the oak, and from its platform a zipline ran forty meters into the backyard, where it terminated over a sand pit. A few weeks ago, Grant had learned that he could sneak out of his window, slide down the roof, and climb down to his tree house using the high branches of the oak. Laurel had forbidden this dangerous activity, but that was before her husband went nuts. The only question now was, could a six-year-old girl do what a nine-year-old boy could? Laurel was betting she could, with her mother’s help. She knelt and looked Beth in the eyes.

“Grant’s going first, okay? Then you and me.”

“Mama, I can’t,” Beth said in a shaky voice. “It’s way too high. Let’s use the stairs.”

“We can’t, honey bun. Daddy might see us.”

“What’s wrong with Dad?” Grant asked. “Why is he acting psycho?”

“Daddy’s sick, honey. He doesn’t know what he’s doing right now. We need to get away from him, just for a little while. Ready?”

Grant pumped his fist. “Spider-Man time!”

Laurel flipped a latch and raised the window. To her horror, their home security system chimed in response. Warren must have set the chime only moments ago, because it hadn’t rung when Kyle opened the front door.

“Hurry!” she urged. “Go!”

Grant climbed quickly though the window and started down the slope of the roof, using both his hands and feet. Then Laurel crawled through, keeping one hand on Beth, who was crying in terror. “Come on, baby,” she said, reaching back into the bedroom. “We’re going to be fine.” She was pulling Beth up to the sill when Warren’s feet came pounding along the hall.

Laurel snatched Beth through the opening, banging the child’s head on the window frame. Beth shrieked in pain, but Laurel didn’t stop moving. She set her daughter firmly on her lap, meaning to skid down the steep, shingled slope on her behind. Then Warren snatched her hair and tried to drag her back through the window. Laurel screamed for him to let go, but he only pulled harder. A chunk of hair ripped out by the roots. She’d lose every strand on her head to get Beth out of danger.

Beth squirmed around on Laurel’s lap, probably to get better purchase on her mother’s chest. Laurel had thrown back one hand to jerk Warren’s hand free, but she needed that hand to hold Beth fast.

“You’re going to make her fall!” Laurel screamed. “Let go!”

Warren’s other hand caught Laurel just under the chin and began hauling her into the open window. She couldn’t even draw breath. If she didn’t stop fighting, she might black out and drop Beth. With tears of frustration in her eyes, she went limp.

As she waited for Warren to let go, she prayed that Grant had made his escape and not waited for his mother and sister.

“Grant!” Warren shouted. “Get your tail back up here, boy!”

The oak limbs shook as though a huge raccoon were moving in the tree below. Then Grant’s feet hit the floor of the tree house with a bang.

“I’m talking to you, Son! You do not want to make your father angry!”

The hand loosened slightly at her throat.

“Pass her up to me!” Warren ordered. “Come on!”

Laurel did. As he lifted Beth through the window, Laurel saw a saucer-size bloodstain above his left collarbone.

“The bullet clipped my trapezius,” Warren said, noticing her gaze. “It’s nothing. As if you care.”

She turned away, fighting a mad impulse to scramble down the roof to the safety of the oak tree.

Then a whir like the world’s biggest fishing reel sounded from below. Laurel looked to her right and saw Grant sailing away from the house like a commando in a POW rescue movie. He was kicking his feet to make the wheel mechanism speed along the zipline. She felt like cheering out loud.

Warren cursed in fury, and something dark moved behind her. Leaning back, she saw his gun come up and steady in his hand, as if to fire at Grant’s receding form. She knocked the gun aside and scrabbled onto her knees, facing Warren in the window like an angry mother wildcat. She was spitting mad, her skin as hot and itchy as if electricity were crackling along it. “Point that gun at him again,” she snarled, “and I’ll claw your eyeballs out. I swear to God I will!”

Grant hit the sand clean and started sprinting without even a hitch in his rhythm. Compared to doing a 180 off a half-pipe, it was nothing. He looked over his shoulder as he ran and saw his father silhouetted in the window of his bedroom, staring silently after him while his mother waved from the roof to keep running. The sight scared him more than anything had in a long time.

He ran toward the creek first, because it was downhill, but then he cut left and started making for the Elfmans’ house. As he did, Christy broke out of the trees below and raced to catch him, elated to have someone to run with. The corgi circled Grant as he ran, smiling as she always did. All he could think was that he needed to get to a telephone. He wasn’t sure whom to call, and he had no idea what to tell Mrs. Elfman. My dad’s sick? My mom needs help?

He swerved around some azaleas and kept pumping toward the Elfmans’. He could see Mrs. Elfman herself, standing in her backyard by the pool, wearing a big flowery dress. It looked like she’d already seen him. A second later, her yardman appeared beside her. Grant liked George a lot better than Mrs. Elfman. He was glad George was there. Grant figured he must look pretty scared, because a second later George started running toward him, and even Mrs. Elfman started walking fast in his direction. He was scared, too.

He wasn’t sure what was wrong with his father, but he knew his mom was terrified. He’d never seen her face so white or her hands shaking, and he’d sure never seen her wallop his dad in the face. But what scared Grant most of all was what he’d seen in the TV room upstairs. It was hidden in his dad’s pocket, but the outline was plain as day. Grant’s throat had been tight ever since he realized what that outline meant, and when he heard the shots later, they’d come as no surprise.

“Whoa there, little man!” George called, dropping to his knees so that Grant would be eye to eye with him. “What you running from so fast?”

Grant was breathing so hard that he couldn’t talk. By the time he found his voice, Mrs. Elfman was coming up. She took his hand and looked down at him with all the kindness in the world.

“What’s wrong, Grant Shields? You have to tell us, if we’re going to help you. Did some little boy blow his finger off? I heard firecrackers over there.”

Grant shook his head, trying not to cry. “It’s my dad,” he panted. “My dad’s sick!”

“Sick how?” asked George. “Did he grab his arm or his chest? Is he awake?”

Grant pointed at his own temple. “He’s sick up here. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s got a gun, and I think he shot somebody. My mom tried to get us out, but only I got away.”

“Dear Lord in heaven!” Mrs. Elfman exclaimed. “You poor child. Run call the sheriff, George. Double quick. Tell him to bring every man he’s got.”