An ambulance wailed in the near distance.
Uh-oh. Dick stood to peer out the high window of the clinic. The siren came closer. Only the one siren, no police cruisers or fire trucks beforehand.
Dick stepped closer to the window. Sure enough, the white-and-red vehicle screeched to a halt in the covered drive adjacent to the clinic. An EMT thrust the vehicle’s double doors open with extreme haste, letting them slam against the side panels. Another uniformed attendant hastened from the front to assist with the gurney.
Part of Dick needed to run out and check the swinging IV to make sure it didn’t come loose from the patient’s arm. “I’m not on duty,” he reminded himself.
He did what he could, running around the corner and slamming the automatic open button on the sliding door. Then he pushed it open faster than the programming wanted him to.
“Thanks, Dick,” the EMT said as he passed, pushing the gurney.
“Mike, is… is that Mrs. Spencer?” Dick asked. “Our fourth grade teacher?”
“Yeah. Heat stroke. Her dog alerted a passerby who broke in and called 911. If she hadn’t turned off the heat and dribbled water on her brow and opened windows, we might not have been in time.” Then Mike was past Dick and into the tiny emergency room attached to the clinic.
“Looks like I’ll be here a while,” Dick sighed and returned to his computer.
Another flurry of movement at the clinic front door broke his limited concentration. A police cruiser had pulled in behind the ambulance.
A flash of purple, then the door came open. Chase, red-faced and sweating, dragged a protesting Thistle by the hand. She dug in her heels and leaned backward. She’d changed from her parade costume, back into the rumpled sundress.
Chase compensated for her resistance with a mighty thrust worthy of a shot put Olympian, propelling the woman forward against the receptionist’s counter.
“What’s wrong?” Dick jumped up and examined Thistle’s wrist for signs of bruising, or dislocation.
She yanked her hand back and used it to rub her midriff, further creasing the cotton dress he’d bought her yesterday.
“I got word of a break-in at Mrs. Spencer’s. Found this one administering rudimentary first aid,” Chase said, not in the least apologetic for his rough treatment. “I don’t know if I should book her, or thank her. First, I need the doc to check her out, make sure she’s okay. She collapsed from the heat. Seemed very listless and tired until I got her to drink some water.”
“I didn’t break in. The back door was unlocked, and the dog told me his lady needed help,” Thistle insisted. She turned her eyes up to Dick, imploring him to believe her.
“You talked to the dog?” Dick wanted to give in to her silent plea for help and understanding.
“Actually, he talked to me, but I couldn’t understand much. Mostly he howled and whined. I peeked through the window and saw the lady on the floor. I knocked on the front door. Horace led me from window to window until I found the back door unlatched. She’s going to be okay, isn’t she?”
All three of them looked to the receptionist for information.
“We all had Mrs. Spencer for a teacher at some point, but patient privacy prevails. I can’t tell you anything more than that she’s alive,” the forty-something woman said. Janet Boland, according to her name plaque, with artful gray streaks highlighting her brown hair, nodded at them and then said, “Damn computer. It’s frozen and won’t let me access any files.”
“Last I heard, Mrs. Spencer had moved to Salem to be with her daughter.” Dick leaned over the counter, trying to pick out words and phrases on the computer screen. “Try control/alt/delete.”
“I did, and it won’t work. I’ll have to manually power off and reboot.”
Dick checked his netbook. It scrolled automatically through his open database, from top to bottom, then bottom to top.
He shook his head and turned it off.
Ms. Boland gave up on her computer and fell into easy gossip mode. “Apparently, the daughter wanted to put down Mrs. Spencer’s dog. Too much trouble. He’s almost as ancient as Mrs. Spencer and has bladder control problems.”
“Horace only has a problem when no one remembers to let him out,” Thistle insisted.
“Who told you the dog’s name?” Dick asked, surprised and delighted.
“Not Mrs. Spencer. She was unconscious when I got there. EMTs said she’d been out for quite a while,” Chase added.
“Horace told me,” Thistle said. She rolled her eyes as if everyone talked to dogs and understood them.
“Wait a minute. You said you didn’t understand what the dog said.”
“Well, I got a few thoughts. Everyone knows their own name and how to communicate it. And he said ‘help us.’ I knew I had to get in and do something.” She shrugged.
Dick’s gaze met Chase’s over the top of Thistle’s head. Neither understood precisely what was going on.
Dick had an idea, but it warred with everything he’d been taught.
“The daughter called us this morning to let us know Mrs. Spencer had moved back home yesterday. She wanted us to be aware that the old lady was alone,” Janet Boland added. “I hate to see these old folks come in to emergency like that when all they need is a friend.”
Thistle stilled. Her eyes flicked right and left, seeking something, a connection. Then she dropped her gaze to her feet. “I know how to be a friend. It’s what Pixies do best. We offer friendship to anyone who can see us as Pixies and not just dragonflies.” She shot Chase a wicked glance.
“Can I go now? Dusty says I have to find a job and move out. But I don’t know what I can do, or where to go.” Fat tears welled up in Thistle’s eyes.
“My sister is heartless,” Dick said, offering Thistle his clean handkerchief.
“Sounds to me like she’s practical and cautious,” Chase sniffed.
“Wait a minute.” Dick needed to think-and think fast. “We’ve got a lot of old folks living on the ridge in those ancient houses with outdated plumbing and no air-conditioning. Many of them live alone. In this heat they need someone to check on them, make sure they drink enough water, turn on the fans instead of the heat, let the pets out. What if a bunch of people chipped in and paid Thistle to do that?”
“Loaves and Fishes does a lot of that,” Ms. Boland said. A note of caution drew the words out.
“But not all of them sign up for Meals on Wheels. Like Mrs. Spencer. She was a proud old lady, wouldn’t take charity. Said she didn’t need it,” Chase mused. “And those volunteers only come once a day, and not always on weekends. They are volunteers, after all, and there are only so many of them.”
“I bet they don’t stick around to make sure the folks eat or drink,” Dick expanded on the topic. “Or let the dogs out.”
“I’ve got a patrol officer checking the neighborhood now,” Chase said. His fingers tapped a rhythmic pattern on his utility belt, a sure sign that he was thinking as fast and furiously as Dick. “But I haven’t the budget to do it all day every day. Especially with Festival in full swing and someone selling illegal firecrackers to teens. You might have a good idea, Dick. At least until the heat breaks. Come winter, we’ll have a similar problem. Making sure furnaces work and don’t spill carbon monoxide.”
Thistle looked around sniffing the air. “Ten degrees cooler tomorrow and the next day. But no rain in sight. And the third day the temperatures go back up into the nineties again, with higher humidity.”
“We wouldn’t be able to pay her much. And someone would have to take her around, introduce her to everyone, including the neighbors,” Dick thought out loud. His gaze met Chase’s again.
“Dusty could do that. She takes library books to the old folks; she could introduce and vouch for your friend,” Ms. Boland suggested.