“Minnie? This is Heather. From Lakeview. It’s Max and . . .” She stopped, and started again. “Sorry, but this isn’t something I want to leave a message about. Would you have time to stop by? Tonight?”

*   *   *

Sooner than any law enforcement officer would have considered legal, I was back in Chilson and fast-walking through Lakeview’s front door. All sorts of horrible things might have happened to Max. He’d had a heart attack. He’d had a stroke. He’d fallen and broken his hip. He’d managed, despite not having traveled beyond the borders of Tonedagana County in the last three years, to contract dengue fever.

Out of breath and worried sick, I poked my head into the first nurse’s station I came to. “Sorry to bother you, but does anyone know where Heather is?”

A nurse with red hair as curly as mine gestured down the hall to the left. “Saw her headed that way a few minutes ago. She might still be down there.”

I thanked him and hurried off, hoping to catch sight of Heather. But this wasn’t the hall where Max lived. Maybe I should go there instead? My mind shied away from that, because what if his bed was empty? What if all the bedding was gone; what if his belongings had already been packed away? What if—

My mind was so busy creating fearful possibilities that I almost walked right into the lap of an elderly man in a wheelchair.

“It’s about time,” he said, crossing his arms and giving me a hard stare. “What took you so long?”

“Max!” I put my hands to my mouth, trying to quiet my shriek of happiness at finding him alive. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for you. Yes, I know this isn’t my hall, but I have my reasons. Come along, now. We have things to discuss.”

I blinked. We did?

Heather poked her head out of a nearby room. “Minnie, there you are—” Then she spied Max. “Well, darn. I’m too late.”

“For what?” I asked.

“Never you mind, missy.” Max wheeled himself away. “There’s no time to lose. Are you coming or what?”

“I recommend the ‘or what,’” Heather murmured.

“What’s going on?” I edged toward Max but kept my focus on his CNA. “Is he okay?”

“Physically, he’s as good as he’s been in months. Mentally he’s fine. Emotionally?” She shook her head. “He just heard that another friend of his passed away and he’s got a bee in his bonnet that—”

“Mi-NER-va!” Max bellowed.

“I’ll see what he wants,” I said. “Catch up with you later, okay?” I trotted down to where Max was opening the door of a small parlor-type room designed for families to meet with residents in a homelike atmosphere.

Max wheeled himself up to a table and pointed. “Sit there. Do you have paper and pencil in that purse of yours?”

“Sure, but—”