As Blackie left the mall, he saw Tony Chavez putting out place settings on the tables that peppered the revolving dining platform in the middle of the cavernous hall. Tony grinned and turned to say hello as Blackie drew to a stop.

“The Morning Grind is closed,” Blackie told the restauranteur. “Do you happen to know why?”

Tony, wearing a white bib apron smeared with tomato sauce, said, “She got sick. Said she had to go home and lie down. She didn’t look too good.”

“Sick with what?” Blackie asked.

“Nausea, I think. Her face was pale, and she was woozy. Nothing serious, I don’t think. Probably just that stomach virus that’s been going around. A few of my customers canceled reservations because they were down with it.”

Blackie thanked Tony for the information and left. When he got to his shop, he called Julie on his cell phone, but she didn’t answer. That worried him even more, so when five o’clock finally rolled around, he closed his shop an hour early and drove out to the Bearberry Loop golf course. Julie’s blue Mazda was out front in the parking area. He exited his car and hurried along the walkway to her front porch. When he knocked, he heard no sounds coming from inside, so he rang the bell. He still got no response. So he tried the doorknob and stiffened in surprise when the carved portal swung open under the pressure of his hand.

He believed Julie always locked up. In fact, she was so cautious that she’d even replaced all her downstairs windows with ones that locked in place if she wanted them slightly open. It wasn’t like her not to secure all her doors.

He stepped into the foyer, feeling like a burglar. “Julie?” Blackie wondered if she was lying down. She hadn’t given him a complete tour of the house the night he’d come for dinner, so he didn’t know where her bedroom was, upstairs or down. “Julie? Where are you?”

He heard a faint sound and followed his nose down a short hallway, which led him past a guest bathroom and then to a room with the door ajar. He peeked in and saw Julie curled up in a fetal position on a king-size bed. Still fully clothed, she lay atop the floral bedspread. Judging by the way she hugged herself, she was cold. He crossed the room and stood gazing down at her.

“Sick,” she murmured. “Go. Don’t want you to catch it.”

Blackie had a strong immune system and rarely caught viruses, but even if it meant he might this time, he couldn’t leave Julie when she needed someone to take care of her. He rolled her toward him and then stepped around the bed to draw back the spread and blankets. Then he retraced his steps, lifted her into his arms, and deposited her gently on the mattress so he could pull the covers over her.

“Sick, so sick,” she told him. “Can’t keep anything down.”