The car made a left at the next street, and as he’d promised, he was home in five minutes. He found eighty-one-year-old Lillian Bridgeman in her wheelchair just inside the front door. The house had been outfitted with a ramp that ran from the porch down to the driveway, and up until recently, she’d been able to get herself outside on her own. But her arms had grown weaker, and now she was having difficulty getting over the small doorsill bump that ran along the floor between the house and the porch.

Too bad that wasn’t the only problem.

She’d been using the wheelchair for two years now, but again, only recently had she been confined to it. She’d had strength enough to get out of it to attend to things in the bathroom, or get herself ready for bed. But now Joe was looking for someone to come in several times a day to help her with those matters. He nipped back as often as he could, but it wasn’t always possible.

But things were going to change. He’d found a placement for her at one of the island’s seniors’ facilities that he’d a) never thought he’d be able to afford, and b) figured there was a ten-year waiting list. But he’d been running the most recent financial numbers—his and his mother’s—and believed it was something they could swing, and whaddya know, the home had had a spot come open.

All he had to do now was break the news to her.

But not today.

He pulled into the driveway, told Sherlock to let him out, and ran to the front door, which his mother had already left ajar.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said once he had the door open all the way.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Joe said, getting in around behind her wheelchair. He gave it a shove to get it over the bump, and then managed to catch one of his own feet on it. He lurched forward, giving the chair a jolt, as he tripped.

His mother gripped the armrests of her chair and laughed. “I swear,” she said, “ever since you were a baby you’ve tripped over your own feet.”

Joe felt a flush of anger in his cheeks but held back saying anything. Maybe he was a bit of a klutz at times but he didn’t need to be reminded of it when he was going out of his way to be helpful.

Lillian said, “Why don’t we get rid of that bump, get it fixed? I could call what’s his name? You know, who fixed the furnace?”

“Hold off on that, Mom.”

“Why? He’s very reliable.”

“Leave it with me,” he said. “Where do you want to be? Here on the porch, or down by the road?”

“I can take it from here. You go be a police chief.”