Authors: Irene Radford
Thistle Down (17 page)
Help us
.
.
“What’s that number people shout when they are in trouble? What is it?” She racked her memory and came up blank. She had to call someone. Who?
An old black phone sat on a lamp table at the end of the sofa. Thistle grabbed the receiver as she’d seen humans do for as long as she had befriended them. There on the base in big red letters she saw 911 and a red cross.
“Let’s hope that’s right.” She dialed the three numbers, waiting a long time for the rotary to return to its original position in between.
“911, do you need police, medical, or fire?
“Um . . .”
“Stop! What are you doing?” Chase yelled from the archway to the kitchen. He stood, feet braced, a wickedlooking pistol held in both hands, menace written all over his face.
“Help us!” Thistle shouted, pointing with the hand that still held the glass of water. Liquid spilled and splashed all over the old woman. She stirred in the slight relief.
Suddenly, the heat, the exhaustion from throwing Pixie dust, and the smell robbed Thistle of all her strength.
She gave in to the need to lie down. Right here. Right now.
Chase stood with his mouth hanging open as Thistle wavered, shimmering in and out of view. The outline of wings in the shape of thistle leaves sprouted across her back as she collapsed. Her skin took on a decidedly lavender tone. Deep-purple highlights shone in her black hair.
Then the heat made everything in the room look off kilter.
He shook his head free of the illusion and took a good look around, assessing the situation. As he’d been trained to do. He plucked the receiver out of Thistle’s hand and briskly ordered an ambulance and a cruiser.
Then he found the thermostat and turned it off. Next to it, he found the ceiling fan switch and flicked it on. Mrs. Spencer must have mixed them up. What else could he do?
Windows. Cross ventilation. One by one, he unlatched and raised as many windows as he could reach behind more overstuffed chairs, bookcases, knickknack tables, and just piles of stuff. He opened the front door as well, after releasing two deadbolts, a security chain, and the normal knob lock.
Why all this security and leave the back door open? He’d looked. Thistle hadn’t forced her entry.
The dog began licking moisture off Mrs. Spencer’s face. How long had he been locked inside with her? He didn’t seem to be in much better condition than the woman who had taught fourth grade to nearly everyone in town.
He grabbed the glass, returned to the kitchen, and filled it. The first lot went into the dog’s dish beside the fridge. The second glass he dribbled on Mrs. Spencer’s brow and wrists.
Thistle stirred, too, as the fan stirred up enough of a breeze to lighten the air.
He watched as the light glinted off the heat aura that looked like wings, then dissolved as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her skin remained very pale and lavender tinged.
“Get yourself some water in the kitchen. I hear the ambulance coming,” he ordered. When she’d slumped through to the kitchen, he shook his head again. “It’s the heat. Has to be the heat. I did not see Pixie wings. I really didn’t.”
Horace licked his hand. His golden eyes told Chase he was lying to himself.
Dick would laugh himself silly at Chase’s lack of belief in the face of this evidence.
Thirteen
D
ICK LEANED HIS HEAD BACK against the wall where he sat in the utilitarian chairs of the community college’s free clinic waiting room. He always had to wait for his appointments to review the drug samples the volunteer physicians dispensed and to explain the new pills his company needed him to get them to try.
ICK LEANED HIS HEAD BACK against the wall where he sat in the utilitarian chairs of the community college’s free clinic waiting room. He always had to wait for his appointments to review the drug samples the volunteer physicians dispensed and to explain the new pills his company needed him to get them to try.
Nurse Edwards appeared at the door to the inner sanctum. Dick started to rise, grabbing his case along the way. But she beckoned the teen with the bloody elbow and forearm instead. “Skateboarding without pads again, Josh?” she quipped.
Dick settled back into his chair, squirming to find a more comfortable position. Yeah, he had an appointment, but patients came before pharmaceutical salesmen.
At least no one else had come in for the last half hour. Maybe he really would get to see the doctor on duty soon. In preparation, he pulled up a spreadsheet on his netbook showing all the samples he’d left here in the past six months and the ones he’d retrieved because they expired before anyone got around to prescribing them.
He couldn’t concentrate. Images of Thistle in her purple-flowered sundress dancing in his arms last night kept morphing into his faulty memory of the girl with purple hair he’d kissed . . . oh, so many years ago.
And then there was the annoying buzz of Chicory, the blue Pixie at the nursery. His tune clashed with Thistle’s.
Had he imagined the entire episode? He didn’t think so. The logical, science-trained portion of his mind told him Pixies didn’t exist. And they certainly didn’t grow to human size, losing their wings, their magic, and their purple skin.
The woman he and Dusty had taken in had to be a con artist, just like Chase insisted.
And yet . . .
He didn’t want her to be.
“I know better,” he muttered, applying himself to the spreadsheet, marking items nearing expiration and others that turned over rapidly.
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.
Other books
A Three Dog Life by Abigail Thomas
The Conspiracy of Us by Maggie Hall
Unburying Hope by Wallace, Mary
Timeless Adventures by Brian J. Robb
Calico Captive by Elizabeth George Speare
Amanda on the Danube: The Sounds of Music by Darlene Foster
Godmother by Carolyn Turgeon
The Dead-Tossed Waves by Carrie Ryan
Christmas Caramel Murder by Joanne Fluke
Cold Snap by Allison Brennan
