Was Clancy lost in the woods, too? Before she’d been able to climb down from the tree, she’d heard him calling to her. He’d called softly at first, assuring her that all was well, and that he had just been trying to scare her, because little girls shouldn’t be wandering around alone in a dangerous place like Kansas City. Then in the next second he’d screamed at her about all the things he’d do to her when he caught her. She hadn’t come down from the tree until his voice fell silent.

She looked up into the sky, which was still cloudy above her. She could see a patch of blue near the horizon, but no sun, so she couldn’t tell which horizon she was looking at.

If that was the western sky, it meant the clouds were clearing. That meant it could get colder. She couldn’t keep going all night long just to stay warm.

But what else could she do?

Jama stretched in her chair, arching her back and rubbing her eyes. She was tired, and the words on the computer screen blurred more and more often. The later the afternoon grew, the less able she was to keep Doriann from her thoughts. And Tyrell. And Monty.

She heard a car door closing and looked outside to see a young woman pushing a wheelchair up the ramp to the front porch.

In the wheelchair was Jama’s beloved old friend and the retired school coach, Ted Claybaugh.

The woman paused outside the door, looking at the sign Ruth had placed there. She said something to Ted, who replied gruffly. The woman shrugged, opened the door and backed inside with the wheelchair.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Keith,” she called over her shoulder. “Mr. Claybaugh insisted on being brought here.”

Jama stepped into the waiting room and greeted her grizzled old friend with a hug. “Ted, I knew you’d be in charge of that nursing home by now.”

The longtime widower grunted and shook his head, but there was the light of humor in his gray eyes. “I had to get my bluff in on them soon as I walked in the door.” Gone was the former deep bass boom of his voice.

“You’re not walking today? What’s the deal?” Jama knew it was the nursing-home rules that anyone taken to a medical facility must be safely transported, but she also knew Ted would have walked, anyway, had he felt able.

“I thought I’d fake chest pain so I could come see my favorite student.”

“Are you really faking?” She glanced at the aide.

The woman shook her head.

“Tell you what, Ted,” Jama said. “Why don’t you let me get some vitals since you’re here?”

“Guess you could. I should have the right to observe your skills, bedside manner, all that, while you work me up.”

“It won’t be much of a workup,” she warned.

After falling for the third time on the front steps of his home a few months ago, Ted had checked himself into the nursing home, despite the protest of his son and daughter. He’d told them he’d never been a burden to anyone, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“He’s been complaining of chest pains since this morning,” the aide said. “They’ve been getting worse, according to the pain scale.”

“Since this morning?” Jama exclaimed. “Why wasn’t his physician called?”

“I thought it was indigestion,” Ted said. “We had chili last night for dinner, and Shirley Watts always puts too many beans and onions in it.”

Jama led the way to a treatment room. “Most recent vitals?” She avoided glancing into her director’s office. She could expect Ruth’s displeasure to radiate into the hallway.

“I have them charted here.” The aide handed Jama a sheet. Ted’s temperature was elevated by a degree, his pulse a little fast and his respiratory rate a bit too rapid.

“So, Ted, what does the pain feel like?” Jama asked, pulling the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

He peered over his glasses at her. “It hurts.”

Jama rolled her eyes at him. “Describe the pain to me. Is it dull, or throbbing, or sharp and piercing?”

He suddenly winced, bending forward. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as his skin paled. “I’d say sharp.”

“Where is it?”

He pointed toward his left lower chest.

Her concern increased a notch. This could be several conditions. Indigestion did not explain the fever, neither would simple pleurisy. If he had a left lower lobe pneumonia, it could hurt like the dickens. She should have sent him on to the nearest medical facility as soon as he’d been rolled in the door, but she hadn’t expected his problem to be so serious.

“Takes your breath away?” she asked.

“Not for long.” His grimace relaxed, and color returned to his face. “They never last long.”

Jama tugged the stethoscope from her neck, pumped the pressure cuff, then released it. Not much change in his blood pressure. She pressed the bell of her stethoscope over his chest and watched his face as she listened to his heart. With the elevated temperature and sharp pains, it could be a simple respiratory chest pain due to his fever, but the fever wasn’t that high. Still, she’d like to know where it originated.

“So tell me what you’re thinking,” he said before she could remove the bell of her scope from his chest, the boom of his voice returning via her earpieces.

“I’m not thinking yet.”

“Sure you are, you’re just not ready to tell anybody about it.”

She straightened, then listened to his back. “Breathe for me.”

“I haven’t stopped breathing all day.”

“Deeper.”

He did as she said.

She couldn’t tell much by the sound.

“Will I live?”

“That depends.” She wrapped the stethoscope back around her neck.

“On what?”

“If you’re talking about another ninety years, maybe not. I’d feel better if I could do more thorough testing, but we don’t have the personnel for it right now, and as much as I learned in med school, I wasn’t taught how to operate a lab or take X-rays. I’d like to send you to another facility-”

“When will this place be up and running?”

“Next week.”

“I’ll be back when you’re up to speed,” he told her.

“I don’t think you should wait,” Jama warned. “You could have a serious problem, and if it isn’t caught in time-”

“I know, I know, it could kill me.” Ted’s weathered face broke into a smile that shot Jama’s mind back to a time in the classroom, when she’d answered a question especially well. “Something’s going to get me sooner or later, Jama Sue. Who wants to live forever?”

“Depends on the alternative.”

“I’ve got a good one. It comes with a street of gold.”

“Well, I’m going to do all I can to make sure you don’t hit the pearly gates prematurely. They might not have your mansion ready.”

“Do what you need to, but just remember you’re not God.”

“I bet you’re really popular with your regular doctor.”

“I’m having my records transferred here next week. You’re my doctor now.”

Again, Jama was struck by the enormity of what she was doing. Physicians were discouraged from treating family members, and Ted felt like family to her, as had so many people in this town when she was growing up.

“I made that decision when you entered medical school.” He grimaced. Obviously, the pain had returned.

Jama gave in and hooked him up to an EKG machine. In fifteen seconds, she saw the display on the monitor, which didn’t show any significant problem for someone his age. Still, with anything less than a perfect EKG, she could not totally dismiss the possibility that the pain was coming from his heart.

She was wishing for a good phlebotomist and lab tech when Ruth stepped to the doorway of the exam room.

“Dr. Keith, would you mind introducing me to our patient?” Ruth asked.

“Ted Claybaugh,” Jama said, “meet Dr. Ruth Lawrence. She’s the director of the clinic.”

Ted nodded.

“Mr. Claybaugh,” Ruth said, “you need to go elsewhere for treatment.”