"You're not dying."

"My legs are so wobbly, I can barely stand up."

"Poor baby. You'll feel better after you eat breakfast. Come on in the kitchen. I'll give you a gla.s.s of orange juice. It'll hold you until you get to Jane's."

While Greg was sipping his juice, she said, "You want to eat lunch with me today?"

"Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"Well, I'm afraid we'll have to eat in my office. I'll only have about 30 minutes to spare-at 12:30. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. I'll bring box lunches from Jane's."

"If Jane ever went out of business, you'd starve, wouldn't you?"

"I guess so."

Once Cynthia's mother moved in, she would cook for them. At least that was one thing he knew he'd like about Beverly living there.

"I'd better get going," said Greg. "See you at 12:30."

He gave her a goodbye, but-I-don't-really-want-to-go kiss.

"I love you, Greg."

It sounded so fresh and magical. And his knees were already weak from the running. How much weaker could they get before he crumpled to the floor, he wondered. "I love you too, Cynthia."

The sparkle in her eyes made him want to say it over and over.

And Cynthia had begun to believe that the life of love and happiness she had always dreamed of was finally within reach.

"You want to ride with me?" said the pastor.

"Sure," said Greg. He wondered if Dr. Huff had seen the clueless look in his eyes. It had taken a full two seconds for Greg to remember that there was a funeral at 10:00. "Just let me throw on a tie and jacket."

He had learned to keep a couple of sport coats and ties in his office for just such a memory lapse. A suit would be more appropriate for a funeral, but the immediate family would not see him anyway. They should already be in their seats by the time he arrived. And he would be singing over the sound system from a hidden room.

Greg liked the hidden room concept. One time he was singing for the funeral of a fifty-something year-old man who, without warning, had dropped dead in his favorite recliner. The service was held at a small country church. The widow and daughters started crying in the middle of Greg's song. So there he was, standing at the pulpit, right in front of them, as they cried their eyes out. He hoped he would never have to do that again.

The 83-year-old woman and her husband had been faithful church members. But the congregation had seen little of their three sons after they were grown and out on their own. They were good ole boys. Nice guys by most standards. But Dr. Huff would use their mother's funeral to encourage the sons to seriously consider their spiritual condition. He had done the same at their father's service two years earlier.

Greg was surprised to run into Henry Joe outside the funeral home. All three boys were known by their first and middle names. The other two were Harry Jeff and Harvey John. Henry Joe had followed in his dad's footsteps, making a living repairing the old cars in the little town. He had taken over the shop when the old man finally retired. Henry Joe had replaced the fuel pump on Greg's 1965 Bonneville just a few weeks earlier.

"Hey, Mr. Tenorly," said Henry Joe, just before he took another drag on his cigarette.

Greg hated the smoking, but he appreciated being addressed formally. Henry Joe had apparently learned manners from his mama. "How are doing?"

"I'm okay."

"Sorry for your loss."

"Thanks."

Now Greg needed to move on. He never knew quite what to say to a son or daughter who had just lost a parent. He felt so inadequate to handle that part of his job. He couldn't even remember what people had said to comfort himwhen his mother had died. He had felt such guilt for not being there to protect her. If he hadn't been off at college he could have gone to the store for her that night. Maybe hecould have avoided the drunk driver's pickup.

Greg went in the door and looked down the empty hallway. He quickly walked to the music room. It was a tiny, with just enough s.p.a.ce for two people-if one of them was sitting on the organ bench.

"Hi, Greg."

"Hey, Sally." He didn't even know her last name or anything about her, except that she was always there to play the organ.

"So, you're doing Amazing Graceand Abide with Me, right?" She was looking at the printed program.

"Yes, that's right."

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me...

Greg had sung that hymn hundreds, maybe thousands of times.

Abide with me: fast falls the even tide; the darkness deepens; Lord with me abide...

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

Greg was ready for death, in one sense. He knew he would go to Heaven to live with G.o.d and his mother and other family members and friends. But first, he wanted to live a long life on earth. A wonderful life with Cynthia. To have children and grandchildren. In that sense, he wasn't ready to die at all. Funerals are so depressing, he thought.

"Wonder where Carnie's going?" said Macy, standing at a window in Mallie Mae's room.

"There's no telling," said Mallie Mae.

"I went down to check on Elmo late last night. I wanted to make sure she wasn't bothering him."

"Bothering him?"

"Yeah. I don't know what she's capable of. She might try to seduce him while Carsie's gone."

"Honey, Elmo has a lot of flaws, but being unfaithful isn't one of them," said Mallie Mae.

"I know." Macy hesitated, but then blurted it out. "She's been coming on to me."

"What do you mean?"

"The other night she kissed me."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was embarra.s.sed."

"You think she's gay? Or bis.e.xual?"

"I don't know. And then last night when I went down to the bas.e.m.e.nt to spy on her, she opened her door and was standing there naked. She just stood there staring at me."

"So, what did you do?"

"I ran away. That woman scares me."

"Sound like she isgay."

"I'm not sure if she's gay or just some kind of wacko-especially after that. She just seems dangerous to me."

"Well then, just stay away from her. She and her sister will be out of our lives soon."

"I hope you're right, Mallie Mae."

Chapter16.

Carnie had studied her printout from the pharmacy and selected Nancie Jo Gristel as the first 'volunteer' for her Hideaway Hospital Clinical Trial. She had learned from Elmo's internet printouts that Namenda was being prescribed for patients with moderate to severe cases of Alzheimer's. She had selected Nancie Jo at random from the list and located her house on the map. She hoped it might be easy since the house was at the end of a dead end street. If the driveway was on the dead end side of the house, Mrs. Gristel would be a perfect choice.

Carnie's 2005 white Chevy Malibu was just one of a few dozen driving around in Coreyville. She had swapped out her license plates with a set she took off a junkyard car, just in case some neighbor actually took notice and remembered the plates. She figured n.o.body would find it odd to see a nurse visiting an 81 year-old Alzheimer's patient at 11:00 AM.

The house was on the left, at the end of Bowie Street. She parked in the driveway, behind Nancie Jo's car, and walked to the side door, near the back of the house. She wondered if Mrs. Gristel was fearful about living all alone. The fact that the old woman's most-used door faced the woods rather than the other homes seemed particularly dangerous.

As she stepped onto the porch with her medical bag in hand, she heard someone playing the piano. She knocked and waited a full minute. Finally the music stopped and she knocked again. Twenty seconds later the door opened.

"Yes?" said the old woman.

"Hi. Are you Nancie Joe Gristel?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well, I'm from Dr. Johnson's office."

"Really? I've never seen you before."

"That's because I'm new. Just started this week."

"I see. Well, what can I do for you?"

"Dr. Johnson is initiating a new treatment regimen for all his Alzheimer's patients."

"Okay. But I'm doing fine right now. And if the doctor wants to see me, I could just make an appointment and go in to his office."

"Oh, of course you could." Carnie smiled sweetly. "But he's so excited about this new medicine that he wanted to get everybody started on it right away. It's getting rave reviews from NIH."

"What's that?"

"I'm sorry. The National Inst.i.tutes of Health."

"Okay. Come on in."

Carnie went in and followed Nancie Jo to the living room. The bench was pulled away from the piano, and a piano score was opened on the music rack.

"I heard you playing," said Carnie, nodding to the piano. "Sounded nice."

"Thanks. I'm not really all that good, but I'm taking lessons. Now what did you say your name was?"

Carnie didn't answer. She pulled a small pistol out of her medical bag and pointed it at Nancie Jo.

"What are you doing? I knewyou weren't from Dr. Johnson's office! Who are you?"

"Never mind that. You're coming with me. And you will do exactly as I say-if you want to live. Let's go."

Carnie motioned for Nancie Jo to walk toward the kitchen, and she complied. But when the old woman got close to the door she stopped and bent over in pain, placing her left hand on the stove for support, clutching her hip with her right hand.

"What's the matter?" said Carnie.

"It's my hip. It goes out on me sometimes."

"Just take it slow and you'll be-"

Nancie Jo swung around.

She seems to moving okay now, Carnie thought. Moving fast.

By the time Carnie saw the iron skillet in the Nancie Jo's hand it was too late. It whacked her on the side of the head and she flew sideways onto the floor, dropping the pistol and the medical bag. Nancie Jo flung the skillet down and scrambled for the gun. Carnie tried to shake off the dizziness and run toward her. But Nancie Jo picked up the pistol and pointed at Carnie.

"Get back!" said Nancie Jo.

Carnie stumbled backward. Her vision was getting clearer. Out of the corner of her eye she noted the knife block, to her right, on the counter. It held eight or ten knives of various types and sizes. "Look, Lady, I was taking you to a hospital for clinical trials-for your Alzheimer's."

"Yeah, right. I may have Alzheimer's, but I'm not stupid."

"I'm telling the truth. You would be treated by Dr. Elmo Mobley."

"The pediatrician?"

"Yes. He just found out his mother has Alzheimer's and he's desperate to find a cure."

Nancie Jo had heard that Mallie Mae Mobley had Alzheimer's and that Elmo had taken a leave of absence from his practice.