“We gotta get you to the hospital,” Frankie said. “We need to wait for the ambulance—my back, I couldn’t drive.”
Sam nodded and said, “Horses would be dead if it wasn’t for Honus. He woke me up barking. Must have smelled the fire.”
Frankie leaned down to give the dog a scratch: “Thank you, Honus.”
She turned back to the fire and suddenly began to cry again, hands covering her face, the dog licking her arm.
—
The ambulance arrivedfifteen minutes later. Jean Nilsson said, “You guys go on. Me and Olaf will take care of the twins and Honus.”
The EMTs put them in the back, sitting upright, and started for the Mayo Clinic’s urgent care center in Mankato.
“It hurts, but it’s not getting worse,” Sam said, holding up reddened hands.
“I’ve seen a lot worse that turned out okay,” one of the EMTs said. “I’d put on some painkiller spray, but I’d rather wait until you’re talking to a doctor. If you can stand it.”
“I can stand it,” Sam said. “Mom?”
“I can, too,” she said. “I’m going to call Virgie.”
—
Three- and four-o’clockcalls were not everyday events, but they weren’t totally uncommon, either. When Virgil’s phone rang, he was asleep, but came up quickly. A call in the small hours usually meant a murder somewhere, but when he rolled over and picked up his phone, the screen read “Frankie.”
“Oh shit!” He punched “answer” and asked, “Are you all right?”
“I’m in an ambulance with Sam, we’re both a little burned, not too bad. We’re going to the Mayo in Mankato. Somebody burned down the stable.”
“The stable? I’m coming, I’m coming, I’ll call you on the road.”
“Wait! Wait! We got the horses out, they’re in the big pasture, somebody’s got to check and see if they’re burned…”
“I’ll check later. I’ll be there in an hour…You’re not hurt bad? Jesus Christ, are you okay, is Sam okay? Where are the twins? Where’s Honus?”
“Don’t panic on me,” Frankie said. “And don’t drive fast. Jean and Olaf are with the twins. We’re okay, Honus is okay, I think the horses looked okay, I’ll call a vet tomorrow morning. They’re taking us to the hospital, the EMTs say we’re not too bad, but we’ll need some painkiller and bandages.”
“I’m coming!” Virgil punched off, scooped his dopp kit, laptop, and pistol into his equipment bag, pulled on jeans and a tee-shirt and ran out of the room, down the hotel stairs and out to the garage. He was on I-494 three minutes later, running with lights and siren, headed south.
When he got off the interstate, he called Frankie, but she didn’t pick up, and he called Sam, but he didn’t either, so he gave up and focused on the road. Fifteen minutes later, he got a call from a highway patrolman named Ezra Ely.
“Ez! I’m running south on 60,” Virgil said. “I’m driving too fast, lights and siren.” His voice sounded squeaky and panicked in his own ears.
“I figured you would be,” Ely said. “I got a call from our dispatcher who said your wife and kid are on the way to the Mayo in Mankato, that there was a fire and you were in St. Paul. Anyway, I’m coming north on 60. When you see my lights, slow down, and I’ll turn around and lead you south.”
“Thanks, man. I’m running hard. And I’m scared shitless.”
“Gotcha.”
—
Ely picked himup halfway to Mankato and took him all the way to the clinic, lights and sirens on both vehicles; they went through the college town of Saint Peter like twin rocket ships, faster than Virgil would have dared on his own. At the emergency room, Ely turned around as Virgil parked. Virgil slapped Ely’s car hood and said through the open driver’s-side window, “I owe you big,” and Ely said, “No, you don’t,” and Virgil nodded and hurried inside.
A nurse said, “Are you…?”
“Virgil Flowers, here for Florence Nobles and Sam Nobles…”
“They are being done up right now,” the nurse said. “I think the doc is through with them. Hang on here, I’ll get him.”
