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on his chin. Had the man ever bothered to see a doctor for this bizarre condition, or did his rapidly progressive mental illness prevent him from acting rationally?
    “What’s the deal, Darryl?” Matt whispered. “Come on. Wake up and tell me. . . . What’s the deal?”
    He picked up the bedside phone, hesitated, then called the pathology lab. In seconds his uncle was on the line.
    “Hal, how’re you doing?”
    “Well, I don’t have half the town wanting to tar and feather me for just doing my job, if that’s what you mean.”
    “There’s a nurse right outside who’ll be happy to smear the first glob on me. Listen, Hal, I’m here in Teague’s ICU cubicle. You may already know this, but he’s been in a coma since right after he was moved up here from the ER. I’m wondering if someone’s medicating him.”
    “Why?”
    “First if , then why . Is there any way you could have one of your techs draw an extra tube and run a drug screen on it?”
    “Without telling Crook?”
    “That’s the idea. I would draw it myself, but there would be hell to pay if a nurse walked in on me while I was doing it.”
    “I’ll do it, nephew, but I expect a pouch of premium tobacco next Christmas. No more ties.”
    “You sure? I think I still have three or four left in my closet.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Okay, no more ties. Thanks, Unk.”

    MATT
    ’ S OFFICE OCCUPIED  the first floor of a shingled old two-family just off Main Street, near the center of town. He parked his Harley by the garage in back and entered through the rear door. The moment he stepped inside, he could hear an animated exchange coming from his waiting room. The voice, a woman’s, was strident and shrill. Responding to her, evenly, civilly as always, was Mae Borden, his office manager and receptionist.
    “Now, Mrs. Goodwin,” Mae was saying, “I’m not trying to convince you not to switch doctors, but I do think you owe it to your husband to think things through.”
    Matt stopped just short of the door to his office and leaned against the wall in the hallway.
    “Charlie’s the one who made me come,” the woman said. “He’s very upset about what happened in the mine.”
    “You mean Dr. Rutledge saving that boy’s life?”
    “Yes. The two men Teague killed were friends a Charlie’s. An’ the mine’s been closed for three days now because a the damage Teague did down there. That’s money outta everyone’s pockets.”
    “I understand. Tell me something, Mrs. Goodwin. If your husband had been the one driving that equipment that night, would you have wanted Dr. Rutledge to do all he could?”
    “Well, I . . . I suppose I would.”
    “And has Dr. Rutledge always given you two the best of care?”
    “A course he has.”
    “And you want to switch doctors?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Mrs. Goodwin, supposin’ I keep your records here until Charlie comes in and speaks with me—or better still, with Dr. Rutledge. I’m not supposed to say this, but I know for a fact that the two of you are among his favorite patients. He’d hate to lose you.”
    “Well, the truth is, I’d hate to lose him, too.”
    “So?”
    “Mrs. Borden, I was really hopin’ you’d talk me outta this. I’ll tell Charlie if’n he wants to go through with it, he’s got t’ come in an’ face Dr. Rutledge hisself.”
    “I suspect he’ll be relieved you didn’t do it.”
    “I think he will, too. Thank you. Oh, thank you so much.”
    Matt heard the front door open and shut.
    “It’s okay, Matthew,” Mae called out. “She’s gone. You can come in here now.”
    Matt entered the modest waiting area and kissed his office manager on the cheek.
    “I have some Eskimos I want to sell refrigerators to,” he said. “I think you’re just the woman for the job.”
    “No thanks. I can’t stand the cold.”
    “Bless you for saving my practice.”
    “Oh, it’s not been that bad,” Mae replied in her melodic, Alabama drawl. “Six attempted defections so far, only