When the previous fire station chief was diagnosed with cancer, they’d held fundraisers to help with the finances, done work around his house, like mowing the lawn. Little things that made his life easier. When Cass had the twins and they spent time in the NICU, the RFD family had been there.
“Have you heard anything new on the fire?” she asked Lieutenant Fischer. She’d spoken to him briefly yesterday, so she knew the investigation was being handled outside Station 4.
“Nothing new. You’ll be the first one I tell when I do.” He patted her back as they walked to the dayroom.
The call alarm wailed. “Engine 4, med call.” The dispatcher gave the address.
Sam and Lieutenant Fischer rushed to the engine. Turnout gear was stowed inside, and everyone climbed in.
“That’s Mr. Bonetti’s address. The sheet says chest pains.” Lieutenant Fischer filled them in on the call information.
“Mr. Frequent Flier himself.” Greer nudged her knee. “Twenty bucks says he declines a ride.”
“Greer!” She punched him in the arm. “You are not betting on the poor, lonely old man.”
“What? His calls always end up with him declining to go to the hospital once he’s calmed down. You know it’s just his anxiety with a touch of hypochondria.”
Mr. Bonetti was getting older, and Sam dreaded the day that it really was something serious. Hopefully, that wasn’t today.
“You’re a horrible little man,” Murph said from his seat.
“Who you calling little?” Greer sat up straighter.
Compared to Murph, Greerwaslittle. Murph was six-six compared to Greer’s five-eleven and three-quarters. Maybe if he did the pompadour thing, he’d break the six-foot barrier.
“That’s enough, children. Greer, you take this one,” Lieutenant Fischer instructed.
Murph staged the engine in front of Mr. Bonetti’s house. Sam looked around, her pulse quickening when she didn’t see him. Normally he met them on the porch or in the driveway. But there was no sign of him.
“Greer.”
“I know.” Greer’s voice held a note of worry.
They piled out, grabbed the medical bags, and made their way up to Mr. Bonetti’s door.
Greer rapped on the wood. “Mr. Bonetti. Renegade Fire Department.”
He waited a minute, but Mr. Bonetti didn’t answer.
“Help.” A weak voice could be heard from somewhere in the house.
Sam dropped the medical bag and dug in the potted fern for the key to the front door. She didn’t want to cause damagegetting in if they didn’t have to, and Mr. Bonetti had told them more than once where he kept his extra key.
She unlocked the door and let Greer take the lead.
“Mr. Bonetti, where are you?” Greer paused and listened.
“In the kitchen.” Mr. Bonetti’s voice was so weak.
Adrenaline pulsed through Sam’s veins.
Greer rushed into the kitchen and stooped down in front of Mr. Bonetti on the kitchen floor.
“Hey, Mr. Bonetti. How are you doing?” Greer assessed the patient.
“My chest hurts.” He panted, his hand clutching his chest.
Chest pains, shortness of breath. Could be a heart attack. But could also be a number of other things as well.
