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I fired up the engine. “Popeye didn’t come into the diner this morning,” I said as I backed down the drive.

Pops was like clockwork. He was at the diner by seven o’clock every single day, rain, sun, or snow. If he didn’t come in, something was seriously wrong.

“Popeye?” she asked.

“He squints with one eye. Kinda looks like him,” I said as I turned onto the road. It was only a two-minute drive.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“Ninety at least.”

“Any preexisting conditions?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Dementia, high blood pressure, diabetes?”

I glanced at her. “I don’t know. Nothing he’s ever mentioned. He’s pretty sharp.”

“Any idea what medications he’s on? Has he ever been hospitalized?”

I blinked at her. “No…”

I wanted to ask her about the questions, but I didn’t have a chance because I was pulling up to his tiny one-story house. I put the truck in park. “Stay here.”

She got unbuckled. “I’m not staying in the car.”

“What if he’s dead?”

“I think I can handle it.”

I arched an eyebrow. “What if he’s naked?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen,” she sang and got out.

I smiled after her, then jogged up the walkway and knocked. “Pops? You there?” I gave him a minute. When he didn’t answer, I fished the spare key to his house off my key chain. Popeye was armed and not afraid to shoot, so I knocked and called out as loudly as possible as I opened the door. I pushed it in slowly and peered inside. “Pops?”

A moan came from the bedroom. I ran through the dark, musty house and burst through the door. Popeye was on the floor next to the bed. He was awake and sitting up, still in his pajamas, his back propped against the front of his nightstand.

“Hey, you okay?” I crouched next to him.

“I fell gettin’ outta this damn bed. Couldn’t get my feet under me to get back up. Well, help me for God’s sake!”

I put an arm behind him and helped him to the edge of the mattress. He smelled horrible. Acrid sweat and ammonia. My eyes started to water. “Jesus, Pops, you’re ripe. When’s the last time you had a shower?”

He yanked his arm away. “Who the hell are you, my wife?” he snapped.

Well, at least he wasn’t injured enough to stop barking at me. “Do you think you broke anything?”

He glared at me under his thick white eyebrows, stark against his black skin. “No, I didn’t break anything. Gotta piss like a racehorse though. Took you long enough to get here.”

Alexis knocked on the doorframe and came up next to me. “Hi, Popeye. I’m Dr. Alexis. Is it okay if I have a quick look at you?”

I stopped and stared at her. “You’re a doctor?”

“I am.” She smiled at Pops. “Does anything hurt?”

He eyed her like he was trying to decide if he should trust her. “No.”