Page 14 of Gentle Persuasion

Cole had been off and running before Debbie registered the fact. She’d had one moment’s swift surge of panic, knowing that he was in pursuit of a thief, and then remembered that he did this for a living.

The elderly woman who’d been robbed had fallen to the street, and her husband was kneeling at her side, trying to comfort her.

The crowd of people parted and watched. A few offered help. But Debbie could see that the elderly man was concerned with more than the fact that his wife’s bag had just been snatched. Debbie shifted her beach gear to a better position and headed for the couple.

“Are you all right?” she asked as she dropped her bag and beach towels and knelt at the old man’s side.

She missed nothing of the woman’s pale, clammy complexion. A fluffy white halo of hair framed her features. Heavy slashes of blush traced the high bony structure of her face and enhanced the lack of color beneath. Her thin, knobby knees protruded out from under her culotte skirt. The indigo tracing of aging veins was evident beneath her fragile skin. A tiny trickle of blood was running down her leg. Her matching, tropical floral overblouse that had been knotted loosely at her waist was caught and twisted beneath her arm. Debbie gently rearranged the lady’s clothing.

The old man looked up at Debbie, his pale blue eyes wide and watery beneath the fragile, wire-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose.

“Florence has a bad heart.”

The statement made Debbie cringe. She stood up, scanning the crowd for the hot dog vendor who’d whipped out a phone earlier.

“Hey!” she yelled. He looked her way. “I think this lady may need an ambulance.”

He nodded and grinned. Out came his briefcase.

“Now, Florence,” Debbie said, as she knelt back down. “Do you have medicine with you?”

“It was in her bag,” the man said as tears began to run silently down his face.

There was nothing to do but wait for help to arrive and keep the couple calm.

“Help will be here soon, Florence,” she said, and patted the little woman’s leg. “My name is Deborah Randall. I’m from Oklahoma. Have you ever been there?”

The old man’s voice lifted. “I’m Maurice Goldblum. Florence and I have a son. His name is Murray. He and his family live in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It’s a very small world, isn’t it?”

And for the first time since the incident, Florence spoke. “He’s a lawyer, with a very prestigious firm.”

Debbie smiled. The color was slowly but surely coming back into Florence’s cheeks, as was the pride in her voice. She patted Florence and looked up, nervously scanning the crowd around them, hoping for a sign of a policeman or an ambulance or even better—Cole. Someone handed Debbie some wet paper towels. She draped one across Florence’s forehead. Maurice took another and wiped gently at the blood running down his wife’s leg.

***

“Let me through!” The authority in his voice, as well as the panic, was evident.

Debbie looked up. Cole! He was back. He was safe.

He knelt. Debbie started talking.

“This is Florence and Maurice Goldblum. They have a son named Murray who lives in Tulsa. Imagine that!” Her voice was just the least bit shaky as her eyes spoke what she dared not say. And then she reversed the introduction. “This is Cole Brownfield. He’s a policeman.”

Cole smiled gently at the look on the elderly couple’s faces. They were hanging on Debbie’s every word. Once more, she’d used her gentleness to make a bad situation easier. And then her next quiet statement made him take a second look at the old couple.

“She has a bad heart, Cole. Her medicine was in her bag.”

The multistriped carryall was still clutched in his hands. He’d almost forgotten it at the relief of finding Debbie. He quickly opened it and began to shuffle through what was left after the thieves had rummaged. He almost missed it. The tiny, round brown cylinder was caught in the soft corner, stuck deep in the careless folds.

“Would this be it?”

“My medicine!” Florence cried. The towel fell off her forehead into her lap as her fingers closed around the vial, grasping at it in shaky relief.

“Here,” Cole urged, “let me help.” He removed the cap, and handed it to Maurice.

The old gentleman shook out the correct dosage. Florence opened her mouth like a baby bird waiting to be fed and sighed quietly as the tiny pill went under her tongue.

“Thank you.” Maurice Goldblum grasped Cole’s forearm with trembling hands. “You saved her life.”

---