Chapter Three“Dr. Morris! Dr. Morris!”
A young child's voice cut through Gavin's concentration, and with the lapse, his pen leaked. It splattered ink across the document he'd been writing—one of many death certificates from the Floreston fire, three weeks past. He frowned at the paper, and then lifted his glowering face to the child, a golden-haired scamp named Miles.
The child flinched.
“What is it?” he asked, softening his expression.
“Dr. Morris, Ma says you need to come right away. There's a lady hurt.”
Gavin scanned his memory and recalled that Miles's `Ma', Nancy Johnson, ran a small boarding house in the middle of town. “One of the tenants?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Miles replied. “I don't know who she is. Please, hurry.” The child scuttled around the desk and grabbed Gavin's hand
