Lexy's Little Matchmaker. Lynda Sandoval

met him. He’s a recent transplant. Or re-transplant. His family lived here when he was a kid, apparently,” Chief Bishop said. “He moved back with his son. Opened that small gym near the youth center, in the old drugstore building.”

      “Ah, yes.”

      Lexy had noticed the new gym when she’d dropped by Cagney’s. She’d never been inside.

      The chiefs exchanged glances. “Once they’ve got the patient packaged and en route to the hospital, let’s get as much information as we can about our young caller,” Chief Hayward said. “Sounds like a perfect candidate for the Troublesome Gulch Hero Award, and we haven’t had one of those in a while.”

      Lexy felt her muscles unlocking like a puzzle, her heartbeat returning to normal, pump by pump. “What a great idea. Maybe it’ll help to take the edge off this sad day for him. Give him a new memory to associate with it.”

      Just then, the electronic door beeped, and Genean dance-bopped in carrying white takeout bags and a soda, earbuds from her iPod in and clearly pumping some wildly upbeat tune into her brain. She stopped short, glancing from person to person, then hooked her finger in the white headset cords and yanked the buds from her ears. “Whoa, three chiefs in the room.” She widened her eyes at Lexy. “Am I in trouble?”

      Lexy shook her head slowly. “No. But I must say, when you jinx the center, Genean, you don’t do it halfway.”

      “Uh-oh. What exactly did I miss?”