"They're right," I told him. "Just sit quietly, Jim."
Moments later, a Quincy police patrol car pulled up, and two officers got out. The younger one approached me after they both had heard Jim's explanation.
"Was he drinking?"
"No, he just came to the mall to pick me up and take me back to the Winston House."
"Amelia Winston's rooming house?"
"Yes. We need to call her. We're both expected for dinner."
I reached into the car to find my purse and dig out my cell phone. While I was talking to her, the ambulance arrived. Jim tried to resist, but by now, a small crowd had gathered, and the police were insisting that he get checked out.
"You okay?" the younger policeman asked me. He looked at the exploded airbag on the passenger's side and then at me. "You don't have a scratch on you," he remarked, amazed.
"Just lucky," I said.
"Did you see the old guy in the street, too?"
