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The feeling was annoying. I was almost certain something was out of order. I considered the environment around me. Security guards were pacing on the track and I thought I saw two uniformed police officers, near the infield. “I’m going to check on it.” Before Maggie could protest, I slipped out of my seat, sliding forward to stand between two wheelchair patrons seated in front of us. Making hasty excuses, I descended the stairs leading downward to the cinder track.

I timed it perfectly. A security guard was striding away from the stair area while the uniformed patrol officers were facing the stage. As I stepped onto the track, I established my bearings then started toward the man in the chairs on my right.

“Hey!”

I looked back. The guard who’d been leaving was now returning. He was short and powerfully built, his white State Fair Security shirt highlighting his tanned skin and his salt-and-pepper hair, which was thick and cut short. He was attractive in a muscular, bodybuilder sort of way. Not at all my type, but he had an interesting, although angry, face.

“You’re not allowed down here.”

I smiled in what I hoped was a placating fashion. “I think that man is ill.” I gestured to the man in the chair about thirty feet away. I started to sidle in that direction.

“How do you know?” He glanced to where I pointed.

I used his distraction to shuffle closer to the man on the track. I didn’t want to get into a discussion of psychic phenomena so I fabricated a believable lie. “I thought I saw him vomit. Perhaps he’s drunk.”

As I expected, the mention of intoxicated behavior got the guard’s attention. He walked carefully through the rows of chairs, coming up to the seated man from the right. I lagged behind, alternating my attention between the guard and ZZ Top as they pounded out “Tube Snake Boogie” to the roar of approval from the crowd.

“Sir?” The guard reached the man then bent over, shining his flashlight on the ground.

That’s foolish, I thought. The flashlight should be on the man, not the... Then I saw what the guard had already seen. There was a pool of some liquid on the ground, under the man’s chair. I edged forward.

The guard pulled out a radio appliance from his belt and spoke rapidly into it. I was now less than five feet away as the guard touched the man’s shoulder then moved his fingers up to the man’s neck. Even I knew what that meant. I’ve watched my share of detective shows on television. I recognized the gesture as a check for the man’s vital signs.

“Is he hurt?” I asked, staying well back from the suspicious looking puddle.

The guard looked over his shoulder at me. “How did you know about this man?”

I didn’t like his accusatory tone of voice. I started to edge backward but a chair blocked my path. “Know what?”

“He’s injured.”

“Injured?” Curiosity got the better of me. I leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse of the injury. “How?”

The guard swung his flashlight. For the first time the seated man’s face was illuminated. “Oh God.” Even in the flickering light I recognized that long, handsome face with the thick, full mustache. His hair was still black, barely touched by gray.

“What?”

“My God. It’s Toby.”

“You know him?” the guard demanded, swinging the light from the slumped man to me.

My legs were suddenly too weak to support me. I dropped down, almost missing the chair behind me. “It’s my husband. I mean—he was—is—my husband.” I looked up at him, bewildered. “I mean, I think he was my ex-husband. Maybe.”
 

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