Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Is this Charlie Connolly?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“Charlie, this is Stana Dombruso. Dante’s grandmother.”
“Oh. Uh, hello, Mrs. Dombruso. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Um, out of curiosity, how did you get this number?”
“I copied it down from the call log on Dante’s cell phone when he wasn’t looking. Now enough chit chat! You need to get your butt down to this hospital where they’re keeping me. And I mean pronto.”
My eyes went wide, and I stammered, “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. I’m in Rosewood Memorial in Russian Hill, room one-oh-eight. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Get down here, Charlie,” she demanded. And then she hung up on me.
I looked at Austin and asked, “Could you hear her on the phone?” He grinned and nodded. “What do you suppose she wants?”
“No clue. But we’d better hurry up and find out. You really shouldn’t keep the woman who raised Dante Dombruso waiting, because I’m guessing she’s probably a real badass.”
“He was raised by his grandmother?” I asked.
“Yeah. Didn’t you know that?”
“Nope.”
Austin bit his lip and said, “There’s a problem with going to meet Dante’s grandmother.”
“I know. But maybe if we drape a coat over our hands she won’t notice that we’re chained together. Because really, how do you explain this to someone’s grandma?”
“A problem in addition to the totally obvious one.”
“There’s another problem, besides having to meet Dante’s grandma while in handcuffs?”
“I really can’t go into a hospital dressed this way, Charlie. And I don’t see how either of us can change our clothes, not with our wrists linked together.” He looked self-conscious for the first time, and lowered his gaze.
I thought about our conundrum for a long moment. And then I peeled my new Forty Niners sweatshirt off my free arm and my torso, turning it inside out in the process. I rolled the remaining sleeve inside out as I pulled it down my chained arm and up onto his, then popped the sweatshirt over his head. He ran his free arm through the other sleeve and happily declared, “Genius!”
“It’s inside out and absolutely enormous on you, but at least you’re covered,” I said, reaching over and rolling back the sleeve on his free arm for him. He was a very slender five foot nine, and the sweatshirt, which had already been oversized on my six-two frame, completely engulfed him, extending almost to his knees.
He reached around to the back of his neck and awkwardly unfastened his necklaces with one hand, and set them on the kitchen counter. “This is so much better. Maybe now hospital security won’t immediately boot us out.”
“I wish I could put on a nicer shirt,” I said, gesturing at the plain navy blue t-shirt I’d had on under the sweatshirt. “Something with a collar. But oh well.” To the dog I said as we headed for the door, “Sit tight, Peaches. We’re going to have to deal with you later.” He didn’t even raise his head from his paws as a low growl rumbled in his throat.
It didn’t take long to awkwardly team-drive our way across town. We parked in the little lot behind Rosewood, a sleek, two-story private hospital and care facility, and signed in at the front desk, then went and found room one-oh-eight. When I knocked tentatively on the closed door, a voice called out, “That damn well better not be that son of a bitch Doctor Michelson again. Because I told that cocksucker I’m not taking any more fucking tests!”
I pressed my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing, and Austin chuckled and whispered, “Told you she’d be a badass.”
I called out, “No, ma’am. It’s Charlie Connolly.”
“Well, for Christ’s sake Charlie, come in! Why are you standing out in the hallway?”
“God help me,” I whispered. I adjusted the fleece jacket that was draped over the manacles, and pushed the door open.
Mrs. Stana Dombruso was a tiny woman of about 80, propped up in a non-hospital-issue queen-size bed, surrounded by a sea of honey colored linens. She wore a dark red velvet robe and matching velvet…well, turban, I guess. Mrs. Dombruso had put on lipstick in the same color, but hadn’t been all that precise in her application, so her mouth now looked like it was on the diagonal. She grabbed a pair of enormous glasses from the nightstand and held them in front of her face, assessing us as we came into the room.
“Which one of you is Charlie?” she wanted to know.
“That’s me, ma’am,” I said. “And this is my friend Austin. I hope it’s ok that I brought him.”
“Of course it’s ok. I get damn few visitors as it is. Like I’d say no to one more! Well, are you boys going to stand there? Or are you going to pull up a chair and sit the hell down?”