Drained (Edgars Family #6) - Suzanne Ferrell Page 0,13
leaned back against the pillows. “Dang I feel so weak. It’s why I couldn’t…go looking for Art…last night.”
“How long have you been looking for him?” Aaron asked, looking over Brianna’s shoulder at the sketch and nodding as if it would work.
“Since last Thursday.” Paula paused to take some deep breaths. “When he didn’t show up…for dinner at the shelter. He always comes by then…to be sure Stanley has food for the weekend.” Again she paused, closing her eyes a few minutes as she gulped in air.
Brianna shot a worried look at Aaron. Should they get help from the nurses? Reading her thoughts, he shook his head and held up his hand, telling her to wait.
Finally, once she had her breathing under control, Paula opened her eyes. “When I found Stanley sitting…outside the shelter alone, I knew something…was wrong.”
“Did you call the police?” Brianna asked, regretting it immediately when Paula exchanged a cynical look with Aaron. “What?”
“People don’t call the police for missing homeless people,” Aaron said, and Paula nodded.
Brianna made a no-duh sort of expression at her own stupidity. “Okay, I get it. No one looks for them because they’re pretty much missing from their lives and who is going to know if something’s happened to them or they’ve just wandered off. But you went looking for him, in the cold rain we’ve had for the past five days, didn’t you?” she asked Paula.
“He loves Stanley,” she answered, patting the bed for the dog to join her once more and he happily obliged. “Art would never just…leave Stanley behind. Something’s happened to him…I have to get back out to look for him.”
“And that’s just plain foolishness.”
They all looked to see a medium-height, woman with a grey short afro cut hairdo and glasses perched on her nose, dressed in orange and brown sweatpants, a Cleveland Browns sweatshirt and heavy jacket, sneakers with sequence all over them and an over-stuffed bag in each hand.
“Hey, detective, Miss Brianna,” Kirk F came to stand next to the older lady. “This is Nana,” he said in way of introduction. “She’s come to stay with your friend.”
“I don’t need…a babysitter,” Paula said and immediately started coughing.
“Of course, you don’t,” Nana said, setting her bags in one chair, then coming over to push Aaron and Brianna out of the way. “And I’m no babysitter. I’m a nana. That means you’re gonna have someone here to make sure people let you rest, that you get good stuff to eat, and nobody does anything you don’t want them to.” She puffed up the extra pillow laying on the ledge of the cabinet next to the room’s sink and stuck it in behind Paula, scooted Stanley off the bed into Aaron’s arms and drew the blanket up to tuck it around Paula’s body. “So, these three and your four-legged friend are gonna go lookin’ for the missin’ man while you sleep and let your body get better.”
“What are…you gonna do?” Paula asked, already drifting off to sleep.
Nana pulled off her coat and set it in the chair holding her bags, reached in one bag and pulled out a big ball of yarn and a crochet hook. “I’m gonna work on a new afghan.” She snuggled into the vacant seat, looked over her glasses at the others in the room. “You best be gettin’ on with your search. And don’t forget to get me some hot chocolate on your way back, Kirk.”
The trio, with Stanley securely tucked under Aaron’s arm, quickly left the room. Brianna stopped at the nurse’s station to explain that Mrs. Patrick was going to be staying with Paula even when they moved her to a hospital room. Aaron spoke with the house supervisor and requested a private room, assuring her he’d pay for the extra cost.
“When I called you to come to the hospital, Kirk F,” he said as they exited the ER, “I meant for you to sit with Paula, not your grandmother.”
“I know, but Nana was standing in the kitchen making cookies when you called and asked me what you wanted me to do. When I told her, she just went all grandma ninja on me—”
“Grandma ninja?” Brianna asked, matching the two men stride for stride as they crossed the parking lot to her car.
“You know,” Kirk F said, stopping next to the back passenger-side door. “Grabbed her crocheting stuff, boxed up two containers of her famous chocolate butterscotch cookies—and I’d only had three so far—telling me, I’d be the worst person to sit in