Chapter 7“Sorry.” I apologized to Ezra, who was white knuckled and breathing hard to my right. “Sorry,” then I did it louder, though still not enough to be heard, to the drivers behind us who loudly exhibited their displeasure at our abrupt braking.
“Was something in the road?” Ezra asked with us now safe on the shoulder.
“No. Look.” I gently turned his head to one side.
“Parish Hotel,” he read.
“Yeah.”
“I mean…so?”
“Like Ewan Parish.”
Car horns still blared.
“I should pull into the parking lot,” Ezra said.
Pulling in was better than speeding off. “Maybe we can go in and look around,” I suggested.
Ezra signaled uncertainty with one of his Ezra grunts and a turn with his right blinker. We entered the parking lot where the building with his grandfather’s name rose four stories high
