With the release of my newest book on July 1, it makes sense today’s snipper be used as a teaser.
I’m devious that way. Hee hee
from WOKE available for preorder now, exclusively at Amazon.
One of the disadvantages of sleeping through the tech and social media revolution was that I was way behind the learning curve when compared with people my age. Attempting a deep dive on the Internet to locate Detective Ramon was a time consuming job, and for me, not an easy one.
He wasn’t listed in any phone directory I could find, nor could I simply call the local precinct and ask for him. HIPPA laws protected medical privacy and I imagined something similar applied to the privacy of police officers so people with an ax to grind couldn’t find out where they lived.
I tried a different tactic and for the first time since I woke up, did what I swore I would never do and Googled my name. Thousands of links burst across my screen, so I narrowed the scope and added the words coma and police investigation.
This time I only had a few hundred items to go over.
There were cited articles in all the New York papers for the week following the birthday party about what had happened, attached to headlines like Russet Rory O.D.s at lavish birthday bash, and Pill Popping Party Princess with a very unflattering picture of me, drunk, on the screen. I know the picture wasn’t taken the date of my birthday because the dress I was wearing was from when I turned eighteen. I scrolled through a few more links that reported my admission to the hospital and then the story died down. My name was mentioned once again when my father died, then nothing more.
The problem with Internet searches is they lead you down numerous rabbit holes that have nothing to do with the information you’re trying to unearth
I was getting frustrated when I remembered what my mother had told me about my father calling in favors to make my investigation a priority. One of those favors was married to my godmother, Elinda, one of my mother’s childhood friends. Her husband was the former Police Commissioner.
After ten minutes of social catching up, I broached the real intention of my call.
“Aunt Linda, I was wondering if Uncle Pete is home. I want to ask him a question and I need his expertise.”
“Of course, darling. He’s in his man cave doing who knows what. Give me a moment.”
I knew Elinda’s definition of a man cave was nothing more than her husband’s study.