Again there was a long pause. Like she was trying to collect and marshal her anger.
"You want to come to see me? Now? That's a heck of a—"
"Look, there's something really important I need to talk to you about. It's actually a big favor for you, sis. You've surely heard of Winston Bartlett?"
"I've also heard of Donald Trump. So?"
"Well, he's got a clinic out in New Jersey that—"
"Grant, I know you're a big shot in his medical conglomerate or whatever it is, but I'm not interested in whatever you're peddling. I'm going out to run now."
He heard the sound of the phone clicking off, without so much as a good‑bye.
Jesus, he thought, she really is ticked. This is going to be harder than I thought.
Okay, here goes Plan B.
He started the Porsche and slowly backed to the corner of Washington Street, where he parked again and then hunkered down, loving the smell of the new leather seat. Ally was going to come charging out of the front door in about two minutes, with that damned sheepdog that Steve gave her, assuming it was still around.