Sisterchicks in Gondolas! Read Online Free PDF Page A

Steph’s definition and not rocked as in about to trip and fall on our faces.
    I glanced at Sue as she tried to keep up. Both of us seemed determined to prove we had whatever it took to be Sisterchicks.

Three

    S teph walked down one alley, then another, then turned and led us past a small sidewalk café with green umbrellas and planters spilling fragrant white alyssum over the edge.
    “They have a pretty good breakfast,” she said. “When they’re open. It’s a neighborhood café, so that means they don’t always adhere to set hours.”
    “This is the nearest grocery market,” Steph said, as we rumbled past a closed-up building that looked like any other old building on that street.
    “Are they open whenever they want to be, too?” I asked.
    “No, the market has more normal hours. I don’t know if this one closes during the afternoon or not.”
    “Sounds like they take a siesta,” Sue said.
    “That’s right. Venetians shut down everything in theheat of the day. They go home for lunch and a nap and then open again in the cooler part of the evening. At least that’s how it is in the summer. Things change a little when it gets cold.”
    “How cold does it get?” By my guess the temperature already was in the low eighties, and it wasn’t even eleven in the morning.
    “Very cold. It snowed last winter off and on for two days. The rains are what make a mess of everything, though. When the canals flood, the only way to get around by foot is on raised wooden walkways that really make me nervous. But it shouldn’t rain much while you’re here. At least not pour the way it does in the spring.”
    “What about grocery shopping on Sunday?” Sue asked.
    “Closed. Almost all local vendors close on the Sabbath. They’ll be open tomorrow.”
    Sue gave me a sideways glance as we toted our luggage over a wide footbridge. “We could have a problem finding food for the group before they arrive tonight.”
    “I hadn’t thought about that.”
    “Take them out to dinner,” Steph suggested. “The restaurants are open on Sundays. I really like a place not far from the apartment that’s on the water. They have great calamari. I’ll make a map for you.”
    Sue and I had slowed our pace considerably. Having given up trying to roll our battered luggage over the footbridge, we lifted the heavy beasts by their top handles.
    “How much farther is it?” I tried to catch up and not sound as winded as I was feeling.
    Steph stopped on the other side of the bridge. A young man in a rowboat in the canal we had just walked over called out to her. She ignored him. “This is your street.
Ca’Zen
. The apartment you’re renting is to the left in the middle of the palace.”
    I put down my suitcase and noticed Sue scowled when Steph used the term “palace.” Nothing appeared palatial about the outward appearance of our accommodations. The only bright feature was the balcony that overlooked the canal. But the balcony looked wide enough to fit only a chair. Maybe two chairs. I figured if we could just sit outside and gaze up and down the canal at the other balconies brimming with flowers and watch the world of Venezia float by on the placid water, it wouldn’t matter how medieval the quarters were inside. We could use our imaginations and pretend it was a palace.
    At least that’s what I thought until I saw what was inside.
    Steph stopped in front of a large, double wooden door. “I guess I should justify my comment about this being a palace.”
    Sue gave me a raised-eyebrow look.
    “Only the home of the Doge—the ruler of Venice—could be called a palace. All the other mansions were known as a Ca’. So this is Ca’Zen. But I call it a palace.”
    Sue continued to look dubious as Steph inserted a long metal key and jiggled it in the keyhole.
    “You have to be persuasive with this key sometimes. Come on,
bambino
. Open for me. Here we go.” Steph pushed the door inward, and we stepped into darkness. The flooring felt