Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) 📖

the origins of their hidden wealth, according to Adriana. His secretary, Dragana, was assassinated in a manner similar, if not identical, to the Johnsons. Without Petrovitch, or at least more information about him, I was at a standstill.

Perhaps I should approach it from the outside in. Someone at St. Sava’s Serbian Orthodox church might connect me to others in the Serbian Society. It was worth a try.

I checked my watch. Seven-oh-two on a Saturday night. The church’s web site showed Saturday services at five-thirty. I went back through my notes. In our initial interview, Adriana mentioned Father Matthieu. Maybe someone would still be there to answer the phone.

“St. Sava’s, Father Mah-tee-ya,” the voice said, sounding harried.

“I’d like to get in touch with Father Matthieu,” I responded.

“This is he.” I paused, a bit confused, and he continued. “Matthieu is the Americanized version of my name. In Serbian, it’s Matija.”

“I see. Father, my name is Angie Bonaparte. I’m a private investigator, assisting Adriana Johnson in matters concerning her parents’ deaths and her inheritance. Her parents’ attorney, Herman Petrovitch, has disappeared. You may have seen on the news that his secretary was murdered.”

“Terrible thing, the Johnsons’ deaths. I officiated at their funeral. Mr. Petrovitch wasn’t a member of St. Sava’s, although he did much business within our Serbian community. I knew Dragana Zupan slightly. She sometimes worshiped with us, but she was not a member. May her soul rest in peace.” He paused. “How can I help Adriana?”

“There’s a group that meets at the church, the Serbian Society. Her parents were active in it, as was Attorney Petrovitch. Can you give me the names of any other members?”

“One moment.” I heard the slide of a drawer and papers rustling. “Let’s see. They applied to use the church in 2000. They meet on the second Tuesday of the month, in one of our smaller classrooms. The organizer is listed as Josif Zupan, Dragana’s husband.” I heard a short indrawn breath. “Ironic.”

“How so, Father?”

“Well, let’s just say that Mr. Zupan is not a believer, and did all he could to discourage his wife from practicing her own religious faith. A few months ago, when Dragana came to confession in preparation for Easter, he caused quite a commotion, shouting at her and trying to grab her arm and drag her out. I told him to leave or I would call the police.”

Good grief. “That sounds like abuse to me.”

“I thought so, too. After the incident, I offered to help Dragana find a safe place, but she swore that he never hurt her or spoke meanly to her. He exhibits great anger toward religion. That’s why I’m surprised that he would meet at the church.”

“Maybe it was someone else’s idea.” I thought for a second. “I hate to call Mr. Zupan so soon after his wife’s death. Is there anyone else in the group I could contact?”

“Hmm. No one else is listed on the application to use the church property. Let me think.” I heard the distinctive four-note sound of Microsoft Windows starting. “I’m searching for an early church bulletin announcing the group’s startup. Ah! There were three initial participants: Adriana’s father, John Johnson, Herman Petrovitch and Josif Zupan. I’m sorry, Ms. Bonaparte, but I think it will have to be Josif.” He sighed. “You probably shouldn’t mention that you got the information from me.”

“Right. Um, Father, this is none of my business, but I’m wondering…will Dragana have a funeral service at St. Sava’s?”

“I would be happy to conduct such a service, if Josif allows it. But I don’t think he will. It grieves me, because she was a woman of faith and because her friends in the Serbian community deserve the chance to mourn her.”

We exchanged contact information and I was about to thank him for his help when he said, “Now it’s my turn to say this is none of my business, but exactly what does Adriana expect you to do about these murders? Surely that is the province of the police.”

“I’m not investigating the murders, Father. Adriana needs help in determining how to handle her parents’ bequest to her. If we understand the motives for the killings, it will help Adriana decide what to do about her inheritance.”

“Forgive me, but I didn’t think they would leave more than personal possessions. Unless there was life insurance. I hope so, for Adriana’s sake.”

So the Johnsons’ lifestyle was no secret. The fact that they never broke cover spoke to me of either great guilt or great fear. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss it, Father. But I think it’s likely that Adriana will want to talk with you about it in the near future. She feels…uneasy about accepting it.”

“Hmm. I will pray for her and for wisdom to counsel her, should she come to me. I will also keep you in my prayers, Ms. Bonaparte. Your life is not the usual one for a woman. May God protect you.”

“I certainly hope so, Father.” With that, I said good-night and hung up.

It was about quarter to eight. I called Wukowski, but it went to voicemail. I was impatient to know if there were any developments on finding Petrovitch, so I dialed Iggy’s home number and got his wife. “Hi, Marianne. It’s Angie Bonaparte. How are you and the kids?”

“We’re all good, Angie. How’s your aunt?” Last year, Aunt Terry sat at the hospital with Marianne while she waited anxiously for Iggy to come through surgery for a ruptured appendix. It was touch and go for a while. Aunt Terry is a comforter par excellence in dire situations. A bond formed between the two women, and they’d been active together in several of Aunt Terry’s charities and social justice organizations ever since.

“She’s great, Marianne. I want to be just like her when I grow up. Listen, I hate to impose, but can I get maybe fifteen minutes with Iggy? I need to ask him a question about a case.”

“Sure. Hold on.”

Iggy came on the line. “Hi, Angie. What’s up?”

“Iggy, I