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

“Angie, are you okay? What a stupid thing to say. Of course you’re not okay.” She scanned the deserted commons. “Wish I’d brought my cell phone out with me.”

As she squatted down, I levered myself up, groaning. With my legs stretched out in front of me, I waited for the pain and vertigo to pass. Then I tentatively probed the back of my head. No blood, but a goose egg was forming and my whole head ached.

“If you think it’s okay to move,” Lily said, “we should probably go back to the library and call the campus police.”

“I can move,” I told her. “Nothing’s broken. No double vision. Today is Sunday and the president is Barack Obama.”

She nodded. “Let me help you up, in case you get dizzy. Then I’ll gather your stuff.”

I rose slowly, Lily supporting me, and saw that my briefcase was open and the contents were disarranged. Not a thief. A thief would go for the purse. I cautioned Lily to tuck the briefcase under her arm so that any fingerprints would not be disturbed.

We made our way to the library entry, where Lily barked at the student behind the checkout desk. “Call the campus police and tell them a woman was assaulted in the commons. Have them come here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the young man said, and picked up a desk phone.

Lily assisted me to the information desk. “It’s a good thing I came after you. I couldn’t believe it when I saw a man standing over your body, rifling through your things.”

“What did he look like?” The pain in my head was about a seven on a scale of ten.

“Hmm. Well, you were in the shadowy area between two of the campus lights, so I couldn’t see well. But he had gray or white hair. And he wore a nice overcoat—dark, well cut, wool or maybe cashmere. His shoes were shiny leather—they reflected the light. And this will sound odd, but his hands were kind of opaque.” Her eyes opened wide. “Gosh, I think he was wearing latex gloves. You know, so there wouldn’t be any prints.” She took in a deep breath. “There are a lot of muggings in the area these days, which is why I carry a whistle on my keychain. He took off when he heard the whistle and me shouting.”

“I’m awfully grateful you were there, Lily. Why were you there?” I asked.

“Right after you left, I thought of someone who might know about the uniforms. UWM’s ROTC course is conducted at Marquette University. The colonel who heads it up was part of the U.S. Army deployment to Bosnia. He gave a lecture about building a nightmare bridge there. I thought I’d catch you and give you his name and number.”

I asked her to write it down before the campus police showed up. “Let’s not mention my business here tonight, Lily. I don’t want an information trail leading back to my client.”

The police officer was a young woman, earnest and diligent. She called me ma’am, despite my telling her to call me Angie. She checked me for concussion and was insistent that I needed medical care, which I politely, but firmly, declined. I went through my purse and briefcase under her watchful eye. Nothing was missing. She raised an eyebrow over my gun, but the concealed carry permit meant she couldn’t object. I let her think that I was there to meet a friend who was finishing work on a paper, but who bowed out at the last minute. We agreed that I would sign a statement in the morning.

The officer was right about one thing. I was in no shape to drive. She assured me that she would tag the Miata so that I wouldn’t get a ticket. I didn’t want to call anyone in the family. Papa would find out and have a hissy fit. Ditto Wukowski. Lily offered to take me home, but her hours at the library included closing and I didn’t want to wait around. I needed a shower, some pain meds and some soothing. I called Bobbie.

“Girlfriend,” he said when I gave him the short version, “sit tight and I’ll be right there. I’m five minutes away.”

“Watch yourself, Bobbie,” I said. “Don’t be caught unawares like I was.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Lily told him to park in the underground ramp, right next to the outlet door from the library basement. She emptied the paper refuse from her garbage can and used the plastic bag to protect my purse and briefcase from fingerprint contamination. Then she trundled me down and waited with me, quietly watching, but not fussing. I appreciated it.

Bobbie, on the other hand, started to fuss as soon as he got out of the car. “Angie, you’re awfully white. Maybe you need a doctor.”

“I already had that discussion with the police, Bobbie. All I need is to get into my jammies and take some Tylenol.”

“You’re coming to my place. You shouldn’t be home alone tonight.”

I was too exhausted from the post-adrenaline letdown and the pounding in my head to argue. It sounded nice, having someone watch over me. Bobbie knew how to pamper.

When we arrived at the carriage house, Bobbie put one arm around my waist and the other at my elbow and ushered me upstairs to a comfy overstuffed leather chair. Adriana was waiting, her face a picture of distress. She dropped to her knees beside the chair and took my hand. “Oh, Angie,” she said. “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

Bobbie could see that her angst was raising my own. “She’s fine, Adriana, except for a headache. While I bring her briefcase and purse in, why don’t you get her some Tylenol and a big glass of water.”

I gulped the pills down and closed my eyes for a minute. When I woke, I heard whispering in the kitchen. “I’m awake,” I called, and Bobbie and Adriana appeared.

“How do you feel?” Bobbie asked.

“A lot more human than before,” I told him. “I think the pounding has