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

Afterward, we wandered into the kitchen to forage, both wearing flannel sleep pants and tee shirts. No sexy for me. I needed comfort.

The larder was almost bare. I seriously had to shop. I pulled out frozen vegetables, pasta and the ingredients for Alfredo sauce. Wukowski uncorked a bottle of Pinot Blanco, just right to cut the richness of the sauce. I sipped as I cooked. It wasn’t long before we settled on the couch with big bowls of rich pasta and veggies. So much for the workout! I dug in.

After supper, Wukowski went to the closet and brought me a flash drive. “Here are the DMV pictures of Petrovitch and Zupan. They’re not bad. The stats are on the disk, too. Iggy got the Illinois DMV picture of Peterson. Could be Petrovitch, but it’s not an obvious match. We’re still waiting for the banks to respond to our request for information.”

I took the portable drive. “I thought you were going to email this.”

“I didn’t want MPD security to pick it up.”

“Is this a problem for you, sharing information with me?”

“Nah, short stuff. But the bureaucracy makes me a little nuts. It’s easier to just circumvent it.”

I loaded the data onto my laptop and did a stare-and-compare of the Petrovitch-Peterson photos. The hair color was different, but anyone can buy a bottle of hair dye. The noses were close. Peterson’s appeared more bulbous. His hair was long and shaggy, covering his ears, and a full beard obscured his chin. The stats showed him as two inches shorter than Petrovitch and twenty pounds lighter. Of course, they don’t actually measure or weigh you at the DMV. This wouldn’t resolve the question of whether the two men were indeed one person, but Lewis’ facial recognition software might think otherwise.

“Did you already send it to Colonel Lewis, or should I?”

“No. You send it.”

That was odd. How long does it take to write an email saying, ‘Here is the information I promised you,’ attach three files and press ‘Send’? I pulled out my laptop and the Colonel’s business card and did the deed in less than a minute, including adding Bram York as a recipient. Hmph. Wukowski had that closed-in look on his face. I decided to worm the truth out of him later. For tonight, I just wanted to relax with my guy.

Chapter 24

Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.

—William Shakespeare

I reminded myself when I awoke that this was the day of Dragana’s funeral. Wukowski would attend in his official capacity. “That old saw about the killer wanting to revisit the scene of the crime? It happens,” he said. “They sometimes show up at the funeral, too.”

“Why?” I asked, as I perused my dark-colored dresses.

“Not sure. Some get a power kick out of knowing they were the cause of the mourners’ grief. Others need to be sure the deed was really done. I’ve known a couple who did it to throw off suspicion. Regardless, if the case is open, we have someone at the funeral.” He removed his dark blue suit from the rod in my closet and ambled into the guest bathroom to get ready.

I decided on a deep cinnamon long-sleeved wool challis dress with a boat neckline and flared skirt. A dark amber smooth cup bra with wide-set straps and matching thong panties would present no lines to mar the soft drape of the fabric. Neutral hose, metallic bronze stacked-heel pumps and bronze button ear clips completed the look.

When Wukowski and I sat down to coffee, he asked, “Will you be carrying?”

“In my purse.” I wrinkled my nose. “Although it means I’ll have to use my concealed carry bag.” It was hand-sewn leather, with a pocket for a hand gun, but too bulky to be attractive. The upside to its size meant I could tuck my tablet in, too.

He shook his head and smiled. “Safety over fashion, draga moja.”

“I strive for both. But today, it’s safety first.”

“Good choice.”

The intercom buzzed. Bobbie and Bram were downstairs. I took the Burberry from the hall closet, but Wukowski shook his head. “High in the upper twenties today. Wear the heavy wool one.” He reached over my head and took a knit scarf and lined leather gloves down. “You’ll need these at the cemetery.”

“That wasn’t part of my plan. Will you be there?”

“Yeah. Iggy and I will stay back and watch.”

In the basement parking area, Bobbie and Wukowski greeted each other and shook hands. After introductions between Bram and Wukowski, Bram said, “Retired FBI agent Andrew du Pont is with Ms. Johnson. I’ll relieve him after the funeral.” He handed Wukowski a set of photos. “Spider Mulcahey, Eugene Malone and I will be inside the church.” He pointed to each photo as he spoke the name. “Bart Matthews has some goo…uh, guys watching outside.”

“Josif Zupan is suspicious of everyone,” I said. “It might be better if your team waits in the church foyer.”

“No worries,” Bram said. “Zupan is a real loner. There are no friends or acquaintances to act as pallbearers and ushers. We’ll be members of the congregation who volunteered to assist.”

“Good plan.” Wukowski tucked the photos into the breast pocket of his suit coat. “I’ll hang onto these to show my partner, Joe Ignowski. He goes by Iggy. Five-ten, skinny, thinning red hair. We’re not undercover. Zupan knows we’re there to watch for suspicious persons or activity.”

“Let’s head out,” Bram said.

Wukowski surprised me with a small kiss. “Be careful, Angie,” he said.

“You, too.”

He left in his Jeep. Bobbie and I got into the back seat of Bram’s PT Cruiser. It took Bram a few extra seconds to swing his bad leg into the car. “My knee isn’t a hundred percent yet, but it’s getting there,” he said. “The Cruiser is easier to get in and out of than my truck.”

Another truck guy. Was it macho or utility? As we exited the garage, I said, “It’s really gloomy today.”

“It’s the window tinting,” Bram said. “The doc