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

Rua Kolar. Sarajevo. The funeral. The chase. The pipes. I felt as if I were still rolling around in one of those huge concrete cylinders, tossed and battered, at the mercy of events. And in the background, Thanksgiving loomed, only five days away. My hands clenched and I exhaled loudly.

Then I felt Bobbie’s hand gently soothe the top of mine.

Suck it up, I told myself, opening my eyes and smiling as I patted his hand.

“Okay?” he asked.

I nodded.

Bart drove us to the Milwaukee Athletic Club for lunch. It was far more than just a gym, with its luxurious guest rooms, two restaurants and a bar. Best of all, it was a members-only venue, so there was little worry about any of Petrovitch’s associates. Bart asked the maître d’ for a secluded table. Once we were seated, I ordered a brandy old-fashioned. Bobbie raised an eyebrow, to which I responded, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” Our beverages arrived quickly. I took a swallow of the old-fashioned and let it hit. Then I sat back and perused the menu, suddenly ravenous. I went for the chicken capellini and a Mediterranean salad. Bobbie and Bart decided on sandwiches.

“What’s next?” Bobbie asked.

Bart shrugged. “It appears that we’re at the mercy of the MPD—not a situation I care to be in. However, they hold all the cards, at present.” He ticked off his points on his fingers. “One, they have Petrovitch. Two, they seemingly have ‘cooperative witnesses’—probably co-conspirators, who are looking for a plea bargain. Three, they have Colonel Lewis’ findings.” He doctored his coffee and took a sip. “Much as it galls me, all we can do is wait.”

“Is there any reason we can’t talk to Lewis?” I wanted to know. “I mean, would that compromise the case?”

Bart thought before answering. “I think it’s best if we simply assure our safety and wait. I know that’s not the answer you want, but I’m concerned that whatever the colonel has discovered will involve a number of people. We can’t take a chance on information leaking, or possibly planting ideas that will invalidate a witness’s testimony in court.”

I sighed. “Okay, I get that. But it galls me, too. I was in on this at the beginning and I hate feeling like a bystander now.”

The meals arrived and we made small talk while we ate—the Milwaukee Symphony’s concert schedule, Adriana’s new look, Bobbie’s uncertainty about Steve’s Thanksgiving plans, my own plans with Wukowski and his mother. Bart didn’t offer his own Thanksgiving agenda, so I casually invited him to the Bonaparte meal. “Thanks. I’ll get back to you,” was all he said. We didn’t linger after finishing, since Bobbie and I were due for pain meds. Bart delivered us to my condo, where we downed our pills.

Bobbie retreated to the guest room and I settled on the couch. Today, the lake was gray, with no whitecaps to relieve the dullness. It felt like a reflection of my inner self. Just as I decided that inaction was worse than the pain of movement and I would go into the office for a couple of hours, my cell phone rang. Lily March, read caller ID.

“Lily,” I answered, “I’m so glad you called. You won’t believe what happened after the funeral.”

“Let’s see. Did it have anything to do with a shoot-out at an Illinois truck stop and subsequent escape in a load of pipes?”

I groaned. “It was on the news already?”

“Oh, yeah. It got a lot of play this morning. Are you and Bobbie okay?”

“Mostly. There were no major injuries, but we’re both black and blue and hurting.”

“What can I do to help? Do you need groceries? Medicine?”

“I’m sure that my Aunt Terry will take care of that. Why don’t you come over? You’ve been such a big part of this. I want to tell you the story in person.” When she agreed, I notified Spider.

The news reports meant that there were calls I had to make. I reassured my kids that I was fine. I left a message for Professor Kolar that I was banged up, but okay, and that Petrovitch was in police custody and there was nothing more I could say.

Then I listened to my voicemail. Gracie Belloni, Tony’s wife, left a message that meals were on the way. “I’d come myself, but with three preschool kids, you’d just end up with a bigger headache than the one you probably already have,” she said. Marianne Ignowski was brief. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Angie. I’m sure Terry has things organized, but call me if you need anything, even if it’s just to talk.” Susan assured me that things at the office were quiet and she would call later. Then Aunt Terry arrived, loaded with shopping bags from Sciortino’s Bakery and Glorioso’s Italian Market, and proceeded to stock my cupboards and fridge.

We were settled on the couch with herbal tea, courtesy of Aunt Terry’s shopping, when Lily arrived. Aunt Terry answered the door. “Come in,” she said. “I’m Angelina’s Aunt Terry.” She ushered Lily into the living room, where I made more extensive introductions and Lily agreed that a cup of tea sounded lovely. “Don’t talk about the case until I’m back in the room,” Aunt Terry ordered.

“Angelina,” Aunt Terry said, as she handed Lily her tea cup and placed a small plate of Sciortino’s lemon sandwich cookies—my favorite—on the coffee table, “I should warn you that your papa is not pleased that you once again are injured. He is ranting about your job and that you need to find a husband and settle down.”

“Been there, done that. Turned out badly.”

Aunt Terry grinned. “That’s what I told him. But he’s worried about you, so he takes the Sicilian attitude. I told him you needed to rest today. You have a respite, but expect him at your door tomorrow.”

I shuddered in mock horror, which only made me grimace in pain. “Thanks for holding him back. Maybe I’ll be up to hearing ‘Angelina Sofia’ by then.”

“Today, he even used your confirmation