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

the garage, it’s trespassing. They can stand on the sidewalk, though. You want I should send a squad over to remind them of the rules?”

I smiled at his Milwaukee-ese. “Please. Moving them back to the sidewalk would at least let the residents get into the garage a little easier.” And also make it easier for me to leave. “Thanks so much. I’m sorry to put you to the extra work.”

“Not a problem, ma’am. We got a kick outta that video of you and Mr. Russell.” His laugh was a deep rumble. Then his voice got serious. “Wukowski and I were buddies at the Academy. Haven’t seen him in a while. He dropped out of social occasions after his partner was killed.” He cleared his throat. “You be good to him, hear?”

Now that was a role reversal! Papa gave that same advice, backed by the unspoken consequences of his displeasure, to every boy I ever dated. I suspected he’d do the same with Wukowski on Thursday. I assured Reynolds that I would treat Wukowski with the utmost care.

Chapter 33

If I had my choice I would kill every reporter in the world, but I am sure we would be getting reports from Hell before breakfast.

—William Tecumseh Sherman

The newshounds were congregated on the sidewalk when I drove past in the Miata. Thanking my lucky stars for a one-way street with no traffic, I rolled past and drove to the private mail center, where I emptied the contents of my box into my briefcase and hustled out. I drove past my building, parked four blocks west, and walked to the small dry cleaning establishment I patronized on Farwell. Their shop backed onto my office parking lot.

The Vietnamese couple that ran the cleaners had sufficient English to communicate with customers, but it took some time for them to understand that I wanted to walk out their back door. Mr. Phan stood beside me as I did a quick surveillance of the alley that led to my parking area and the entry to my building. I saw no one resembling the press, so I thanked him and headed out, while he stood on the outside stoop and watched me. I waved to him as I went inside my building. It was nice to know that he had my back.

The back hallway from the parking area was plain—beige walls, scuffed from tenants moving in and out; a freight elevator; a door marked “Maintenance—No Admittance.” I knocked, on the off chance that the elusive maintenance man was in. No response. I wrote a note—“Please call the police station if news reporters are a nuisance. They are not legally allowed to block any entrances and they should not enter the building. My apologies. I hope their interest will die down soon. Angie Bonaparte.” I slipped it under the door and walked upstairs.

The office was empty, which was just fine with me. Susan loves a good romance and I didn’t want to answer questions about Wukowski. It was too new. I wanted to hold it close, to savor it, to have time to examine it without having to explain it. Those stinking reporters outed us at the most vulnerable time in a newly-professed love relationship!

I checked the mail. It was all junk, which I shredded. There were twenty-seven emails from news organizations and forty-two voicemails from reporters. I deleted them without reading more than the heading or listening to more than the initial greeting. Then I called Bart.

Thankfully, the call went right to him. I didn’t feel like dealing with Bertha’s reaction to the news report. “Angie, you’re quite the media sensation,” Bart said.

“That’s why I’m calling, Bart. The reporters are camped outside my condo building and in front of the office building. I had to sneak into work via the dry cleaners on Farwell. Can we get them off my back?”

“Doubtful. Unless they print or broadcast something slanderous or untrue.” He took a drag. “Did Wukowski stay at your place last night?”

“Yes.” I refused to offer more information.

“I know it seems like an invasion of privacy for them to make that connection public, but you two are involved in a big case. That makes you fair game. You can refer them to my office, though, if they want a comment. Bertha will be glad to handle them.”

I conjured a mental image of a shark with Bertha’s head, biting and swallowing the detestable investigative reporter who exposed Wukowski and me. “Thanks, I’ll take you up on that. Be sure to let Bertha know you gave the green light.”

“Will do.”

“I’m wondering about Adriana. How do we keep them from devouring her?”

“I just prepared a press release. I’ll send a copy to Spider for Adriana, and another to your email. There’s nothing in it that’s confidential. Let me know what you think. Especially the part where I ask the press to respect her in this period of grieving.” He gave a snarky laugh. “They’ll look bad if they hound a poor little orphan whose parents were brutally murdered barely three weeks ago.”

Bart’s statement glossed over the Johnsons’ participation in Petrovitch’s scheme and made them appear to be victims. Adriana came across as altruistic and heroic in her refusal to take money that wasn’t hers. I was mentioned tangentially as “the investigator hired by the legal team to uncover the truth about the funds.” Fine with me. I didn’t want any more attention than I already had. Bart wrapped it all up nicely by stating that the case was “under the control of the Milwaukee Police Department, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the United States Marshals. Any requests for further information should be referred to them. This office, my client and anyone else connected with the case are not at liberty to provide any information related to the case or their involvement in it. We ask that you respect Ms. Johnson’s privacy in this difficult time, as she grieves the loss of both her parents in this terrible tragedy.”

I replied