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

packaged into two carry bags. I waved and drove off toward my condo on the East Side. Close to the dead body that Wukowski was called to investigate.

If we stay together, I thought, this will be part of my life. Emergency calls. Interruptions. Worry.

I would accept it, for his sake and for my own. After years of protecting myself from the pain of love, love crept in under my defenses. I welcomed it.

THE END

HONOR KILLS

Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries #3

Honor Kills—An Angelina Bonaparte Mystery Copyright ©2018 by Nancianne Rathbun. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher / copyright owner / author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews. For information, please contact: contact@nancirathbun.com.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and organizations portrayed in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-9867634-3-1 (Print)

ISBN: 978-0-9987557-5-5 (Digital E-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018901555

Rathbun, Nancianne.

Honor Kills / Nanci Rathbun

FICTION: Mystery/Suspense

Cover design by Nathaniel Dasco BookCoverMall.com

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

http://www.polgarusstudio.com

Author photo by Michele Rene Chillook, Dubuque, Iowa

Published by Dark Chocolate Press

http://darkchocolatepress.com

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my sister Barb, who has stood by me my whole life and who is the best beta reader ever. Thanks for reading my books, over and over, as I revise and publish. You make me look much better than I would without you.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank my critique partners at the NoCo Writers Group in Loveland, Colorado, for their encouragement, support and eagle eyes as the manuscript progressed. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Chapter 1

Which death is preferable to every other? The unexpected. — Julius Caesar

I parked on the street and sat for a few moments in the dark of a cold Milwaukee January night. How do you tell a woman whose husband abandoned her and their children fifty-eight months earlier that you found his obituary online? Would Marcy Wagner be relieved? I didn’t think so.

When she hired me to locate him, after the Greenfield Police Department found no evidence of foul play and closed the missing persons case, I did all that any private investigator would do to find him—interviews at the middle school where he taught and with the neighbors and the police investigators, as well as repetitive online searches for credit reports, DMV and court records, and even fishing and hunting license applications. No one had anything but praise for Hank Wagner. They described him as solid, reliable, good with the kids, and particularly strong in helping those with math deficits. He was a late and only child whose parents were deceased, with no other blood relatives, so that avenue was a dead end.

Last year, I considered luring Trekkie Hank into the open with an ad for the rare Mego Star Trek Phaser Battle Game. I consulted Larry Phillips, owner of AAAA Auctioneers, for guidance on how to market the item, although I didn’t actually possess one, but I didn’t follow through with it. The logistical nightmares, and the possibility of being sued by a fanatic Trekkie, made me rethink that strategy. But at our initial meeting, Larry mentioned that he needed help at the store, which was, frankly, a disorganized mess. His wife, who was also his assistant, had walked out on him. Marcy needed work, so it seemed a natural fit. She’d been there ever since.

Although Marcy told me Hank was a good husband and loving father and his colleagues described him as reliable and well-liked by both staff and students, I considered him a weasel. How else can a man who cleaned out the family’s bank accounts and left his wife with few resources to raise their three young children be viewed? But after monthly contact with Marcy—I ran searches for Hank every month and usually only charged her for one out of three—I had a fairly good reading on her. The news would hit her hard.

The cold seeped into the car. I gathered my briefcase and purse and stepped out. Greenfield was a lower- to middle-class suburb of under forty thousand on the southwest edges of Milwaukee, heavily populated by people who wanted to escape the urban school system. The bungalow-style house fit the neighborhood.

Marcy came to the door, looking cheerful. “Come in, Angie.” She took my coat and we settled on a plump-cushioned sofa in the small living room. Kids’ toys and books were scattered around. An older CRT-style TV sat on a small corner table. “Excuse the mess,” Marcy said. “Henry had a science project to finish for school tomorrow and it was getting late, so I didn’t make him pick up. And Marjorie, well, she’s good at getting out of stuff. She was only a year old when Hank left. I suppose I’m too easy on her. As for poor Susie, she gets the typical middle child leftovers. I try to give her individual attention, but time gets away from me.” She pushed overly-long bangs back from her forehead. “Before you tell me why you’re here, would you like some decaf?” She gestured to a carafe and cups on the coffee table.

When the pouring was done, I set my cup down and removed Hank’s death certificate and obituary from my briefcase. “I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely honest with you earlier. I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone.” I took her hand in mine. “My new intern, Bobbie Russell, ran the usual searches for Hank today. I’m sorry, Marcy. Hank died a couple of weeks ago, on December 29th, in a Stevens Point nursing home.”

The color leached from her face and, as she started to tremble, I took