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

that I saw, and you can bet they wouldn’t invest in high-tech hidden cameras.” I tapped on my cellphone, planning my next move. “The moon will be a waxing crescent tonight, and the forecast is for mostly cloudy skies in Stevens Point. Perfect weather for a sub rosa investigation.”

“A what?” Bobbie asked.

“Undercover,” I told him as I scanned the ten-day forecast. “The weather will clear tomorrow and remain clear the rest of the week, and tonight’s moon will cast the least light until next month. This is our best shot at getting into the facility unobserved. Looks like a trip is in order. A very late-night trip.”

“I’m going,” Bobbie said, his voice firm.

Images flitted past my mind: of Bobbie, dressed all in black and quivering with excitement at a rendezvous with an informant; of Bobbie, keeping a cool head when a madwoman with a gun confronted us while we rifled her office in search of evidence that would link her to a murder; of Bobbie, shielding me with his body as a ruthless killer pursued us down I-94. Bobbie was a good man to have at your side. I nodded to him. “It’s smart to have backup.”

“Wish I could be there, too,” Spider said, “but—”

“Don’t even think of it,” I interrupted. “Your family needs you close at hand right now. We can pull this off.”

“I know you can,” he affirmed.

Bobbie and I both preened a bit at that. Then we all settled in to discuss strategy and logistics for nearly another hour. Spider seemed so sure we’d be able to get in that I began to picture the possibilities.

Before we left, Spider donned latex gloves and used baby wipes to clean the magnet of fingerprints, and then placed it in a soft leather pouch. The pouch then went into the box. “Steel provides a magnetic shield,” Spider cautioned, “but it can leak. It’s best not to get the magnet near anything electronic. Keep it in the car trunk, away from the engine, and don’t put it near your computers or cellphones.” He hefted the box in one hand and wiped it down, too. “I’ll walk you out.”

After saying good-bye to Magda, we quietly exited the farmhouse, so as not to disturb Joey’s “quiet time”—a euphemism I remembered well for “I don’t want to take a nap.” Spider put the steel box into the trunk of my Honda, and told us to text him when we arrived at the Manor and again when we left. “I’ll be awake, waiting,” he said.

As we merged onto the freeway, Bobbie spoke. “It’s scary, what that man can do.”

I agreed.

Chapter 9

Shh. We’re being stealth! — Adam Brody on The O.C.

I spent the afternoon in the office. Like Spider, I couldn’t let go of the frustrating feeling that we’d only touched the surface and there was more to discover. I logged onto my desktop and, on a whim, sent an email to Hank’s S-Mail account: Henry Wagner, James Beltran—who are you and what made you run?

Thinking he might have other email addresses, I sent messages via the usual players—Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, AOL, Thunderbird—to his bizarre login, but they were all undeliverable. Next, I tried lesser-known and high-security providers, but still no luck. Tomorrow, I’d have Bobbie check for permutations of James/Jim/Diego Beltran. Since there were under a hundred and fifty in the US, it would be much easier than searching for a name as common as Henry Wagner.

After supper, I tried to nap, but my puzzle-obsessed brain refused to shut down. At eleven, I picked Bobbie up. He was dressed as I requested, in dark colors, but not so alarming as to resemble a cat burglar about to pounce. I hoped I achieved that same effect in my black jeans and running shoes, with a navy pea coat over a dark maroon shirt. We reviewed our strategy as I drove.

“I’ll leave the car in the apartment parking lot that Spider suggested. From the satellite images, it appears we can cross from the back of that building onto the Padua Manor property.”

“Right,” Bobbie said as he scanned the street maps that Spider provided, using a pinpoint flashlight clasped in his teeth.

“It’s okay to use the overhead light,” I said with a small smile. Bobbie was in full undercover mode.

“We’re close,” he muttered. “We should keep our eyes accustomed to the dark.” His index finger traced a path down the map. “We want to gain entry from the back door of the nursing home. It’s in the lee of the L that the building forms, so we shouldn’t be easily noticed.”

I nodded. “And once inside, the administration office is to the left, in the short wing. The residents are all housed in the long wing. If we can avoid the person on night duty, it should be an easy in-and-out, like Spider said.”

Bobbie folded the map and replaced it in the glove box. In case we were challenged, it wouldn’t do to have it on us. “You’re sure there will only be one aide there?”

“Pretty sure. Jorgensen was on duty alone the night Hank died.”

“We could call Augusta to find out,” he suggested.

“I thought about it,” I told him, “but I don’t want to involve her unless there’s no other way. She and her sister, Myrna, are too vulnerable.”

“Right.” His voice was slightly tense.

With a quick glance at his face, I turned back to the road. Traffic along I-41 was almost nonexistent, now that we’d passed Waupaca. The dashboard clock read 1:48. Stevens Point was coming up fast.

We rolled up to a stoplight on the outskirts of town, with no one behind us, and I popped the trunk lid. “I think you should pull the battery pack out of the hatch now,” I told him, “and then sit in the back. That way, there will be less noise and activity when we get to the lot.”

“Good thinking.” He leaped out and extracted the steel box, inside its grocery bag, and jumped into the back seat before