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

to the card reader on the outside wall. The battery was more than an inch away when we heard a satisfying click and the lock disengaged.

The hallway was empty. We quietly moved to Mrs. Rogers’ office, where the magnet again worked its magic—or should it be physics?

As I eased her door shut, we heard a man’s voice coming toward us. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but there’s nothing else I can give her. She’ll settle down in a bit. Just relax, ma’am.”

After waiting several minutes in the warmth of the office to allow the aide to plop himself back on the couch, Bobbie took the pinpoint flashlight from his parka and slowly played it around the room. He paused at a filing cabinet and again at the computer on Mrs. Rogers’ desk. Deciding that trying to break into a computer was beyond my skill and his, I shuffled over to the metal cabinet, careful not to trip or dislodge anything along the route.

To my relief, the push-in lock was disengaged. The top drawer glided open when I gently pulled. Bobbie held the flashlight, while I scanned the tabs that identified each folder. This one drawer was devoted to suppliers of such mundane things as paper and hygiene products.

The second drawer contained pharmaceutical folders.

The third held patient records. I searched for “James Beltran,” but there was nothing.

In the bottom drawer were employee records, filed in alphabetical order by surname. I quickly located “Jorgensen” near the back, gave Bobbie a thumbs-up, and extracted the folder. To my chagrin, it was empty.

I methodically examined the contents of every file in the drawer, and even the bottom, hoping against hope that the paperwork might have accidentally slid between folders. No such luck! I replaced the Jorgensen file and closed the drawer.

Apparently, Mrs. Rogers felt impregnable within her card-protected room, because her desk, like the file cabinet, was unsecured. I opened drawers, finding the usual assortment of office supplies in the flat middle drawer, and administrative paperwork in three others, with a stash of candy in the last. There was no hint of Karl Jorgensen.

When my arm accidentally brushed against the computer mouse on the desktop, the monitor activated, asking for a password.

Bobbie reached past me and rifled through a rotary file of business cards, perched on top of the desk. “Bingo,” he whispered as he showed me a card labeled ‘Security.’ Under a listing for Commercial Security Services, Bobbie’s index finger pointed to the word ‘Paduamanor1.’ I typed it in and, when the display changed to Mrs. Rogers’ desktop, we fist-bumped. Was she slack or simply naïve? Didn’t matter. We had access!

I glanced at the time in the system tray: 4:32 A.M. From the breakroom, we heard beeping and the aide’s low growling yawn. A door opened in the hallway. We froze.

A squeaky clatter, calling to mind a wonky supermarket cart, was followed by tinkling noises as small objects hit a surface. I took a notepaper from Mrs. Rogers’ desk and wrote, “He’s getting 5:00 meds ready.” Bobbie read it and added, “That means he’ll be down the other hall soon, to pass them out. Let’s move.”

The Documents folder contained a Personnel subfolder and, nestled under it, a folder titled “Jorgensen, Karl.” It held three files: ID, Application, and 1-Month Eval.

Bobbie passed me a new note. “No time. Email them to yourself.”

“Can’t leave a trail,” I wrote.

He held up a finger to indicate I should wait, took out his cellphone, and tapped in a message. In seconds, there was a small flash and he handed the phone to me.

Send to jabberwocky@hotmail.com read the response to Bobbie’s query to Spider. I quickly complied.

Moving back up the tree to Documents, I navigated to the Patients folder and emailed ‘Beltran, James’ to Spider’s odd Hotmail address.

Time to get outta Dodge, preferably without any gunfights. I closed the documents and folders. Surely the system would be back in a locked state by the time Mrs. Rogers came in. I didn’t picture her as an early-to-work person. We waited, silent, in the darkened room. At last the cart squeaked its way to the residents’ wing.

Bobbie eased the office door open and peeked out. With a thumbs-up from him, we exited the room and he gently closed the door, waiting to hear its soft click. We were outside in seconds. I held Bobbie back with one hand while I scanned the longer side of the building. Soft light escaped from the edges of a window. The aide was on his rounds and the rest of the rooms were dark. We speed-walked to the apartment building and the car.

While Bobbie secured the neodymium magnet in its steel box and set it in the hatch, I took the passenger seat and texted Augusta. Although she was tech-savvy, I didn’t know if she would understand current text abbreviations, so I took care to make the message standard English: Thanks for your help. All is well here. If there are any repercussions, contact me right away. Delete these texts and get a good rest. Terry will call you later today.

Bobbie settled on the driver’s side as I messaged Spider: Leaving now.

Within seconds, my cell vibrated and ‘Spider’ appeared on the display. “Angie here,” I said. “I’m putting this on speaker.”

“No problems?” Spider asked.

“Looked like the third shift aide was settled in the break room, right next door to the administrator’s office, for the night. Augusta distracted him, or we’d never have gotten in.”

“Good that you had her on your side.” He cleared his throat. “Did you look at the docs you emailed to jabberwocky?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“Ordinarily, I would discourage using a cellphone communication to open sensitive data, but it’s highly unlikely that anyone will pick up our conversation or your keystrokes on that stretch of highway. I think you’ll want to see them ASAP, so I’m emailing them to you now. Magda’s water just broke. We’re on the way to drop Joey off at a neighbor’s and then to the hospital. I have maybe