Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) đ
- Author: Nanci Rathbun
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âDid you hire an attorney, try to track his assets?â
âHoney, I never worked until the divorce, then I had to get a minimum wage receptionist job. Those snotty little girls right outta high school lookinâ down their noses at me âcause I donât know stuff like Excel and Word. I didnât need computer skills to get married and keep house and raise a baby, right? But after my husband left, I had nothin.â Nothinâ to fight him with.â
I shook my head sadly. It was a story Iâd heard many times.
âSo,â she continued, âI made sure Elisa knew to take the money and put it away where only she could get it. Used to be, marriage meant security for a woman. If he wanted to play, he had to pay. Now, with community property, he just walks away scot free.â
God, I thought, am I as bitter as she is? I didnât want to be Janet Morano, not in reality and especially not in spirit. I needed to get the interview back on track. âWhen was the last time you heard from Elisa, Mrs. Morano?â
âOh, maybe last May. Yeah, thatâs right, she called to give me her new address and phone number when she moved into the apartment.â
I looked down and wrote in my notebook, trying to conceal my surprise and pity. Her daughter hadnât called or even met her for lunch in three months? I donât live in my childrenâs pockets and they donât live in mine, but that level of disassociation amazed me.
âDid you know about her relationship with Anthony Belloni?â I asked.
âYeah, she told me. I figure, if he wants to support her, why not?â
âMaybe because heâs married?â I responded.
âListen, honey, he woulda been humpinâ somebody. Elisa might as well get something for it. He treated her nice, at least. Bought her nice stuff.â
âDid they ever fight? Did he ever touch her in anger?â
âNah, she knew how to keep him happy.â I raised an eyebrow. âNot just the sex stuff. She would make him a nice meal, let him talk about his business, build him up a little, you know? Men like to be treated like little kings, right? He had no complaints.â
âDid she ever mention a fight with anyone else? Someone who might have a grudge, who might want to do her harm?â
âNah. I mean, she and that Jane Dimwittyââ she sniggeredâ âElisa called her that as a joke. Well, they didnât see eye to eye, âcause that Jane thought she was so much better than Elisa. But she didnât have any contact with Jane after she left the job. She got her last check from John, not Jane.â
âAny old boyfriends who might be carrying a torch? Someone she broke up with, who maybe still hoped to get back with her?â
âNot that I know about. Well, there was this guy she dated in design school, Richard Llewellyn. They went out for about six months. But he moved to Dallas after graduation. I remember Elisa thinking he might ask her to go with him, but he didnât. So I guess he wasnât too broke up about leavinâ her.â
âWould you have his address or phone number?â
âNo. But it must be in her book. Or in that little electronic thing she always carried.â
âThe police couldnât locate her address book or PDA, Mrs. Morano. Theyâre assuming that the killer took them.â
âNo kidding? Well, sorry I canât help you there, but Elisa didnât share that with me. We werenât real buddy-buddy, ya know? Sometimes I thought she mighta been embarrassed by me, once she started to move up in the world.â
âIâm sure youâre wrong about that, Mrs. Morano. What daughter wouldnât admire a mother who could go out into the world, work to support herself, make a nice house with nice things, and keep her looks? Iâll bet you were her role model.â It was lies, all lies, but I couldnât leave her thinking that her selfish grasping daughter was ashamed of her, even if sheâd been the one to teach the child to be selfish and grasping. She shouldnât have to live with that.
A tear rolled down her cheek and she reached into a pocket for a tissue and dabbed at it. âYou think so?â she asked.
âIâm sure of it.â I handed her a card. âPlease call me if you think of anything else, or if you come across Mr. Llewellynâs contact information.â As I stood, I noted that the silk of my slacks was clinging to my legs and I had that high-water effect working. I stood in the building hallway after the door closed, shaking my legs one at-a-time and trying to get the static electricity to discharge. A little girl and her mother came through the outside door and the child started to giggle and point, âLook at the lady dancing, Mommy.â Some days, life is determined to make a fool of you.
Chapter 11
The central struggle of parenthood is to let our hopes for our children outweigh our fears.
âEllen Goodman
Sunday afternoon. Lunch at Papaâs, with Aunt Terry, my kids, their kids, any friends that anyone cares to bring along. Your basic Italian family get-together. As I stepped into the back door of the Bay View Foursquare home of my girlhood, my upbringing slammed into me, full force. Papa stood at the kitchen counter, chopping onions and garlic for his masterful spaghetti Bolognese. Aunt Terry rinsed salad greens at the sink. Emma was setting the dining room table, and David stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining
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