Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) đ
- Author: Nanci Rathbun
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The house across the street was the âafterâ image of the one Iâd just visitedânicely sided and roofed, neat little front yard with flowers along the walkway, porch with table and wicker chairs, one occupied by an older lady rocking away as she sipped from a tall blue glass. That glass looked awfully good in the early evening heat. I walked over and stood at the bottom of the steps to the porch.
Before I could speak, she greeted me. âNice night, init?â The South Side dialect was in full force.
âA little warm,â I responded.
âOnly if you run around. You need to find a place and set.â
âYouâre right.â I smiled as I looked her over. About seventy, wispy gray hair, no makeup, forty pounds overweight, wearing slippers and a clean snap-up-the-front print dress, what Terry would call a âhousecoat.â I suspected that the lady sat here on her front porch in good weather, or in the bay window of her front room in bad weather, and watched her neighbors, day after day. An investigatorâs dream, if she would talk.
âMaâam, Iâm trying to locate one of the young women who used to live in the house across the street.â I gestured at the rundown monstrosity. âThe gentleman who lives there now couldnât help me. I wonder if you can.â
âHe ainât no gentleman and I ainât surprised he couânt help you. Donât do nothinâ but go to work, come home, and drink. Recycle bin full of beer cans and bottles, every week. Not part of the neighborhood at all.â She shook her head at this lack of spirit and I echoed the gesture. âCome on up,â she invited. âHave a seat.â
Hallelujah! I thought, as I ascended the four broad wooden steps and sat in the unoccupied rocker.
âCare for an iced tea?â
âI would love one.â
She heaved herself up and flip-flopped into the house. In a moment, she was back, carrying the twin to her glass, filled to the brim with ice cubes and tea, and a lemon slice floating on the top. She set the glass on the table, along with a long-handled spoon and a small sugar dish, filled with little paper packets of sugar and sweetener. âIâm Mabel Lembke,â she introduced herself.
âAngelina Bonaparte.â I pondered giving her a business card, but decided to wait. I didnât want to spook her. If she was the neighborhood tabby, as I suspected, sheâd probably talk to me with no provocation.
âYou canât be lookinâ for Elisa. She got herself killed last week. So it must be Marsha you want, right?â
I noticed the phrasing. Elisa âgot herself killed.â As if Elisa was responsible. âThatâs right, Iâm trying to find Marsha Cantwell. But itâs in regard to Elisa Morano, so if thereâs anything you can tell me about ElisaâŠâ
âHoney, I can tell you a lot about that one. Sheâd talk nice to your face, but behind your back it was another story. They lived there about a year, her and Marsha. Both students at that art school, MIAD. Donâ know what it stands for. Anyhow, I been here more than fifty years, since I married Mr. Lembke, so I know most everyone on the block. Them girls moved in about a year ago May. Anâ I think to myself, uh-oh, party time. But they was quiet and gave us no trouble. Truth to tell, I think they was too ashamed of the place to bring people home.â
âDid they socialize much with the neighbors?â
âNah, but they was friendly when you run into them on the street or at the store. Anâ last winter, when I slipped on the ice and broke my wrist, Elisa called the ambulance and rode with me to St. Lukeâs.â She laughed. âShe called it St. Lucrativeâs.â
âYour husband wasnât home?â
âJosephâs been gone these twelve years, now. Anâ our kids donâ live by me, so it was a blessing Elisa was there. But, you know, after that, I started to get charges on my credit card that I didnât make. Anâ I always wondered if she memorized the number while she sat with me in the hospital intake. Dâyou think thatâs possible, to memorize one of them long numbers?â
âI couldnât, but I bet there are people who can.â
âThatâs what I thought. Oâ course, it coulda been somebody who worked there. I guess Iâll never know, for sure. But I watched her after that, anâ I dinât like what I saw.â
I cocked an eyebrow and waited.
âI mean,â Mabel continued, âshe shounâta treated Marsha that way, talking about her behind her back, about how plain she was and how sheâd never get a man. And then Marsha does herself up a little, ya know, new hairdo and some makeup and nice clothes, and this fella in their class shows a little interest.â She leaned over to me. âThen one night when Marshaâs outta town, visiting her family over the holidays, her boyfriend Al comes over. Stays all night. Iâm out clearinâ the dusting of snow off the front walk next morning when he strolls outta the house, bold as you please, gets in his car and leaves. Iâm leaninâ on my broom and watchin,â and thereâs Elisa, the kurwaâthatâs Polish for whore, honeyâgrinninâ in the doorway. So I waves to her, and she comes out and tells me this story about how the furnace went out and Ben the landlord wouânt answer the phone, so she calls Al and he comes over to help and ends up sleepinâ on the couch âcause his car wouânt start. Funny, I says, it started fine just now.â
âDid Marsha find out?â
âYeah.â She sat back and took a sip from her glass. âYeah. I tolâ her. In this day and age, you canât be too careful. I tolâ her to go down to the clinic anâ get tested. Was I wrong?â
âI donât know, Mrs. Lembke. Who can say? How did she take it?â
âAt first, she stuck up for Al and believed the story
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