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

concerned. Most people don’t have alibis for every minute of the day and night. But I wouldn’t be surprised if the police want to talk with you.”

“They were here yesterday. But all they asked was what I knew about that night and whether Elisa ever mentioned threats. Should I tell the police what I told you?”

Aha, I thought, I’m one step ahead of Wukowski and Iggy. Her simple-minded question aroused my motherly instincts. “Maybe you want to talk to a lawyer. Know anyone?” She shook her head, so I grabbed my purse, took out a card for the Legal Aid Society and set it on the table. Private investigators see a lot of wreckage, I’d learned to carry the tow truck numbers with me. “Call them,” I told her. “They can help. Marsha, is there anyone else you can think of whom Elisa hurt, someone who might hold a grudge against her or want to get even?”

“I don’t think so.” She slowly shook her head. “No, there’s no one else. Everyone loved Elisa.”

Yeah, right, I thought. “What about her boyfriend? Did she break up with him, or did he break up with her?”

“He moved to Dallas after graduation. They kept in touch for a while, but Elisa didn’t want a long-distance relationship.”

I asked for his name and contact information, and she left the room and returned with an address book. It was the same name that Elisa’s mother had provided—Richard Llewellyn, a good Welsh name.

“What are your plans?” I asked, concerned about her welfare.

“Well, after graduation, which I made by the skin of my teeth and my good work record from before Elisa moved and I fell apart, I got a job with MacNeil and Associates.”

I was impressed. “Excellent firm. You should be proud of that. They did some design work for the attorney I’m currently working for.”

She nodded. “It’s been great. I’m working with good people, learning a lot. And I’ll probably get my own place in a month or so. Dr. Nichols thinks it would be best.”

“So you and Alan are over?”

“I’m not sure. He wants to get back together; he swears that night with Elisa was a one-time thing, that he’d never cheated on me before and it will never happen again. But I think I need to be on my own for a little while, to decide for myself what I want. I guess I’ve always let others make the decisions for me. At least, that’s what Dr. Nichols thinks, and I agree. I’m trying to keep up my image.” She giggled a little. “You know, the clothes and hair and makeup, the stuff Elisa taught me. And a lot of the friends I made from knowing Elisa are still my friends.” She smiled shyly. “They like me, not just Elisa’s tag-along friend. They like me!”

“Of course they do,” I said. “Sounds to me like you’re doing pretty well for yourself. You have a great job with a future, you know how to dress and present yourself, you have friends who stand beside you even through the tough times. You’re pretty lucky, Marsha. Pretty blessed.”

Her eyes widened as she nodded. “I know. I don’t get it, but my pastor tells me that it’s all grace, a gift, and I should just be thankful. And Dr. Nichols tells me that we can learn from even the worst events in life and use them to grow.”

“I’m not sure I understand about the grace part, but I remember a passage from the Bible that says that God can make all things work for good. So maybe they’re both right.”

“Yeah. I never thought of it that way.”

As I gathered my purse and briefcase and we walked to the door, I asked her to call me if any thoughts surfaced concerning Elisa. Driving away in the Miata, I pondered the effects that we all have on each other, the ripples that we set into motion, the tidal waves that can overtake us. Elisa Morano had a lot to answer for. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like the mess she left behind. I was afraid of what the next interview would uncover, but Gracie and Tony and Bart were depending on me. And it was my job.

Chapter 15

Sexual attraction keeps throwing self-interest off course.

—Mason Cooley

Not for the first time, I questioned why living in this world was so damned hard. Why don’t we act decently toward each other? Why do we lie and cheat? Why do we hurt even those we love? Why do we get sick, or injured in accidents, and suffer, and die? Years ago, I walked away from the Catholic response—original sin, inherited from Adam and Eve. A God who would punish every person on the planet for the disobedience of two was not a God I believed in or wanted to deal with. I couldn’t get into New Age philosophy, either. It made no sense to me that I was God, or that the world was a mirage. I even toyed with atheism, but the order of the universe and the wonder I felt in nature kept pulling me back. I believe in God, in a creator. I’m just not sure what meaning God has in the here and now, in the everyday lives of people, in my life. Longing for the truth, not entirely sure if it exists, willing to keep searching, but afraid I’ll never find it. Not a comfortable way to live.

It was seven-thirty on a warm August night. The sun wouldn’t set until nine o’clock. I was too disgusted with Elisa in particular and the world in general to go back to my condo, so I turned south and headed for the gym. Sometimes a good workout can set my mind straight. I sure hoped so.

Rick’s isn’t one those glamour-girls-in-thongs places, where women and men spend more time posing for each other than they do exercising. It’s an honest-to-God gym, with mats on the floor and a boxing ring and weights.