Blood Kills Nanci Rathbun (ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📖

arm, I said, “Let me know if it gets overwhelming. We can always set you up in the kitchen.”

“I offered to help Terry, but she shooed me away. I’m feeling very pampered, Angie.”

Much better than feeling threatened, I thought. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll leave you to the madness and get the garlic bread ready for the oven.”

At the table, we talked and laughed and enjoyed the feast, followed by cleanup and farewells. After Rebecca passed her keys to me, I navigated out of the driveway and sent up a little thank-you to the powers that be for the blessing of family.

Chapter 34

The soul is healed by being with children.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I enjoyed the drive west on I-94 to the Mulcahey farmhouse on the outskirts of Delafield, a small Waukesha County suburb on the way to Madison. Fall color peeked out from among the red maples, and a few aspens had started to turn. Fall was my favorite season but far too short to suit me.

Spider never spoke about his military service, but his land and home were protected by every high-tech means available. Probably some low-tech means too. I parked in the circular drive and waved to Magdalena, who awaited me in the doorway with their older son, Joey. A mini-Spider, with his spiky hair and brows on the move, he ran toward me, shouting, “Miss Angie, Miss Angie, Mommy says you’re going to babysit us. Hooway!”

A shocked look came over Magda’s face and she hustled over. “Joey, I haven’t had a chance to ask Miss Angie.” The dark-haired beauty sent me a look filled with consternation. “I’m so sorry, Angie. I did not mean to presume.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about that. Do you have a particular date in mind?”

With a sparkle in her eyes, she whispered, “Our wedding anniversary is this Saturday. We’d love a chance for an evening away.”

“Let me text my aunt to see if she’s available. I’m not sure I’m up to caring for three this young by myself. I don’t know how you do it, Magda.”

Aunt Terry’s response was almost instantaneous: Of course. I can’t wait to hold those babies.

“We’re good to go for Saturday night,” I told Magdalena. “What time?”

“Is seven-thirty okay?” she asked. “We’re planning dinner and a movie and should be home by eleven at the latest.”

“Perfect,” I assured her and saw a huge smile light up her face.

I turned to Joey. “And how are you, young man? Are you happy to be back in school and away from your little brother and sister?”

“Oh yeah. They nevah leave me alone, Miss Angie. They always want to do whatevah I’m doing.”

Joey’s problem pronouncing the letter r hadn’t yet resolved. “Well, that’s because you’re the big brother and you get to do lots of interesting things. No wonder they want to follow you around.”

At that, his chest puffed out and he nodded. Taking my hand, he led me into the kitchen, where Spider sat feeding the twins in their high chairs.

The spoon moved at lightning speed between fourteen-month-old Daniel and Gabriella, as Spider tried to keep it out of their reach and direct their attention to cut-up hot dog pieces on their trays. “Hey, Ange, welcome to the zoo.”

I laughed. “Looks like you’ve got it under control.”

“It’s an illusion, I assure you. We’re always one step from meltdown. Right, Gabby?” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her hair as he shoved another mouthful of something purple into Daniel’s open maw. “They’re kinda like baby birds.”

“But they’ll be fed and in their jammies when you and your aunt arrive,” Magda said.

A beeping sound caused Spider to pause in the feeding and check his Apple watch. “Driveway alarm. The guys just arrived,” he said. “Sorry, querida. Gotta get going.” He handed Magda the spoon and she slipped into the chair and continued the ritual without missing a beat.

Chapter 35

Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.

Oscar Wilde

Bobbie and Bram entered the house, with greetings for Spider, Magda, and me, hugs for Joey, and waves to the little ones, after which Spider led the way to his ultrasecure office upstairs. We settled on chairs and he began.

“I accessed some restricted databases. Don’t ask. Here’s what I got.” With a click, records appeared on the giant-screen TV that served as one of his monitors. “Swanson was born Mikhail Entoni Lebedev, in a village near Saint Petersburg. Age forty-two at time of death. Last name means ‘swan.’ It’s not uncommon for Russians to have surnames related to birds.”

“Huh,” said Bobbie. “I guess we do the same. There’s Sparrow, Nightingale, Crow, Crane…”

“Right,” Spider said, obviously wanting to move ahead with his narrative. “Now here’s where things begin to get interesting.”

My ears perked up.

“I have a… source in Moscow,” he continued, “a guy who owes me from my service days. I called in his marker. He was able to locate information about Mikhail Lebedev’s early life. Seems Mick’s grandparents on his mother’s side were dirt poor. But their son got involved in oil drilling in the Volga-Urals basin after World War Two, and his family prospered. Not so with their daughter, Mick’s mother. Didn’t marry well and Mick’s family never had much. Then, about the time Mick turned ten, his parents suddenly came into money. Nothing big, mind you, but enough to buy meat twice a week and keep Mikhail in school, according to an old man in the village.” He shrugged, his eyebrows moving in sync with his shoulders. “No information about the origins of the funds.”

Maybe the uncle helped them out, I thought.

“The villager told my source that Mikhail was conscripted into the army at eighteen, like every other young man without influence or money to exempt him. Seems he wasn’t an ideal soldier though. He did time in military prison for two counts of what they call a privileged murder—exceeding a reasonable level of self-defense. Got early