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

to pick up the first letter.” We both knew that the police would lose no opportunity to cause inconvenience to Bart. This way, he retained some sense of control. And he didn’t have to open his safe in front of them.

As I hung up and dialed Iggy’s home number, Kevin appeared in the doorway. I held up a finger and mouthed, “Five minutes.” He nodded and walked away.

It wasn’t the most comfortable call I’ve ever made. Iggy was uncharacteristically angry, and rightly so. I could do nothing but apologize and assure him that the current letter was still lying, untouched, on the floor of my foyer. “Be sure it stays that way,” he growled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I, not we. Did that mean that he would be alone?

No such luck. Kevin and I were sipping tea when the doorbell rang, twenty-five minutes later. I eased it open, careful not to tap the letter with the door or my foot. Two bulky men blocked the light from the building hallway. I stepped back, but held the door in place. “Come in,” I said, “but watch out for the letter, it’s right behind the door.”

“Nice of you to be so careful to preserve evidence, Ms. Bonaparte.” Iggy was still mad.

Some fence-mending was in order. “Iggy, Wukowski, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call you this morning. I felt that I had to honor Bart’s wishes. He’s the one paying me, after all.” Wukowski moved inside, brushing against me as he eased past.

“That’s the difference between us, Ms. Bonaparte,” Wukowski answered. “We work for the law.”

It was a low blow, but accurate. I couldn’t fault him. “I’ll be in the living room,” I said. “Call me if you need anything.” As I walked away, I felt their eyes on my back. They waited until I was out of range to start talking. I could hear the point-counterpoint of their conversation, but not the actual words. I sat next to Kevin on the couch and tried to explain that I was persona non grata, and that if the police seemed angry, he should ignore it.

Minutes later, Wukowski appeared. “We bagged it and dusted the door for prints.” He stopped and looked at Kevin, hostility evident in the tightness of his shoulders and his clenched hands. “We can compare them to the ones on file from your P.I. application, Ms. Bonaparte. But I’ll need your…friend’s.”

“Kevin Schroeder, Detective Wukowski.” I made the introductions and they shook hands. From the way Kevin’s eyes widened, I suspected that Wukowski’s grip was just a little tighter than necessary.

“I didn’t touch the doorknob, Detective,” Kevin said.

“Nevertheless.” In grim silence, Wukowski extracted a fingerprinting kit from his bag and looked at Kevin. “Unless you’d rather do this downtown?”

“No need. I’m glad to cooperate with the police.”

“Unlike your girlfriend,” Wukowski muttered, just loud enough for us to hear.

Kevin smiled slightly and slipped an arm around my shoulders. Okay, I thought, let’s play games. I put my arm around Kevin’s waist and we walked together to the dining room table, Wukowski clumping along behind us. After he took Kevin’s prints, he asked for his contact information.

Then he turned to me. “What time did you leave the premises this morning, Ms. Bonaparte?”

“About seven. I stopped for a latte and got to the office at quarter to eight.”

“Latte.” He snorted slightly. “And you didn’t get home until…?”

“Until fifteen minutes before I called Iggy. I didn’t check the clock.”

He let that slide and looked at Kevin. “Mr. Schroeder.” He pronounced it with a long O, Shro-der, although I’d given it the proper German pronunciation, Shra-der, when I introduced them. “Can you account for your whereabouts today?”

“Now just a minute, Wukowski,” I protested. “Kevin has no part in this case.”

His voice was a monotone. “Forensics will open the envelope downtown. We’re only assuming this has something to do with the case.” His head swiveled from me to Kevin and back again. “What if it’s a love thing gone bad?”

It was my turn to snort. “Love thing?”

He reddened and repeated his question to Kevin. Iggy entered the room as Kevin gave a rundown of the day, stopping when he got to my building and followed a couple into the lobby so that he could wait for me. “So, you two didn’t plan to meet tonight?” Wukowski asked.

Kevin shook his head and looked slightly embarrassed. I was determined that Wukowski not move on to the next logical question, so I put my hand on Kevin’s shoulder and squeezed. “Kevin doesn’t need a reason to see me.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. The girlhood taunt rang in my head.

“I see,” Wukowski said, his voice disinterested.

He and Iggy exchanged glances, then Iggy spoke. “We’ll be in touch. And Angie, any more of these, we want to know right away.”

So I was back to “Angie,” at least in Iggy’s books. I nodded. “I promise, Iggy.”

As I saw them out and locked the door, Kevin disappeared into the bathroom. “Any rubbing alcohol in here?” he called. “I need to get this ink off my fingers.”

“Look in the top right-hand drawer, where the Band-Aids are,” I called back.

I poured two small snifters of B&B and waited. Several minutes passed, then I heard water running and Kevin emerged. “I think we deserve a drink, don’t you?” I asked from the couch.

“You read my mind.” He sat down next to me and pulled me into the crook of his arm.

It should have been a perfect night—a woman willing to surrender her foolish fears to a man she liked and found very attractive, flavored with a hint of danger and rescue. It should have been perfect. But it wasn’t.

The man could not make love! He was tentative, he was apologetic, he was inept! No wonder he’s still single, I thought as he fumbled around. Pity, and a desire to put myself out of my misery, led to the inevitable—I faked it.

Afterwards, he wanted to snuggle and seemed ready to settle in for the night. He