Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) đ
- Author: Nanci Rathbun
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She started to shake her head. âYou donât understand the Asian philosophy, Angie. An older woman, a widow, should remain quietly at home and allow the men of the family to run things and take care of her. She should never draw attention to herself.â
I sighed. âIs that the kind of older woman you want to be some day, Susan?â
âOf course not.â
âThen letâs cut Mrs. Ellingsworth some slack. She isnât hurting anyone, unless you count a dent in her sonsâ dignity.â
âTrue. But Jane Dunwoodie is a right little witch about stuff like this. She always makes me feel like Iâm a pimp and Mrs. Ellingsworth is a low-class hooker. Sheâd probably tell the oldest son herself, if losing the Ellingsworth account wouldnât hurt her pocketbook so badly.â
Interesting, I thought. âWhy do you suppose that is?â
âDonât you know the Dunwoodie story?â I shook my head. âLetâs get a glass of wine and some pasta, and Iâll tell you all about it.â
Albaneseâs wasnât crowded. We got a booth in the back, where we could talk with some privacy. After ordering, we sipped our Lambrusco and dipped the worldâs best crusty Italian bread, from Sciortinoâs bakery, into herbed olive oil. I leaned forward. âOkay, give. Iâm dying to hear.â
âIt started when Jane had their third baby. They already had a four-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter. I guess Jane believed in spacing them out every two years. Anyway, the last baby, a girl, Lily, was born with cerebral palsy. Jane went into supermom meltdown. She couldnât accept that there was nothing anyone could do to make the child better. It wasnât so bad when she was just a baby, theyâre all pretty helpless then. Itâs not such a big deal if your kid doesnât sit up and crawl right on schedule. Sheâs still your baby. But when Lily was about four, the seizures started. John told me they went to every top-level clinic in the U.S. and a few in Europe. The prognosis was always the sameâincreasingly frequent and severe seizures, leading to brain death.â
For a moment, the room seemed to fade away, the sounds of cutlery and dishes silenced, and I remembered rocking my sweet babies and wondering what theyâd be when they grew up. What if Iâd been told theyâd never grow up, never go to school, never have babies of their own?
Susan continued. âThey tried everythingâsurgery, medications, behavior modification. For a while, it seemed like the house itself was a clinic. Then one morning, they found her in her crib, dead. She was only five years old.â
I swallowed hard. âWas Lily the girl in the photo with the cocker spaniel? The one on Janeâs desk?â
Susan nodded. âThey called the dog Coco, because thatâs all Lily could say when they told her it was a cocker. I guess Lily loved that dog like some kids love their stuffed animals or blankies. And Coco was just as devoted to Lily. If a seizure started when Lily was in her room, John said Coco would bark like crazy and run in circles until someone came to check on her.â She sniffled. âItâs so sad. And I guess it explains Janeâs attitude, but it doesnât make her any easier to get along with.â
âAttitude?â I asked.
âThat woman is so anti-everything that she puts the Pope to shame. I mean, radical. Anti-abortion, of course. But also anti-gay, anti-same sex marriage, anti-birth control, anti-morning after pill. Sheâs even anti-organ donation, because they sometimes pull the plug to âharvestâ the organs. You name it, if it doesnât involve chastity until marriage, a man and a woman and all the kids they can have, and making every attempt to extend life no matter the quality, itâs just wrong in her eyes.â
âThe hard part is, sheâs been through it herself,â I observed. âYou canât fault her for not understanding the issues, thatâs for sure. But heaven save us from those who think they personally know Godâs will and have to enforce it for the rest of us.â
âThatâs for sure,â Susan agreed. Nevertheless, we lifted our glasses in a salute to Janeâs commitment to her dead child.
When the pasta came, we both tucked in with gusto. Appetite seems to improve after sadness for a tragedy thatâs a few steps removed. Susan wrapped her pasta around her fork like a real Italian. Of course, the Chinese invented noodles, and the Japanese co-opted them, but their etiquette allows one to put the bowl near the chin and scoop with the chopsticks. Even thatâs an improvement over those who cut their pasta into pieces like clods. Iâd taught Susan the right way to eat pasta when we both worked for Waterman, with a big spoon and a fork, and she was a pro.
Replete with carbs and wine, we sipped our espressos. âYou know, Angie, Jane Dunwoodieâs been acting even stranger than usual lately.â
âHow so?â I asked.
âItâs almost like she doesnât trust me anymore, like sheâs checking up on me. She came to the office last week and demanded detailed copies of one of my audits, even though Iâd already provided her with the usual accounting statements. And remember the day the locksmith came? I was late because Jane called me out on an emergency, claiming Iâd misstated a clientâs fund allocation and demanding that I meet her at her office. Of course, when we sat down and went over everything, it was okay, no problems. She apologized and laughed it off. But I canât help wondering why sheâs double-checking my work. I must handle half a dozen of her
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