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

true. “Now, I want to talk with you and Gracie but I don’t really want to run the journalists’ gauntlet again. Is there another landline phone in the house that she can pick up?”

“Sure thing. Hang on and I’ll get her. And thanks, Angie, for everything. I know you think I’m scum, but for my family, I thank you.”

I heard him set the handset down and walk away. In the background, the sounds of TV and children’s laughter. Cartoons? I wondered. I sipped my tea and waited, impressed despite myself by Tony’s humility and the strength it took any man, much less an Italian man, to say those words.

Then Gracie and Tony were on the line. “Hi, Angie. How are you?” Gracie sounded tired, normal for any woman in the last month of pregnancy.

“I’m good, kiddo. How about you? That little one letting you get any rest at night?”

“Not much.” She chuckled. “Last night in bed, I had my belly up against Tony’s back, and the baby kicked so hard, it even woke Tony up.”

“Only fair,” I said, and heard them both laugh.

“I was at the funeral today.” Dead silence. “The flowers you sent were lovely. I’m sure her mother appreciated the thought.”

“Yeah, well, Bart thought we should do it. As a gesture of respect, know what I mean? Not because of any fond feelings.” Tony’s voice was anxious, trying to convince Gracie.

“Exactly,” I concurred. “A sign of respect, that was how I interpreted it. I wanted to let you know, and also find out how Gracie is feeling.”

“Like a giant medicine ball is attached to my ribs. What I wouldn’t give to take a deep breath again. Not to mention, get a night’s sleep. Why do babies always want to do the breaststroke as soon as you lie down?”

Simultaneously, Tony and I both said, “Not much longer, Gracie.”

She just sighed, a long, quavering breath. “Right.”

“You both hang in there. The investigation is moving ahead and I have no doubt that Tony will walk out of the courtroom a free man.” We said our good-byes and I hung up.

***

I was stumped. I admit it. No idea where to go or who to see next. So I had another cup of tea and read over my interview notes, hoping to spot something that I’d missed so far. The man at the dumpster, I mused. I could ring doorbells in the building and try to locate him. But what would that do, ultimately? If he hadn’t seen Tony sitting in the car, so much the better. If he had, and I jogged his memory and he brought it to the police, Bart would have my hide. Better to leave it, I decided.

Murder wasn’t my area of expertise. My business centered on locating lost, stolen or hidden assets, things that could be found using straightforward records investigation. I’d managed to find plenty of people with plenty of reasons to want Elisa dead. Motive, I’d read, is always the least reliable of the infamous murder triumvirate—means, opportunity, motive. I needed to find out who had the means and the opportunity to kill Elisa. I took a sip of now lukewarm tea and grimaced, sure that I was miles behind Iggy and Wukowski on this road. But they haven’t arrested anyone yet, I told myself, even if they have done the means-opportunity work. They don’t understand the motives like you do.

I whipped out the table that I’d developed, opened my laptop, and started to revise, eliminating Mrs. Lembke and Bobbie Russell due to lack of motive, and Richard Llewellyn due to lack of opportunity. I would focus on the rest, arbitrarily filling in blanks based on my best guess. Intuition is highly underrated. There’s usually fact hiding beneath it.

There were an awful lot of unknowns floating around in that table. No wonder everything seemed so nebulous. The easiest way to fill in the blanks was to talk Bart into letting me share information with Wukowski and Iggy. Tit for tat. Or rather, motive for means and opportunity.

I called Bart’s office. Bertha answered. “Law Offices of Bartholomew Matthews.”

“Bertha, it’s Angie.”

“Jah? You are leaving your home?”

“No, I’m not calling to check in. I need to talk with Bart.”

“He is engaged.”

Since the only way to Bart was past Bertha. I had to grovel. “I know it’s an imposition, but I need his okay to talk with the police about the Belloni case. I wouldn’t want to do anything without your agreement.” The word ‘your’ was intentional. If Bertha didn’t feel in charge, she’d stonewall me all afternoon. “Is there any chance I can get fifteen minutes of his time? It’s important, or I wouldn’t bother you.”

She let me dangle for a few seconds, then said, “I will check. Hold, please.” Bertha must have been in a classical mood that morning, when she set up the radio station for listeners on hold. A Strauss waltz played almost to the end before she came back on the line. “I will transfer you now.”

“Thanks, Bertha.”

Clicking, followed by Bart. “Angie, how are things?”

“Pretty good, Bart. I want to fill you in on the funeral service.” I gave him the low-down on the mourners and mentioned the extremely expensive casket and blanket of white roses. “It didn’t seem to me that Mrs. Morano has that kind of cash, Bart. I’m wondering if she was able to get funds from Elisa’s accounts or if there was life insurance.”

“Could be. But I don’t see how we can find out, unless you ask her. Would she open up to you?”

“I’d say yes. She doesn’t seem to really understand the situation. I think it’s more than just a mother’s grief. I honestly don’t think she’s too smart. Cunning, maybe. But not smart.” I didn’t like myself too much for the next statement. “I can probably use that to our advantage.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Bart’s internal scruples were obviously not as sharp-edged as mine.

“There was a nice bouquet from the Belloni family. I talked to Gracie