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

“Right. I thought it would look cold and maybe suspicious if there wasn’t any sign of sympathy. Gracie sound okay about it?”

“Actually, she did. Tony made a point of saying the flowers were a mark of respect, not affection. He’s trying to mend fences.”

“Good thing, too. The weasel.”

“Bart!” I was shocked. Cynical Bart, condemning Tony for a little action on the side? It didn’t seem in character.

“Know why I’m still unmarried, Angie? Not because I’m fat. Not because nobody will have me. Believe me, there are women who would jump at the chance.” He took a drag on his ever-present cigarette. “It’s because I’ve seen enough of cheating spouses and failed marriages and the misery they cause the kids, and I’m realistic enough to know I wouldn’t be any better than Tony. I’m a single guy who plays around, not a married guy who made a promise and broke it. It seems better that way. Am I right?”

“As long as you’re not breaking promises to all those women who are lined up, ready to hop into your bed or into marriage with you.”

He started to laugh, but it became a hacking cough. I waited until he finally recovered and said, “Angie, you’re a pistol.” Puff-exhale. “I have a client in twenty minutes. I don’t think you called just to tell me about the funeral. So what’s up?”

It wasn’t easy to convince Bart that an exchange of information with the police would benefit Tony’s case. I had to do a lot of tap-dancing before he agreed. But when I ran down the chart and convinced him that only the legal power of the police or the D.A. would force the “suspects” to answer means-opportunity questions, he stopped fighting and started to set up parameters. By the time we said our good-byes, I had Bart’s permission to work with Iggy and Wukowski on the unknowns in the chart, and to share the known information I had, with one exception—Anthony Belloni and the Belloni family were off-limits in the discussion with the police. Now all I had to do was convince Iggy and Wukowski.

I spent the afternoon online, checking gun registration records, kicking myself for not thinking of it before. Put it down to my lack of criminal investigation experience. I pay a pretty penny to several national database companies for access to information that the average citizen can’t get. Imagine my surprise to find handgun registrations for Jane and John Dunwoodie, Gracie Belloni and Alan McGuire. Oh, and Anthony Belloni—no surprise there. That meant that anyone on my chart, including Marsha—through Alan—had access to a gun.

The coroner’s report stated that the bullet that killed Elisa was a 9mm cartridge. Each of the men, and Jane Dunwoodie, had a gun registration for at least one 9mm weapon. Not surprising, since the 9mm is the most purchased weapon in the U.S. Gracie Belloni was registered as owning a .22 handgun. But I had to suppose she had access to her husband’s weapon. It didn’t narrow down my suspect list, but now I could approach Iggy and Wukowski with slightly more confidence. I had means and motive. They had opportunity. Time to dicker.

I insist on absolute honesty in personal relationships, but in my business, I deal mostly with people who are trying to get out of their moral and legal obligations. I’ve been known to use a little misdirection—a much nicer word than ‘lying’—and feminine wiles—no, not sex!—to get what I want. The way I see it, women are penalized for their gender often enough. Why not use it to our advantage when the opportunity arises?

Iggy might be the easier target, but it was Wukowski I’d need to convince. I dialed his number.

“Detective Wukowski,” he answered on the third ring.

“Angie Bonaparte. Long time, no talk.” He made a sound between a grunt and a chuckle. “Look, Wukowski, I have Bart Matthews’ okay to meet with you and Iggy and exchange some information.”

“Really? That desperate, huh?”

Big dumb cluck. He was right, though. I hate that. I made my voice all tender and girly. “I just don’t know where to go with this anymore. I thought if we got together and talked about the suspects, you and Iggy might spot something I missed.”

“Not much in it for us, though.”

Damn the man. “Oh, I don’t know. I have a lot of notes from my interviews. People seem to open up to me. You said so, yourself.”

“That doesn’t mean crap, Angie. Everybody and his uncle might have reasons to hate Elisa, but that doesn’t mean they did it. Sounds like worthless information, to me.”

Blast it! I would have to play my poor-poor-pitiful-me card. I will not go so low as to get weepy, under any circumstances. “Well, maybe you’re right. I feel like I’m in way over my head.” I heard a small gulp. Was it working? “I’m only on this case to help Gracie. The baby’s due in less than a month, you know.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t blame you and Iggy, I know I’ve been in your way.”

The bastard broke out into a full-fledged laugh. “Angie, just how far were you going to take this little charade?”

“Wukowski, you sonofa…”

“Hold on, woman. You were the one trying to scam me, right?”

I wanted so badly to slam the phone down. Why did I let him get under my skin like that? With anyone else, I would’ve just laughed right back and said I thought it was worth a try. Keep your perspective, I told myself. This is professional, not personal.

“What gave me away?” I asked.

“You did, Angie. The woman you are. Only a fool would think that act was real. Or someone who didn’t know you.” His voice was silky and low.

I started to flush. Was he coming on to me? Should I use it to get my way? My inner referee threw down a penalty flag and shouted, “Unfair use of personal tactics