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

later, the waiter went into the kitchen area. Bobbie returned to the table before the waiter returned.

“Would you believe the guy’s name is Guy? Can you imagine going through life as ‘gay Guy?’” He shook his head. “Some parents are incredibly cruel.”

“In all fairness, Bobbie, they didn’t know their son would be gay.”

“Even so.” Our meals arrived and we began to eat. “Guy worked the private rooms on the night of the RCCLU meeting. He remembers, because he had to listen to some of the speaker’s ranting and raving, and he was pretty offended. Seems it was a gay-bashing night.”

“Does he remember anything about Jane?”

“Her hair. He joked about the helmet hairdo.”

“How about John?”

Bobbie shook his head. “Not offhand, but maybe if you show him a picture.”

“I need to interview him. Do you think he’d meet me?”

Bobbie extracted a Dunwoodie business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “Said he’d meet you tonight after work, in the parking lot of the War Memorial Center, ten o’clock. He’s pulling a long shift to cover for a friend. His cell phone number’s on the back of the card, in case you can’t make it.”

I tucked the card into my purse with a smile. Paraphrasing Jackie Gleason, I growled, “Bobbie, you’re the greatest,” as I lifted my iced tea glass in a salute to his skill.

He fluttered his eyelashes at me. “Aww, Ralph,” he kidded me.

***

The web is a great tool for investigators and scammers. The information you need to impersonate someone else is so available. When I got back to the office after lunch, I ran a few searches and then called the local RCCLU office.

“Good afternoon. Roman Catholic Civil Liberties Union. This is Mrs. Erna Staunchley. How may I help you?”

Her voice was so cheerful that it made my teeth ache. And that name—Mrs. Staunchley! Staunchly what? Against everything that was not orthodox RC, if she was in agreement with the official web site.

I channeled Southern. “Mrs. Staunchley, my name is Susie Williams,” I drawled. “I’m new to the Milwaukee area. My husband and I just moved here from Atlanta.”

“Oh, my,” she said, “did they warn you about the winters?”

“Did they!” I responded. “I guess I’ll have to go shopping for snow boots and a down coat.” She giggled. “But the reason I’m calling is that Arvil Minton, from the Atlanta office, told me to be sure to get in touch with you all. I was just about to join the Georgia branch when Billy got his job transfer.”

“Well, Mrs. Williams, we’d love to enlist you in the cause right here in Wisconsin. Shall I send you the enrollment form and calendar of events?” I gave her the address of my private box and made a note to tell them to expect a letter addressed to “Mrs. Billy Williams.” She fed right into my plans with her next question. “Mrs. Williams, I know that our local president, George Wilfred, would love to talk with you. Can I give him your number?”

“I hope y’all won’t be offended, Mrs. Staunchley, but I would prefer to look over the materials first. And since I’m in a position to make a sizable donation should I find that your goals are in line, I’d also like to talk with one or two of your members. A gal can’t be too careful with her money, now can she?”

“How true.” She sounded distracted. Probably making big red notes on her phone pad—DONATION!

“So could y’all just give me a couple of names to call? Maybe someone who attends meetings regularly, who’d be current on all the plans and goals? I just hate to sound suspicious, but Billy and I worked hard to get where we are and we don’t want to throw it away. After all, as I told Arvil, six figures is a substantial sum.”

I could hear her gulp. “You’re so right, Mrs. Williams.” She gave me three names and numbers, including Jane Dunwoodie’s, and we parted with my promise to call “Georgie” as soon as I’d reviewed the materials. If the waiter, Guy, couldn’t confirm whether Jane had an ironclad alibi, perhaps the RCCLU meeting attendees might. I couldn’t think of a way to approach them, though. Maybe Wukowski and Iggy would have to handle that task.

***

I returned to the office and ran some checks on the Dunwoodies. The Dunwoodie Agency information was limited, due to its being a privately held LLC. But they had to file with the regulatory agencies, so I submitted online requests for information and paid the fees using my VISA. I also requested credit reports, which turned up the interesting fact that John had an offshore asset protection trust (OAPT) account, in his name only. In Belize. Red warning lights started to buzz and rotate in my head. While an OAPT can be a legitimate means of protecting those with deep pockets from frivolous lawsuits, it can also signal an attempt to hide income, or even a plan to cut and run. None of those options seemed likely, but I’d been fooled before and I wasn’t about to take him at face value.

Additional web searches produced the profile of a good citizen and family man—born 1952 to Jonah (a butcher) and Sally (a housewife); graduate of Marquette High School, a local Jesuit all-boys secondary school affiliated with Marquette University; undergrad degree, 1975, from UW-Madison; MBA, 1982, from Northwestern; married to Jane in 1980 (query—did she support him while he finished the MBA?); son John, Jr. born 1983; daughter Mary Elizabeth born 1985; daughter Lily born 1987 and deceased in 1992; started the Dunwoodie agency in 1986, after working for an investment firm since college. The agency did about twelve million in business annually. John was a member of Rotary and Toastmasters and on the board of his church. He and Jane sponsored numerous children’s charity events. Mr. Upstanding.

Jane was next. Born 1956 to Rafael (a high school teacher) and Matilda (a domestic worker) Jenkins. Graduate of St. Joan Antida, an