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

all-girls Roman Catholic secondary school; 1978 undergrad degree in Religious Studies from St. Mary’s College, Indiana; then a gap until her marriage to John in 1980—note to myself to investigate further; births of children; involvement with mostly Catholic charities; member of society boards and committees; joined RCCLU in 1992. Numerous quotes critical of Milwaukee Archbishop Rembert Weakland, a “notorious liberal,” in the Milwaukee papers. Then in 2003, the year their remaining daughter turned eighteen and presumably went off to college, Jane joined the agency as a partner and administrator. Portrait of a truly insular upbringing, resulting in a textbook reactionary conservative (my prejudice, I admit it).

There didn’t seem a lot in those bios to indicate any level of lawlessness. Quite the contrary, in fact. I printed the records and stored them in my briefcase, with copies in my filing cabinet. Then I sighed, wishing Susan were at her desk. I needed to pick her brain on the financials. I went home, to grab a light supper and a power nap.

***

Bobbie’d given me a lot of flak about meeting Guy at ten at night in an empty parking lot. He insisted on accompanying me, for safety and to assure that Guy would talk to me. I promised to meet him at nine-thirty, at Ma Fischer’s. He was there, sitting at a booth and chatting with George, when I walked in. I slid into the seat opposite him and greeted George, who waggled his index finger at me and told me, “No fighting tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” I solemnly promised. “Can I get a cup of coffee, George?”

“Sure thing.” He brought me a cup, filled Bobbie’s and left us.

I took a swallow and looked Bobbie over. He was dressed from top to toe (I peeked under the table) in black—black silk turtleneck, black trousers, black socks and Nikes. I wasn’t about to question what was underneath. “When we leave, are you going to pull a black cap over your hair and smear black greasepaint on your cheeks?” I asked.

He blushed slightly. “Too much?”

“Not if you’re planning to steal the jeweled dagger from the Topkapi Palace,” I responded drily, then sipped my coffee.

“Okay, maybe I went a little overboard,” he admitted. “I was just trying to get into character.”

“Bobbie,” I said, shaking my head, “we’re going to talk to a waiter. This isn’t a heist. It isn’t national security. It’s just an interview.” I stared at him for a moment. “If Guy thinks this is a big deal, it might scare him off. I don’t want him to get the idea that there’s anything dangerous in this. So let’s keep it casual, okay?”

“Got it. Casual. Nothing dangerous.” He nodded as he spoke. I could tell he was talking to himself. Bobbie was obviously in an actor mentality tonight, and I was his director. Amateurs, I thought.

The parking lot of the Milwaukee Art Museum / War Memorial Center was empty when I pulled in and parked under a tall light fixture, which cast an orange glow, giving Bobbie a goblin-like appearance. I was pretty sure it didn’t enhance my looks, either, but I wanted Guy to see us and I wanted to be able to see his face while we talked.

He pulled into the lot at ten after ten, in a Honda that belched blue smoke. I decided to offer him some money for talking to us.

Bobbie made the introductions. “Guy, this is the private eye I told you about, and my friend, Angie.” I was touched. “She wants to find out whether Jane or John Dunwoodie left their meetings for more time than just a bathroom stop.”

Guy’s eyes traveled the perimeter of the lot. His handclasp was sweaty, despite the cool breeze off the Lake. Nervous, I thought. I wonder why.

When he spoke, he stammered slightly. “I, uh, I’m not sure. I thought about it after we talked, Bobbie, and now, uh, now I’m not sure.”

I leaned slightly forward and pitched my voice low and soft. “Guy, did something happen? You seem a little nervous.”

“Well, after you left today, John Dunwoodie came in for lunch. With a couple of clients.” He stopped and looked around the lot again. “He remembered me. Asked me if I wasn’t the same waiter who’d served at the Rotary dinner.”

“Do you think he was just making small talk?”

“Nooo.” He hesitated for several seconds. “Look, I don’t know how to describe it exactly, but he spooked me. I could feel his eyes on me, every time I turned around. When I came out of the kitchen with an order, he’d be staring at the door.” He turned to Bobbie and whispered in a little-boy-scared-of-the-monster-in-the-closet voice, “He’s not a nice man, Bobbie. I’m afraid. Why are you asking me questions about him? What did he do?”

I gently laid my hand on Guy’s arm and spoke in my best mommy voice, reassuring and confident, relating the Elisa story. “Guy, if there was no time when either John or Jane left their meetings, then you have nothing to be worried about. But if they did leave for more than just a bathroom stop, you need to tell us. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.”

“Ohmigod,” he interjected, practically hyperventilating. “I am in danger!”

“So John left the meeting?”

“No,” he said. “His wife did. Right after they finished the main course. I was hanging around in the hallway to serve the coffee. I didn’t want to go in there and stand. They’d been ranting all night about filthy disgusting homos and saying how we aren’t fit to live with normal people. How our sins are the worst. How we all need to be reprogrammed. Stuff like that.”

“God,” I murmured.

He nodded. “Yeah. Really nasty. Well, I was wheeling the coffee cart in when I saw Mrs. Dunwoodie scuttle off down a side hallway, like she didn’t want to be seen. I cleared the dinner plates and served dessert and coffee before she returned.”

“How long do you think that took?”

He scrunched up his face. “Let’s see. Eight people,