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

probably fifteen minutes. No, wait. I remember I had to get someone a packet of pink sweetener because they couldn’t use the blue, and it took me a while to locate. Yeah, about twenty minutes.”

“And John was in his meeting all that time?”

“I think so. But I can’t really remember. I was upset about the RCCLU meeting and all the crap they were spouting. I didn’t really pay attention to people in the Rotary room, just went through the motions.” He paused. “Now what? What do I do to stay out of their way?” He gave Bobbie a pleading look. “I’ve been beat up before, but nobody ever tried to kill me. I’m no hero. I just want to be safe.”

Bobbie, bless him, put an arm around Guy’s shoulders. “No worries, mate,” he said in a terrible Australian accent. “I’ll put you up until this is resolved. There’s no reason for anyone to look for you at my place, right?”

Guy’s face relaxed and he looked as eager as a puppy waiting to be picked up and petted. “Right,” he answered. “I’ll just get my stuff and…”

“No need, Guy. I can lend you anything you need. We’re about the same size.” He added with a smile, “My friend’s in the rag business. I’ve got a closet you wouldn’t believe!”

Guy turned back to me. “I still have to go to work, though. I can’t afford to take time off without pay.”

“Are you scheduled for tomorrow?”

“No,” he answered.

“Okay, let me check with some of my friends. They might want to finance a short vacation for you.” His eyes lit up. “Of course,” I continued, “you’ll have to agree to tell this to the police.”

“Police?” he practically squeaked.

Again, Bobbie came to the rescue. “It’ll be okay. See, there’s these two cops, Ignowski and Wukowski, investigating the Morano homicide. I met them. Wukowski’s kind of gruff, but he seems fair. Ignowski’s the nice one. I bet Angie can set it up so Ignowski talks to you, right?” He looked at me and nodded slightly.

“Right. Absolutely. I’ll see to it,” I promised. Inside, I groaned. How was I supposed to make sure that Iggy did the interview? Tell Wukowski that he came across too hard-assed for poor, scared, gay Guy? Oh, lord, now I was doing it—gay Guy.

Bobbie gently led Guy back to his car and they rattled off together in a cloud of blue smoke. I went home to condo, sweet condo and checked in with Bertha, then left a message for Iggy on his voice mail at the homicide unit. A nice soak in the whirlpool tub and a glass of Riesling later, I settled into bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. So I pulled out my laptop and typed up my latest notes on the case. Feeling righteous, I opened the Sue Grafton that I’d started only eight days ago. Was it only eight days since Elisa’s murder? It seemed like months, not days. Soon, I was deep into the story and wondering how Kinsey would ever solve her latest case. As usual, it ended in a heart-pounding confrontation with the killer, with Kinsey managing to escape death by a hair’s breadth. I thumped the book closed, turned off the light and snuggled under the sheets. Good thing I don’t have cases like that, I thought.

Chapter 25

Love is whatever you can still betray…Betrayal can only happen if you love.

—John le Carré

The phone rang at seven-thirty the next morning. I hadn’t fallen asleep until after one the night before, so I was feeling pretty put out with the caller. “Hello,” I growled.

“Angie, it’s Wukowski.”

“Geez, Wukowski, you always call people this early?”

“Sorry. You left a message last night for Iggy. It sounded urgent.”

“Not really. I just had some information on Jane Dunwoodie to tell him.” I frantically pulled a robe on and padded into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I needed caffeine, and badly, if I was going to think straight enough to avoid a confrontation. “Hang on a minute, Wukowski,” I told him, “I’m getting a cup of java and I’ll be right with you.” He started to sputter, but I set the cordless phone on the counter, waited for the coffeemaker to brew, and slugged some creamer into my cup. I took a deep draught and felt the hit. Ahhh, my drug of choice was not only effective, but legal. “Okay, I’m back.”

“Look, Angie, I’m up to my eyebrows in alligators this morning. Iggy got admitted to St. Joe’s last night—burst appendix.”

“Burst? That’s bad, he could be in for a rough time.”

“Yeah, I’ve been bugging him for two weeks now to see the doctor, but he just kept popping antacids and telling me he was fine.” I heard him take a slurp of something at the same time I grabbed another swallow. “So last night, or rather three this morning, I got a call from Marianne, very upset, that they just wheeled Iggy into surgery. Her mom was with the kids, so I drove over to sit with her. He came out about forty minutes ago. I’m sorry I called so early, I didn’t even look at the clock.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. He’ll be okay, right?”

“Most likely.” A slight pause. “They had to ‘lavage the peritoneum’—wash the sewage out of his gut—and they’ve got him on big-time antibiotics and painkillers. They keep saying ‘if all goes well,’ like all might not go well, and Marianne just looks at them and turns whiter than white. When I left, she was sitting by his bed, praying the rosary. I don’t know what to do.”

I heard a clunk, as if he’d slammed his cup or something else onto his desk. He must be feeling pretty helpless, I thought, and I know how angry that can make a person who’s normally in control. An inspiration occurred. “Listen, Wukowski, my Aunt Terrie’s a semi-retired nun. She has a lot of clout at St. Joe’s and the other local Catholic hospitals. And she’s good people.