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

“So you got home about nine o’clock. Did you stay home the rest of the night?”

He nodded. “Gracie was pretty upset. We talked, then I made her a cup of tea and rubbed her feet. She likes that. We went to bed and cuddled for a while, and she fell asleep.”

The bells began to ring, loud and strong, as I remembered the times that I’d heard Bozo’s excuses and apologies and promises. “Okay, let’s get back to Elisa. Did she ever talk about enemies, about someone who had it in for her?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Never.”

“How about her email? Did you read it after you figured out her password?”

“Well, yeah, I did. I wanted to know if there was someone else.”

So he wasn’t stupid enough to think that paying the bills guaranteed fidelity. “Was there anything in her email that indicated someone was threatening her? That she felt in danger?”

“No, all she ever got in email was stock and broker stuff, and online shopping offers. Nothing personal.”

“Maybe she had a separate email account for personal stuff, and the account she gave you was her public account.”

He looked hurt at that idea. “You mean, she didn’t trust me?”

The full peal was sounding now, DONG-DONG, like bells tolling for a funeral. I massaged my forehead. “Let me put it this way, Tony. Would you trust someone who cheated on his wife? Wouldn’t you think that a person who’d do that to his wife was less than totally trustworthy?”

He raised his arms and extended his hands toward me, palms facing me. “I’ve had it with the sniping, Ms. Bonaparte.” Stress on the “miz.” “I’m telling you I didn’t do this. If you don’t believe me, then maybe I need to ask Bart to find another investigator.”

“You’re free to do that, Mr. Belloni.” I stressed the “mister.” We glared at each other for maybe thirty seconds, while my mind replayed the interviews with Gracie, Bart and now Tony. Did I think he was guilty of murder? No. Did he deserve life in jail because of infidelity? No. Had I let my emotions run away with me, lost my professionalism because of my own marital history? Maybe. Time to silence the bells and attend to business.

I kept my voice low, leaned forward and opened my arms in a posture of acceptance. “Tony, there’s one thing you need to understand about me and about our professional relationship, if it’s going to continue. I’ll do my level best for you, but I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me. And I’m not going to BS you. I’m a straight-up woman.” He nodded, so I continued. “How about if we reach an agreement? We’ll tell each other the truth without recrimination. Deal?” I held out my right hand.

“And you’ll keep what I tell you private? Not tell Gracie everything?” I nodded. “Deal,” he agreed as we shook.

“I’ll start trying to trace Elisa’s background. Bart will be in touch today. He’s working on getting bail set. Anything you need?”

“Not if I get out today. Otherwise, a change of clothes.”

“Let’s hope it’s today. If not, I’ll bring some stuff over later.”

I buzzed, and the deputy came to escort Tony back to his bunk. I took a few moments to put papers and pen in my briefcase and smooth my skirt and jacket, trying to reorder my thoughts by reordering my belongings. I hate it when I lose control.

As I walked down the corridor, Wukowski came striding toward me. I decided to “make nice,” as they say on the Polish south side of the city. “Afternoon, Detective Wukowski.” I held out my hand and he reluctantly shook it. “I was just interviewing Tony Belloni.” He nodded. Help me out here, I thought, even a grunt is better than total silence. “Has the coroner’s report been filed?”

“Check with the desk.” He stared past me, down the long hallway, making it abundantly clear that he had no time to chat.

“Sure thing, Detective.” I slapped his upper arm playfully, knowing it would aggravate him, and gave him my biggest, most insincere smile. “Thanks so much for your help.”

As I exited the building, the hot steamy air of a Milwaukee August caused even my scalp to break a sweat. I removed my suit jacket and slung it over my shoulder, raising a wolf whistle and a couple of rude comments as I walked to my car. I was pretty sure that Tony hadn’t done the deed, but he hadn’t given me much to go on. All I knew was that Elisa seemed to be a gold-digger with the ability to pan for some pretty good-sized nuggets. If she wasn’t killed for passion, maybe it was for money.

Chapter 5

Innocence is lovely in the child, because in harmony with its nature; but our path in life is not backward but onward, and virtue can never be the offspring of mere innocence if we are to progress in the knowledge of evil.

—Clara Jessup Moore

As I drove east on Kilbourn, I thought about Tony and his mob connections. The Family was not a topic of conversation in my father’s house. Our sole discussion about it occurred when I was eight years old, when I repeated the question that Ricky Oleniszak posed on the playground—Your old man’s in the mob, ain’t he?

“What did you say to him, Angelina?” my papa asked in a quiet voice, as he tucked me into bed that night.

“Nothing. I just walked away.” I felt vaguely ashamed, not even sure what the phrase “the mob” meant.

Papa picked me up and set me on his lap. His suit smelled of pipe tobacco and fruit, a smell I continue to associate with calm and security. “You’re a good girl, so listen to me and do as I tell you.” He paused and settled against the headboard of my bed. “Long ago, in Sicily where we come from, there were rich and