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

cold hard heart. But I knew that his heart was neither cold nor hard. This is how he gets through his days, I thought. This is how he manages the pain and the ugliness. He detaches. Is it only on the job, or does he also deal with his personal life that way? What if we run into trouble? Will he detach from me, too?

After Iggy and Wukowski left the interrogation room, Bart, Adriana and I took a few minutes to consider options. Adriana looked tired. “Where am I going next, Angie?”

“Well, I have a friend who might be willing to put you up. Bobbie—with an I-E—Russell helped me solve the Morano murder. Gorgeous, like a young Rock Hudson. He lives in a great little converted stable on Lake Drive.”

“Um…I don’t think I could stay with a man.”

“I should have explained. Bobbie’s gay.”

“I’ve never known a gay man.”

“He’ll probably try to make you over.”

Her chin rose. “Maybe it’s time.”

The little lion cub roars. Cute.

Bobbie answered on the second ring. “Angie, girlfriend, how are you? Long time, no see. Busy with that studly detective?”

I laughed. “You have no idea. Bobbie, I need a favor. A big favor. I have a client who’s in trouble. She needs a place to stay for a few days. Expenses are not an issue.”

“Wow. Can I help detect?”

Bobbie loved getting into the role of sleuth. And he was good at it, as I had reason to know. When we were confronted by the real killer in the Belloni case, Bobbie kept his head and surreptitiously used his cell phone to call 9-1-1. Then he held a conversation with the killer that gave the dispatcher enough clues to save our lives. I owed him a lot.

“Right now, there’s not much to detect. But I’ll fill you in when Adriana and I get there, okay?”

“Adriana. That’s an exotic-sounding name. I’ll bet she’s pretty.”

With Adriana right beside me, how could I respond to that observation? “Could be. But she needs help.”

“She’s come to the right man. I’ll get her some fab stuff, at a discount!”

Bobbie’s current partner, Stephano Mariscal, was a buyer. His real name was Steve Marshall, but that’s too blah for the fashion industry. I once asked Bobbie why they didn’t move in together. “We’re out of balance,” he said. “Steve’s got money and connections. All I have are my looks. I want to work on my career before I settle down.”

As far as I knew, Steve paid a lot of Bobbie’s bills and Bobbie took the occasional local modeling shoot and did a little temping when funds were low. I hated to say it, because Bobbie’s a good friend, but he was living the typical too-good-looking-to-bother-with-substance life. But Bobbie was still in his twenties, so there was time for him to grow up.

While I spoke to Bobbie, Bart called to arrange for one of his Mafioso clients to loan a “staff car” to Adriana. It got terrible mileage, but the windows and doors would stop a typical non-armor-piercing bullet. “No sense taking chances when there are alternatives,” he told us, before settling Adriana in his own reinforced black Lincoln Town Car for the trip to Bobbie’s. I suddenly felt very vulnerable in my little black cherry Miata.

We arrived almost simultaneously at Bobbie’s converted carriage house, at the back of a large Lake Drive mansion on Milwaukee’s east side. Bart had another commitment and left as soon as Adriana exited the car. “I’ll make the withdrawal we discussed for your living expenses,” he told her. “One of my people will drop it off at Angie’s office.”

I introduced Adriana to Bobbie. “Come in,” he invited. “Let’s see if my place will work for you.”

The main house was once the province of a brewery king’s son and family. The stone “cottage” that Bobbie rented was originally a stable for eight horses, but now held stalls for three cars and all the grounds keeping paraphernalia that a large estate requires. The upstairs living quarters boasted a totally renovated kitchen, all gleaming stainless and granite; a living room filled with the kind of soft, squishy leather furniture that you sink into and can’t get back out of; and two bedrooms, one decidedly sensual, with a large en suite bathroom with a double occupancy whirlpool tub.

The guest room was dominated by a teak platform bed with drawers. The bedding was done in neutral grays and silvers, with pops of black in the many decorative pillows. Shoji-style screens covered the tall, narrow window. Serving as bedside tables were black-and-silver boxes on legs. Very sleek, very modern, very Bobbie.

Adriana put her suitcase down. Then she and Bobbie settled in the living room for a chat. Bobbie has that way about him. If he liked you, you knew it and it warmed you from head to toe. I didn’t have time for a gossip session, so I broke in. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have to get back to my place and do some more digging on Attorney Petrovitch and your parents, Adriana. I’d also like to visit their hardware store and home. Do you mind giving me keys?”

“Of course not.” She opened her purse—Bobbie eyed the vinyl bag and shuddered slightly—and extracted a key ring. “There are two for the store, a deadbolt and a regular. And two for the rental house, same deal. And the key for my parents’ car.” Adriana shrugged. “Guess I won’t be going home anytime soon, right?” Her voice was low, tinged with sorrow. I shook my head. “Then you might as well take the whole thing.” She handed it to me. “My parents rented the storefront. The apartment above is empty, so you won’t disturb anyone if you go there tonight. Oh, yeah, there’s an alarm system, too. At the store, go in the back door and turn left into the bathroom. The panel is behind the bathroom door. At home, it’s in the front hall closet. The code is thirteen-nine-eighteen.”

“Does the keypad actually go past nine?” I