Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set by Nanci Rathbun (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

while he put plates, cups and utensils down. “Coffee?” he asked. It sounded like “kafa.” I nodded. He poured milk into a creamer shaped like a cow and set a pig-shaped sugar bowl beside it. I examined his face. It was dour, grim, with deep lines running from the edges of his nose to the edges of his mouth and a groove between his eyebrows. In this bright, happy room, he radiated unhappiness.

I opened the McDonalds bag and put our breakfast sandwiches on the plates. Josif filled our cups and sat across from me. “So, Angie, I know about Jan and Ivana’s deaths. Why you are worried about Adrijana?”

Right to the point. No discussion of his wife or his bereavement. He was a man whose wife was killed violently. I wanted to proceed with caution. I bent down to remove a legal pad and pen from my briefcase, which I left slightly open, with my pistol within reach. One never knows.

I couldn’t divulge information about the Johnsons’ money, so I stayed with the basics. “Someone killed Adriana’s parents in a way that suggests an execution. I have no idea why. Adriana may be in danger, if the killer wants revenge on the family for some reason.” Then I placed the pad and pen on the table and reached over to gently touch the back of his hand. “I’m sure this kind of talk calls up your own grief. I’m so sorry about your loss.”

I felt a small tremor, before he quickly moved his hand from under mine. “Very kind. My thanks.” He gulped down some coffee and took a bite of his biscuit.

Okay, I thought, we won’t talk about Dragana—at least, not right away. “How long did you know the Johnsons, Josif?”

He humphed. “Their name Jovanović”—he pronounced it yo-van-a-vitch—“not Johnson. But Jan—that is, John—he want to be all American, put old country behind. We work together in Yugoslavia, lay bricks, you know?” I nodded to show I understood. “He come to America in 1999, me in 2000. I get work as laborer, then mason.”

“How is it that your wife worked for Attorney Petrovitch?”

“He help get visas and promised work for Dragana so INS let us into country. She keep his papers in good order and work with Serbians here. She speak both Serbian and English well. Not like me.” He grimaced.

“Josif, no one seems to know where Attorney Petrovitch might be. Do you have any ideas? Maybe someplace he liked to vacation or friends he might be staying with?”

He thought about it for almost a minute. “No, Angie. He man who keeps secrets, da? Even Dragana not know all his ways.”

I took a bite of my biscuit. We chewed in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t strained. Josif’s tight posture loosened a bit. He got up and refilled our cups.

As he sat back down, I asked, “What can you tell me about the Serbian Society, Josif?”

He stiffened again. “Why you ask?”

“I’m curious about why Adriana’s father was so passionate about Serbian culture and heritage, given that he wanted to be ‘all American’ in other ways. I mean, he didn’t even allow Adriana to maintain the language. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

He shrugged. “Jan like that. He run hot and cold, my Dragana say. He treat me like old friend when I first come to the U.S., then like that—” he snapped his fingers—“he no see me, except at Serbian Society meetings.”

I decided to risk his ire. “I know the Society met at St. Sava’s.”

“Not my choice.” Again, he shrugged. “We meet every month, talk about how to recover things stolen in war. Nothing special.”

“I see.” I paused. “Were you able to facilitate any recoveries?”

He rocked his hand in the gesture for “maybe.” “We give information to museum director in Kosovo.”

“Are you from Kosovo? You and John, I mean.”

“No. Bosnia. But we are Serbs. Artifacts belong to Serbs, they go to Belgrade, in Kosovo, to National Museum there.”

There were two potentially explosive topics I wanted to explore, the attic contents and the execution-style killings of the Johnsons and Dragana Zupan. I decided the executions were more critical and I would start with them. If he kicked me out, I could use other resources to research the attic items.

“Josif, I know this is hard to talk about, but I am worried about Adriana. Someone seems to be after something involving your wife, the Johnsons and Petrovitch.” His face was closed, stolid. I didn’t want to give him information about my findings on the Serbian Society or what I found at the Johnson home. Leading a witness, especially a reluctant witness, is a very good way to be lied to. I plunged ahead. “It seems the Johnsons had money in the bank, money that can’t be explained by their small business, money that Adriana didn’t know about.” I waited a moment. “Did you?”

He leaned slightly to the left and looked down. His lips barely moved as he said, “Ne. No.”

It was the classic body language of a lie. I forged on. “I’m worried that whoever is responsible for the Johnson killings will come after Adriana for the funds. You have a lovely home here, with nice things. Probably more than a legal secretary and her mason husband could afford on their salaries alone.” He scowled at me, but remained silent. “Maybe you should be worried about your safety, too.”

“They come for me, they be sorry.” He spoke quietly, but it was a quiet filled with dreadful assurance.

“I searched the Johnson home, with Adriana’s permission. There were two military uniforms there, one fatigues and one a dress uniform. Did John serve in the military?”

He hesitated. “Maybe. When I go to American embassy for visa, they ask for reference and I remember Jan. So I talk with his mother. But I not in touch with him before then, since six years. Maybe he joined army. Many did.”

“Did you, Josif?”

“No. I not fight.” He positioned his cup between us on the table and folded