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

it didn’t cause me any permanent harm. The assailant could have shot me, picked me off right there in front of the library, but he didn’t. He was searching for something he thought I had.”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah, that makes sense. So what do you have that he wants? And do you really think it was dear Uncle Herman?”

“I’m not sure, on either count. I had copies of the photos from the Johnson house attic with me, but I gave those to Lily for further research. I have the originals loaded on my laptop. As for Petrovitch, either he’s behind this or he’s a victim, too. I can’t decide.” We exchanged kisses on the cheek, and I circled the Miata while Bobbie waited. Nothing seemed wrong, so I leaned into his VW Jetta and told him good-bye. He waited while I started the Miata. Guess he thought it might blow and he should be there to pick up the pieces—or join me, since he was parked alongside.

I drove to the campus police headquarters and signed the statement I made the prior night. Then I went home to my condo, where I shucked yesterday’s clothing, put on a robe and checked my email. Nothing urgent. I had to let Bart and Wukowski know about the assault. Wukowski’s call went to voicemail—again. Where was the man? I called Iggy.

After confirming that I wasn’t seriously hurt, he chastised me for not contacting him the night before.

“The campus isn’t your jurisdiction, remember?” I said.

“Maybe not, but if this is tied into the Johnson and Zupan murders, it’s MPD business. Besides, you can always call a friend who happens to be a police detective, Angie.”

Now I felt bad. I made my apologies and told him that a copy of the UW police report was available, if he wanted to request it. “Wukowski’s been out of touch,” I said, hoping Iggy would provide an explanation. He simply said that Wukowski was on a special task force that took a lot of his time.

Bart, similarly angry that I hadn’t called him earlier, expressed it in a more lawyerly fashion. “Perhaps we need to rethink our goals and our client’s needs, Angie,” he said. “I can get some personal protection set up for both of you.”

I snorted. “Won’t that look good, a PI with her own bodyguard.”

“Better than a dead PI. Or a PI with brain damage.”

That was sobering, but I repeated my supposition that the attacker was looking for something and didn’t intend to hurt me badly or kill me.

“Maybe. Or maybe he got interrupted and didn’t want a witness.”

“Bart, I’m making headway on the things I found in the Johnson attic. And I connected with Dragana Zupan’s husband and the priest at her church. Let me do my job.” I waited, holding my breath.

After an extended pause, he said, “I want you on the case, Angie. Be careful. And check in with Bertha so we can trace you.”

I hated calling in to Bertha. She always made me feel so incompetent in the face of her own personal mastery. But Bart had a point, so I agreed and hung up.

Before I could set the phone down, it rang. Caller ID showed ‘unknown caller.” I decided to answer anyway. It could be connected to the case.

“Hello.”

“Angie, it’s Wukowski.” He didn’t give me a chance to speak. “Iggy left me a message that you were attacked, but you’re okay. Listen, droga, I’ve only got about three minutes before the meeting resumes. I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. We got a lead on the gang that killed Liz, but my captain wanted it turned over to Narcotics. No way am I letting them take this over. So I got sucked into this infernal team. Forgiven?”

“Of course.”

“You really are okay?”

“Just a residual headache. Bobbie took care of me last night.”

“Hell. I have to get off the phone.”

I heard the click of his disconnect and set my phone down with shaking hands. Liz White had been tortured and killed by really bad guys. And now Wukowski was part of a team to find them and bring them to justice. This was what it would be like if we made a commitment to each other—me worrying about his safety, wondering if he would come home in one piece, dreading the department chaplain and Wukowski’s captain at the door. By the same token, I knew he would worry about me every time I went on a job.

I sighed. It went with the territory. I didn’t want to give up on this relationship. So I’d woman up.

My head was aching something fierce. I finally gave in, put on my oldest and softest flannel PJs, downed a couple more pills and climbed into bed. Before I fell asleep, I prayed that God would keep Wukowski safe. After all, Aunt Terry likes to quote, ‘ask and it shall be given unto you.’ I didn’t know if God would grant my petition—it seemed like I only prayed in times of duress, and who wants to be a cosmic vending machine for favors?—but I figured it couldn’t hurt.

Chapter 15

…life is but an endless series of little details, actions, speeches, and thoughts. And the consequences whether good or bad of even the least of them are far-reaching.

—Sivananda

It was two-thirty when I awoke. I sat up slowly. No dizziness, and the headache was background noise. Nothing in the fridge appealed, so I brewed some tea and toasted an English muffin. I settled in the living room with my snack, enjoying the view of Lake Michigan from the wall of windows. Today was sunny and the lake was a brilliant blue, with small breakers creaming the shoreline. I sipped and munched, and let the rhythm of the water soothe me.

Twenty minutes later, I levered myself off the couch and showered. Paperwork awaited me at the office and I needed to check the briefcase for prints. Lily might have been mistaken in thinking the attacker wore gloves.

I had no