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

prize pupil was one word away from winning the National Spelling Bee. C’mon, Bobbie, I silently urged, say something.

He did. Standing in front of Adriana, he took a deep breath, flung out his arms and said, “You’re beautiful, girl!”

She blushed and released the fists she made during his examination. “Oh, Bobbie, I really love it! I can’t thank you enough for taking me to Kevin’s. I’d never have gone there myself.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for Bobbie. They hugged, then opened their arms and welcomed me in. We were all weepy.

After we settled down, Adriana asked him, “Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous.”

She filled a plate and put the tea kettle back on the burner. I smiled as I plugged my laptop into the internet connection, logged in, and sat down at the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the dining room. Adriana seemed like a natural caregiver—a good trait for a nurse.

Bobbie sat beside me at the counter.

“Give me the make, model and plate of the car you think Petrovitch was driving,” I told him.

He pulled a small notebook from the inner pocket of his narrow wale corduroy jacket, flipped it open, and placed it on the counter.

I was impressed. He must’ve recorded information about every car that turned onto Zupan’s dead end street. Not only that, he included the time. “Nice work, Bobbie.”

He gave me a big smile. “Really?”

“Really,” I affirmed. I scanned the entries. Only one car was there more than once. I pointed to it. “Is this the car you followed?”

“Yep.”

It was an Illinois plate. I brought up the website I use to get DMV records. You have to be authorized and pay an annual fee to use it. “Look away, please,” I told Bobbie and Adriana, who’d circled to stand behind me. I hated to let them think I didn’t trust them, but time and circumstances can alter trust. Explanations would only make it worse, so I simply logged in and said, “Okay. I’m in.”

I entered the plate number. The record that came back was for a 2002 Buick Park Avenue, black, four-door. I checked Bobbie’s notebook. It tallied. The owner was listed as Oliver Wendell Peterson, with an address in Glenview, Illinois.

Behind me, Adriana spoke. “Peterson—that is the American form of Petrovitch.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Oliver Wendell Holmes was a prominent lawyer who served on the U.S. Supreme Court.” I swiveled so I could speak to both of them. “Maybe this is an alias for Petrovitch.”

I expected Bobbie to be bouncing up and down, but he sat quietly, with a serious expression on his face. Finally, he spoke. “That would be a real break in the case, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“What’s next? I could do surveillance on the Illinois address.” He looked me in the eyes, chin up, shoulders set. “PI work is something I’m good at.”

I didn’t want to discourage his interest in a real career, but that was something I needed to consider carefully. Meanwhile, we had a clue and I was on the hunt.

“You may be right, Bobbie. For now, let’s concentrate on the case at hand.”

He nodded. “Right. Absolutely. Can I do obbo again?”

“Obbo?” I turned to Adriana. “British police slang for observation. Bobbie, you’ve been watching too many BBC mysteries. Let’s start with the computer.” I Googled Glenview. It was on the Amtrak route from Milwaukee to Chicago and had a Metra stop, making it easy to get to the Chicago bank where the Johnsons had an account. The satellite view of the address showed three blocks of townhouses. Peterson’s was about a mile from the shared Amtrak/Metra station. If it was Petrovitch who attacked me and fled, I’d say he was vigorous enough to make that walk. I shared my conclusions with Adriana and Bobbie.

“So,” Bobbie jumped in, “if someone wanted to have a nice little getaway location ready, Glenview would be a good choice.”

“Right. And a large townhouse complex can be very impersonal. People can come and go without attracting much notice.”

“How do we find out if it’s Petrovitch who lives there under the Peterson name?” Bobbie asked.

Bobbie lit up like a Times Square sign when I said it required ‘obbo,’ and he pleaded to be part of the surveillance. Even Adriana volunteered.

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I can’t put you in harm’s way. The Serbian Society is a signatory on all the bank accounts except for your personal drawing account, Adriana. And Petrovitch is the principal of the Society. He may be desperate to eliminate anyone who has knowledge of the funds.”

Bobbie shook his head. “If he can access the money in the accounts, why hasn’t he done it and left the country? It’s certainly enough to live on for the rest of his life.”

“Maybe it’s not the money itself,” Adriana said. “Maybe it’s where it came from or who had it before the accounts were opened.”

“Could be,” I said. “Lots of people would kill to keep that much cash secret, if there was anything fishy about it.” We sat in silence for a few moments. “I’ll talk to Bart and see what kind of connections he has in Illinois. Maybe he can get MPD input about the original deposit that opened the accounts, at least the ones in the U.S. With three murders and a missing attorney, I’m sure they can show probable cause for a financial search warrant.”

It was almost ten o’clock and my headache had retreated to a holding position. I suddenly felt exhausted. Shutting down my laptop, I told Bobbie and Adriana that I really needed to sleep. “I think Adriana would be safer here for tonight. My building is pretty secure and I do have a gun.”

Bobbie blinked, the wheels turning in his head. I could see him on the shooting range before long.

“Bobbie, we don’t know if Petrovitch saw you or not. If he is behind all this, he can probably get your address from your license plates. Why don’t you bunk on my couch?”

“Got sweats that will fit me?”

I laughed. “Mine