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

The flush started at my face and moved to my ears, neck and chest. He was way too close to the mark. “Sorry I asked,” I muttered. The barkeep looked over and I saw his startled glance. Great, I thought, he probably thinks I’m blushing with the anticipation of a sexual fling with a young stud. If he only knew.

“Let’s talk about Dunwoodie’s and Elisa,” I said. I opened the file folder that Bobbie had provided. “Looks like she only worked there eight months. Decent salary.” I glanced at Bobbie. “More than decent. Mind if I ask how much you make?”

“Not as much as Elisa did,” he responded. “But she had more experience than I do, and a college degree. I barely made it through tech school.”

“How about bennies? 401K, for instance.”

“No, nothing like that. Dunwoodie’s too small, just John, Jane and little ole me. John did offer to give me advice about setting up an IRA, but they don’t contribute.”

“Must have been her prior employer, then. She had a fairly hefty balance for such a young woman.”

Bobbie smiled. “That doesn’t surprise me. She had a certain charm. It appealed to straight men.”

“What about women?” I asked.

“She was strictly a threat, Angie. Not a gal pal kind of woman at all. Why do you think Jane Dunwoodie conducted the interviews for her replacement and hired me?”

“Jane worried that Elisa was making a play for John?”

“I don’t think so.” He paused and sipped his Bitburger, licking the foam from his upper lip. I heard a collective sigh from the room. “Jane has the money in the family and therefore the power. John’s as close to a eunuch as a guy who still has all the equipment can be. She runs the business and the house. It’s gotta be hell. The only time he has to himself is on the golf course.”

“But Jane was still threatened by Elisa?”

“Jane has a Harvard MBA. Family money. Good-looking husband. Nice kids. Success in every area except looks. Then along comes Elisa, who only has to smile pretty and vamp a little to get the attention that Jane craves. Sure, Jane was threatened by her. Elisa had the one thing that Jane can’t get, no matter how much she spends or how hard she tries—femininity to the max.”

“I wonder who else resented Elisa’s femininity and charm.”

“Can’t help you there, Angie.” Bobbie glanced at his watch, an Accutron with three dials inside the larger face. “I promised to meet a friend at six. Call me at home if you need more info. My card is in the folder.”

“Thanks, Bobbie. You’ve been a big help.” I left fifteen on the bar and we walked out together. I hoped I didn’t look like his mother or maiden aunt. As we waited for the elevator, I asked, “Any way I can talk to John Dunwoodie without the Dragon Lady running interference?”

“Try the Starbucks down the street from the office at ten o’clock. It’s his mid-morning routine.”

As we exited the hotel door, a silver Porsche convertible pulled up. Bobbie waved to the driver and kissed my cheek. “That’s my ride,” he said. “Call me and let me know the scoop, okay, girlfriend?”

I grinned. “Absolutely. And thanks again.”

He folded himself into the seat and the Carrera pulled out into traffic. So much for my Miata and my designer clothes. I wanted to be the straight female version of Bobbie Russell. In a perverse way, I suddenly understood Jane Dunwoodie’s envy of Elisa.

Chapter 8

Reality leaves a lot to the imagination.

—John Lennon

It was only six. Time to make good on my promise to Gracie that I would see her today.

As you travel north, from Milwaukee to Whitefish Bay, Fox Point and then River Hills, income levels and lot sizes increase dramatically. Whitefish Bay is a moderate-income area, with a fair Italian population. It was the logical step up for the immigrants who originally settled in the old Third Ward of Milwaukee, where my papa still lived. Although now even the Third Ward was undergoing gentrification, much to Papa’s dismay. He likes things to stay the same.

The Belloni home was just west of Lake Michigan, in a quiet area of stone and brick homes set on one-acre lots. From a block away, I saw the TV vans and the reporters standing on the sidewalk, recording sound bites for the ten o’clock news. Bart’s Lincoln Town Car was parked in front of the garage. The Miata top was down, and as I turned into the driveway, they all rushed over to thrust their mics into my face and shout questions at me. I rolled on by and parked next to Bart’s Lincoln. It was likely that I’d be seen on the news, from the back, and I hoped that my linen walking shorts and silk jacket weren’t too wrinkled. At least I didn’t have to worry about my hair.

Before I could ring the doorbell, the door opened slightly and a hand motioned me in. “Angie, great timing,” Bart boomed as I slipped inside. “Tony was released on bail about an hour ago, and I picked him up and brought him home. I’m just meeting with Tony and Gracie to bring them up to date. You can give us your report, too.” He walked toward the back of the house. “We’re in the dining room. I’m keeping everyone away from the front of the house.”

Tony and Gracie were seated at the dining room table. As I entered, he rose. “Welcome to my home, Angie.”

“Tony, how you doing?” I asked, deliberately countering his formality. This was no time to act the gracious host. I turned to hug Gracie, hugely pregnant, seated back from the table with her feet propped up on a footstool.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered in my ear. I gave her shoulders a little squeeze, then walked to the heavy brocade draperies, tightly drawn, and peeked outside. A tall wooden fence, with mature trees and bushes planted