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

parking garage, agreeing that we wouldn’t get together until tomorrow for Thanksgiving. There was an unspoken acknowledgement that we both could use some time to decompress.

Bart called to thank me for inviting him to Thanksgiving at Papa’s, but he decided to spend the day with his brother and family.

“I didn’t know you had a brother, Bart.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not close. I haven’t seen him for a couple of years. But he called, so I said yes.”

Christmas and Thanksgiving—the holidays that shine a light on all the hidden corners of family dysfunction! I thought about the opposing forces at our own table tomorrow. A man with Mafia ties sitting down with a police officer; a scared woman confronted with a large noisy group; a gay man among what, I assumed, was a convocation of straights; a woman alone, surrounded by family and lovers; a father and his daughter’s lover. There were so many ways that our meal could turn into a verbal brawl or an icy silence. I couldn’t control any of it, so I decided to soak in the tub with my face slathered in a pumpkin mask—how seasonal!—that my stylist assured me was appropriate for “older skin.”

Adriana called to update me on Thanksgiving at the Mulcahey residence. She proudly informed me that she helped Magdalena make the dressing and even stuffed the bird, but wore gloves because it was yucky to put her bare hands into a turkey. “Angie,” she said in a quietly tense voice, “Mrs. Conti called me to let me know that I can take the admission tests for UWM in December and start classes in January. I can live in the dorms at first, but I’ll be older than most of the students and I’d love to find someone to share an apartment near campus. Josif left me twenty-five thousand in the account he mentioned in his…letter.” She swallowed. “I’m going to accept it, if it’s legal. I want to finally start on a nursing degree and bring some good out of all this horror. Do you think that’s okay, to use the money that way?”

“I think that is absolutely okay, Adriana. I’m so proud of you.” We set a date to meet after the holiday and wished each other Happy Thanksgiving.

Afterward, I started on Christmas cards. It kept me from dwelling on the what-ifs of my relationship with Wukowski. As I signed cards and addressed and stamped envelopes, a sense of wellbeing wrapped around me like a comfy old shawl. Each of those cards represented a friend or family member.

For a moment, I stopped and thought about all the new people who’d come into my life this year. Those I met on the Belloni case—Bobbie, Anthony and Gracie Belloni and their brood, Iggy and his wife, Marianne, Mrs. Lembke. Those I met during this investigation—Adriana, Spider, Bram and Mad Man Malone, Lily, Professor Kolar, Colonel Lewis. I didn’t know if they would stay in my life, but they were people I was glad to know for even a short time.

And of course, Wukowski. When we met this summer, I had no idea that, by November, I’d again be saying “I love you” to a man or hearing him say it to me. Perhaps he wouldn’t stay, either. It scared me, but not enough to back away. He was worth the risk. We were worth the risk.

***

Thanksgiving morning dawned sunny and cold, with the likelihood of clouds and snow later in the afternoon. Papa’s house would be warm with cooking and people, so I chose a muted orange silk turtleneck and almost-khaki wool blend pants. I could toss a rust-colored pashmina over my shoulders if I got chilled. I didn’t forget Angela’s Thanksgiving gift to me last year, a hand-painted macaroni broach intended to resemble a turkey. I’d wear it for the joy of her smile. My underwear drawers did not contain anything as tacky as holiday-themed panties. A peach silk charmeuse bra with smooth cups that wouldn’t show under the turtleneck and matching French-cut panties would be comfortable while working in the kitchen or playing with my grandchildren. I took a quick shower—the bruises were mostly yellow and fading—and dressed.

There was no need to eat. Aunt Terry would have food out all day, including breakfast munchies for the early birds. I packed my offerings into a bag, suited up for the cold, and headed outside.

Amazingly, there were no reporters waiting. Apparently, even newshounds celebrate Thanksgiving. I drove to Papa’s house and parked the Miata on the cement pad next to the detached garage. Aunt Terry met me at the back door and divested me of the bag. Papa kissed me on the cheek and wished me a Happy Thanksgiving. Then he headed for the living room and the Journal-Sentinel’s holiday edition. The Packers-Lions game started at twelve-thirty. Until then, the big screen TV would remain off. The meal was planned for four, but family and guests were invited to watch the game, too. With munchies and hors d’oeuvres, no one would go hungry waiting for the turkey.

“So, Angelina,” Aunt Terry said, after we put my food away and settled at the kitchen table with coffee and Danish, “what is new with you and Detective Wukowski?”

I collected my thoughts. Was it too soon to tell the family that I was in love? The phrase rankled a bit. “In love” was for those in the throes of infatuation. I loved and was loved, but there didn’t seem to be a word for that.

“We’re taking it a step at a time.” I didn’t mention love. It was too new.

“And the case? Very disturbing, what Mr. Zupan felt compelled to do. May God forgive him.”

“Petrovitch terrorized him for years with threats of disclosure and then had his wife murdered. I think God will take that into account.”

“May it be,” she said.

Soon we heard the sounds of cars pulling into the driveway. Emma and John arrived with Angela, who rushed over to me. “Nonna, you’re wearing my pin.”

“Of course,