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

funeral home to get some details about Hank Wagner’s remains.” The office phone rang. “Excuse me, Bobbie. This might be them. AB Investigations,” I said into the phone. “Angelina Bonaparte speaking.” Boe-nah-par-tay. Being Sicilian-American, I give it the true pronunciation, not the Gallicized version that the Little Corsican used to gain acceptance into French society.

A deep male voice said, “Ms. Bonaparte? This is William Figgs of Figgs Funeral Home and Crematory. Julie Ann told me that you called concerning Mr. Henry Wagner. May I ask how you are related to the deceased?”

I put the call on speaker for Bobbie and handed him a steno book and pen. “I’m a private investigator. Mrs. Wagner hired me to find her husband after he disappeared. That was almost six years ago. I didn’t expect to find him dead.”

At that, he gave a little huff. “No, indeed.”

“Mrs. Wagner is very distraught. They lost contact when Hank left Milwaukee. I thought if she knew about his last days, it might console her. And their children.”

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry to hear that he left a family. The facility where he died, Padua Manor, didn’t inform us of that.” He paused. “They often call us when the deceased has no relatives or means of burial. Figgs has a long tradition of compassionate care for those who are unable to pay.” That sounded like a PR line. “I hope his wife won’t be upset with the arrangements. It was done with the best intentions. I assure you, this was entirely Mr. Wagner’s fault for not informing the facility about his family.”

Their reluctance to provide information earlier made sense now. It was a CYA strategy.

Mr. Figgs continued. “But then, nothing about this death has been normal.”

Bobbie and I shared a glance. “How so?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “Perhaps you should call his attorney. Frank Jamieson handled some of the post-funeral arrangements, including the obituary. After the cremation.” His voice held tones of exasperation. “Frank told me that his client gave him detailed instructions about the timing of the events.”

“Can you give me a phone number for the attorney’s office? I’m sure Mrs. Wagner will want to contact him.”

“Certainly.” He read it off.

I asked where Hank’s cremains were located, in case his wife wanted them interred in a family plot.

“I’m sorry to be unable to give her that solace,” he said. “When we donate our services for indigents, we don’t include private burial. Or an obituary.” Again, he sounded exasperated. “There is a lovely chapel at Eternal Rest cemetery here in Stevens Point, and it includes a communal columbarium. Mr. Wagner’s cremains are there. I hope she’ll understand.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to know of your kindness,” I said. “May I call you if there are any other concerns?” He gave me his private number.

After disconnecting, I brought up the death notice on my computer and read it once more. “This is very strange, Bobbie. Hank Wagner’s been in hiding for years, and I mean deep. My initial search for him was as thorough as I could make it. He’s the only locate I ever failed to find. And then he arranges for an obituary? Papers don’t run them for free.”

“Ange, you’re making too much of this. Maybe there was insurance money and Hank set it up so Marcy would have something for the kids. Not everyone is a scammer, girlfriend.”

Even taking that into consideration, the announcement of Hank’s death was unnatural. “If he wanted to convey information or money to Marcy,” I said, “this was a strange way to do it. What are the odds she’d find out from an obit in a Stevens Point paper? Why wouldn’t he leave a letter to be delivered to her upon his demise? The attorney would see to that. ‘Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.’”

“Is that one of your librarian quotes?”

I had a master’s in library science, but realized after the divorce that the part of the job I loved was research. It served me in good stead as a PI. “Hamlet,” I told him.

Bobbie waved it off and his eyes sparkled. “Let’s detect,” he said, with glee in his voice.

“I need to let Marcy know about this and get her to sign a release of information form for the lawyer.” Would it be hurtful or helpful for her to hear this? I called her and explained about the obit. “I spoke with the funeral home director. They don’t usually run an obituary for an indigent person. They told me that Hank arranged for it before his death, by leaving funds with a local attorney.”

“Do you think that was his way of letting me know? So I wouldn’t keep wondering and waiting?”

“Could be,” I said. “It makes a strange kind of sense. I’ll call the lawyer next, but he may insist on a personal statement from you, authorizing me to act on your behalf. If I email it to you, can you print and sign it, then scan it and email it back to me?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’m at Quad-A. I needed to let Larry know that I would have to take time off.” Her voice cracked. “I told the kids this morning. That was really hard. Please, Angie, find out what happened.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” I told her.

Then Larry’s twangy voice came on the line. “Don’t sweat the expenses, Angie. I’m good for them.”

After some shuffling and mumbling, I heard Marcy say, “I insist. It’ll be an advance against my wages.”

Once I got the signed form, I called Attorney Jamieson. His secretary told me he was in court for the morning, but she would see he got the message when he returned to the office. I explained that I would fax them a form authorizing him to speak with me on behalf of a client, and we hung up.

While Bobbie ran some pending background checks, I tended to paperwork. Getting invoices out in a timely manner and keeping good records are essential for a small