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

told me. Her tone was flat, unemotional. “Ya just gotta move on. It’s better that way.”

I thought for a moment. I wanted to acknowledge the pain that her words exposed. “Sometimes that’s true, but not always. He was a good husband and father, before he skipped out. They can’t get over him doing that.” I sighed. “It’s an overused word, but they want closure. And his wife wants to get any personal effects that he left, even if they’re trivial and worthless. It’s not about value, it’s about having something that was his.”

Her hand went halfway to her chest, then stopped and dropped back to her lap. I guessed that she wore a locket or had something precious tucked into her bra. She exhaled. “Most of us have addictions. Booze, drugs, stuff we battle every day. When Jim told me about the cirrhosis, I was surprised. Far as I know, he didn’t go to meetings and he sure didn’t have the beat-down look. Don’t mean it wasn’t a problem, though. Lots of folks put on a good front, until they finally fall apart. Maybe he didn’t want to fall apart in front of his family.”

“I can see that,” I said. “But is it possible to never be over the line if you’re really an alcoholic? He was the ideal family man—go to work, come home, have supper, play with the kids. There didn’t seem to be time for him to drink.”

She looked at me, a long hard look, then she turned to Frank. From the corner of my eye, I saw him give a slight nod. “The thing about Jim,” she continued, “he was real quiet. Friendly, but he didn’t open up about himself, ever. Like he had a secret he would take to his grave.” She snorted. “Come to think of it, I guess he did.”

With a glance away, she added. “He had a good heart, though. There’s this homeless guy, Willie, that most of us tried to help. He wasn’t interested. But Willie and Jim, they got along. I’d see Jim talking to him, out on the sidewalk where Willie would beg. Haven’t seen the old wino for quite a while. Goes to show, doesn’t it?” She slapped her palms on the table and rose. “Okay. I got a bag put away, stuff he left here when he went to the nursing home.”

She led us into a back hallway and then a mud room, where tall metal lockers took up one wall, each with a heavy padlock. I surmised they wouldn’t be compromised by an average set of metal snips.

“We store residents’ stuff here for a year, if they leave it behind.” She extracted a key from the large ring that was secured to her jeans with a chain. “Here’s Jim’s locker.” Inside, there was a large olive drab duffel bag, the kind the Army issues. Doris grabbed the long strap and lifted it onto a work table. She took another, smaller key from her ring and opened the lock on the duffel. “There ya go,” she said, stepping back.

Frank motioned for me to proceed, so I unzipped the bag. It was only half full. Doris and Frank watched as I emptied the contents of the duffel bag and examined the clothes—pockets, linings, seams, tags.

Doris interjected, “They’ve all been washed already.”

“Just being thorough.” I counted three flannel shirts, one pair of jeans, ten boxer shorts and ten sets of socks. No shoes. I looked at Doris. “Did he take other clothing to the hospice center?”

“Don’t think so. He left without anybody seeing him.” She grimaced. “I think he didn’t want any hoo-haw, ya know?”

I nodded and turned back to the other contents of the bag: a can of shaving cream, a razor and some spare blades, a comb, toothbrush and toothpaste, and a container of deodorant. “Odd that he wouldn’t want his toiletries,” I said.

“They always give ya those little ones at the hospital or home,” she told me with a shrug.

“They do, don’t they?” I picked up his razor. “But this is a nice razor, not one of those disposable ones. And the replacement blades aren’t cheap, either. Seems odd that he’d leave it here.” I set it back on the table. “Doris, Jim’s will specified that the shelter should get his belongings, except for the contents of his car. Can the center use them?”

“You betcha we can use the clothes. But not the other stuff. We can’t give out used personal items.”

I scooped the toiletries back into the duffel bag and zipped it closed. Maybe young Henry would want it someday. Turning back to Doris, I said, “Is it possible for us to look over the area where he slept?”

“Guess so, but I cleaned it out myself. All his stuff was in that bag.” I stood silent for a few seconds and she sighed. “Follow me.”

She marched back to the front of the house and up the commanding stairway, turning left at the top. Frank whispered to me, “I bow to the mistress of the silent pause.” I grinned at him.

The men’s wing housed seven bedrooms and a bathroom. Doris stopped outside the door of the farthest room, which faced the back of the house. “Here it is.” She motioned us in and stood in the doorway.

Two beds and two lockers occupied the space. I looked around the room and the single closet and didn’t see anything out of place. “I guess that’s all, then, Doris. Thanks a lot for your help. Marcy will be disappointed, but I’m afraid that’s nothing new to her.”

“Yeah, well, there’s one more thing I should oughta tell ya. Jim had this old beater car, a ’79 Honda Civic. It’s got over three hundred thousand on it, and it’s a rust bucket, but it runs. He signed the title over to me the day he left here. ’Course, I had no clue it was his last day. He just wanted to have his affairs in order, he told me. He said