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

comes in handy for a gay man in a straight world. “Shall we?” He gestured to the office meeting room.

I lugged in Hank’s duffel bag and my briefcase and set them on the table. Then I went over the case notes with Bobbie. His running commentary made me smile. Mrs. Rogers was a “nasty battleaxe,” Augusta was “a feisty old dear,” and Frank Jamieson was “good-hearted, but naïve.” When I described Doris and our interactions, he nodded and murmured, “Recovering addict. Cautious, but sharp. I bet she knows more than she said.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. She trusts Frank, to a degree, but I think she’ll always try to stay away from legal entanglements.” I explained about finding the paper with the S-Mail login, and Spider’s take on Hank’s precautions. “Without the password, we’re probably SOL.”

“Hank wanted this to be found, Angie. But he wanted to be sure it was found by someone who would know what to do with it. Someone savvy.”

I nodded.

“So it stands to reason that he left the password where it could be found, too.”

“I guess we could impound the car and have it stripped,” I said.

“No, I doubt he would use the same hiding place for both. Too simple.” Bobbie picked up the duffel bag. “What about this?”

“I went through everything at the shelter. I left Hanks’s clothes for them to use, but I was very careful to examine them thoroughly—seams, pockets, tags. All that’s left are the toiletries he didn’t take to the nursing home with him.”

Bobbie donned latex gloves, opened the duffel bag, and spread the contents on the table before us. He pulled the bag inside-out, feeling and eyeballing every inch, but finding nothing except lint. Then he turned to the small pile of personal items. He shook the can of shaving cream and sprayed some onto his hand, smelling it and saying, “Yep.” The stick of solid deodorant got the same sniff treatment. He squeezed all the toothpaste onto a paper napkin, then used one of the razor blade cartridges to cut the tube open. “In the movies, they hide contraband in toothpaste tubes. Not this one, though,” he said.

Lastly, he picked up the razor and hefted it. “Feels right, but let’s be thorough.” He reached for his satchel, a cognac-colored leather piece that unzipped to lie flat. One side held a tablet computer, the other, tools in pockets. Bobbie extracted a multi-use gizmo and opened it. It had more gadgets than I could figure out, but one was a miniature set of pliers. Grasping the handle of the razor with the pliers, Bobbie squeezed until the handle broke. Then he peered inside and shook his head. “Empty. Too bad.”

I was extremely impressed with Bobbie’s shrewd examination of the duffel bag and contents. “That was very thorough,” I told him. “I’m not sure I’d have gone to those lengths.”

He sat, staring at the table. “There must be something we missed. He wouldn’t give us the login without the password.”

“Maybe it’s in whatever he took to the nursing home,” I said. “But he couldn’t know they would retain his things, once he died.”

Bobbie idly fingered the contents of Hank’s bag. Flipping over the deodorant, he turned the small dial at the bottom. “It’s hung up. And look at those scratches.” He used a small blade on his utility knife to pry the solid deodorant out and peered inside. “What is that?” he muttered. With the tiny pliers, he reached inside the empty container and removed a small clear capsule, like something that would hold medication, less than two centimeters in length, with a white object inside. “Look at this, Angie!” His voice shook with excitement.

“Is there anything printed on the outside?” I asked.

After examination with a magnifying glass from his satchel, Bobbie shook his head.

“Try to open it without destroying the capsule,” I told him.

Bobbie gently twisted and then pulled on it. His fingers, though slender, were too big to effectively grasp it. “I think I can cut around it without slicing into the contents,” he said. When I nodded, he went to work. In a few seconds, a tightly rolled paper lay on the office table.

“Is it glued or taped?” I asked.

“Doesn’t seem like it. Let’s see if I can unroll it without damage.” A tiny tweezer from his all-purpose utility tool got the process started. I carefully held the end of the small scroll as he pulled. It opened to about two inches, but it was only a quarter inch in width. We stared at the characters that were inked on it: 0//1’/u^^@|2c

Bobbie snapped a picture of the scroll while I carefully held it open. “It’s strange,” I said, “but at least it’s not twenty characters long, like his login. It’s certainly not something you could guess.”

I considered using it to log in to S-Mail, but decided that doing it under Spider’s supervision would be the wisest course of action, in case some other security measure was in place. I didn’t want to take the chance of losing the message altogether.

Bobbie agreed, and placed the capsule and the paper in a plastic bag and then into his satchel. After I made a quick call to Spider at his Delafield farmhouse, Bobbie started to pack up for the trip.

“Bobbie,” I said, “I’m very impressed with your insight and your level of preparedness today. I knew you took the internship seriously, but I had no idea how far you’ve come. Well done!”

He looked up and grinned. “Thanks, Angie. I’m learning from the best. Bram York seems ready to tackle anything!” His expression changed to a sober look. “And the best part is, he doesn’t treat me differently because I’m gay. I wondered if that would happen, him being a former special ops macho-type guy.”

“That’s good to know,” I told him. “As a woman, I had the same concern when I first met Bram and Spider, but they took me seriously and only pulled rank when their special expertise made it appropriate. I couldn’t