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

of silence hung between us. “I don’t get it, Angie. Why did he go to those extremes?”

“I’m not sure. I do know that on the night he died, an aide disappeared from the home. I have no idea if there’s a connection between that and Hank’s death.”

She rose and walked away, then turned abruptly back. “I need to understand this. I need to be able to explain this to the kids. I can’t live the rest of my life not knowing why he left and what he was doing while he was gone.”

“I get that, Marcy.”

“So I want to re-open the investigation. Not just routine searches and stuff. A real investigation that tracks backwards from where he died, back to me and the kids. I can’t pay you until the insurance money comes in, though.”

“No worries on that,” I told her. “Hank’s disappearance is my only failure to locate. It bothers me on that level, and because I want you to have closure. An overused word, I know, but it applies.”

She wobbled a bit and sat back down. “Yeah. It applies, alright.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Bobbie and Spider waiting in silence outside the door. “Let’s print three copies of the email,” I said. “One for you, one for the insurance agent, and one for me.”

She complied and the printer across the room started to hum. “Should I close it now?” she asked. Her trembling hand made the mouse wobble as it hovered over the Delete tab.

That’s the last communication she’ll ever have with her husband, I thought. Small wonder if she’s ambivalent about it. “If you don’t mind, I’d like Spider to run some algorithms to be sure there’s nothing hidden in the message.”

She nodded and I went to the door to tell them it was okay to come back in.

Spider and Bobbie took a minute to read the message. Bobbie whispered to me, “Cold, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, while Spider’s fingers flew. The message changed from English prose to what appeared to be a long set of programming statements, with words like ‘headers’ and ‘encryption.’ Spider scrolled up and down the document, selecting and highlighting from time to time, then turned to me. “No secrets here, Angie. It’s just an email.” He clicked the icon to print the screen of gobbledygook and another copy of the plain email. Retrieving the papers from the printer, he looked them over, nodded, and handed the copies Marcy printed to me. “Marcy,” Spider said, “you understand that, once the message is closed, it’s gone for good?”

“Yes,” was her single-word response. Her chin rose in resolution and she reached past him. With one click, the message was gone forever. The moment of strength passed and her head sank slightly as she asked, “Should I notify them to terminate the account?”

I patted her shoulder and said, “Let’s wait and see if there are any incoming messages from others who knew Hank through S-Mail, now that his obit was published.”

Walking to the tray of Magda’s goodies, Marcy poured a cup of coffee. After a long swallow, she said, “Thank you, all of you, for what you’ve done to help me discover what happened to Hank. And thank you, Angie, for telling the truth about what you learned in Stevens Point. I needed to know. Should I come in and sign a new contract for your services?”

“No need. The case was never closed.” I looked at Bobbie. “Marcy wants us to uncover what happened to Hank after leaving her and before he died.”

He nodded. “Good for you,” he told her.

“Hank’s bequest will help me find out what he was hiding from me. Ironic, isn’t it?” A tiny smile crossed her lips.

How heartening to see that she could find some sort of redemption in the situation. She will get through this and come out stronger, I thought.

Spider spoke. “It’s probably symptomatic of my inner paranoia, but there are a lot of questions surrounding your husband’s death, Mrs. Wagner. I’d feel better knowing that everything’s buttoned up at your house. Why don’t I come over in a couple days and put new locks on your doors? Maybe assess the windows and outside perimeter.”

Marcy’s eyes widened. “Is there a reason for me to worry about our safety? I could take the kids to my mother’s.”

Spider reassured her that his caution was based on his experience in the security business, not on any real concern. I knew that it also came from his years in special ops. A man doesn’t survive that kind of duty without a strong inner sense of when something is off-kilter.

As Marcy searched her purse for car keys, she exclaimed, “Oh, I almost forgot,” and brought out a baggie. “This is the Nivea shave cream Hank uses … uh, used. You know, for fingerprints?”

“Jeez,” Spider muttered. “I forgot, too. I’ll need to get a set of your prints, Marcy, for elimination purposes. It’s all electronic. Takes just a few seconds.”

After thank-yous from Marcy to each of us, I walked her to the door. With a hug, I whispered, “I’ve gone through some rough patches, Marcy, and needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to rant to. You can call me anytime.” Her eyes glistened as she turned away. So did mine.

Chapter 8

Burglars know there's more than one way to skin a vault. — James Chiles

We gathered around Spider’s big desk. Bobbie looked at him. “Are you worried about her safety?”

“Not exactly worried. It’s just … there’s something going on under the surface. Something that involved her husband. I want to be sure it doesn’t spill over onto her or the kids. I didn’t uncover much on him when I went digging. Birth certificate, school records, driver’s license. He was so … ordinary. Way too ordinary for what he did the past five years. There has to be something in his past to account for it, something that pushed him over the edge.”

“Maybe he simply didn’t want the responsibilities of a wife and family,” I