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

“Spider, this can wait! I don’t want you to take any chances with those babies or your wife.”

“It’s okay, Angie.” Magda’s lilting voice broke in. “You’re on the car speaker, so Len’s hands are free. Joey’s asleep in back. I haven’t even had a contraction yet.”

“Well, okay, if you’re sure. Hold on.” I pulled my tablet out of my bag and logged on. “Got the email.”

“Open ID first,” Spider told me.

It was a photo for a picture ID. The face that stared back at me was Hank Wagner’s. He wore scrubs. “What the heck!” I held the tablet up for Bobbie to see. We exchanged startled glances and Bobbie pulled over onto the shoulder.

“Exactly,” Spider said. “Hank was Jim Beltran at the shelter. Then he got a job at the nursing home as Karl Jorgensen.”

“But why?” I asked.

“I’ll leave it to you to figure that out. We’re at our neighbor’s house.”

“Let me know when the little ones arrive. I’ll say a prayer for a safe delivery and healthy babies. In fact, I’ll text Aunt Terry to start her prayer chain rolling.”

“Oh, thank you, Angie,” Magda interjected. “Len has mentioned her. Your aunt’s prayers mean a lot to me.”

“Later,” Spider said and the call ended.

Bobbie voiced what I was thinking. “Hank was one devious guy. I wonder how many more identities he had.”

“My head aches trying to keep track of the ones we already know about, Bobbie.” The adrenaline rush letdown had kicked in and my head truly did ache. I felt exhausted and shaky. Rooting in the door pocket, I found a squashed granola bar inside a still-intact wrapper and took a few bites. When the wobbles receded, I turned back to the tablet and opened the file labeled “Application.”

“He applied at Padua Manor in October and they hired him that week,” I told Bobbie. “He worked there six days a week, until the day he disappeared. I just ran a quick search for the address on Jorgensen’s application at Padua Manor. Fake, but the street name is close enough to a real location that he could claim he wrote it down wrong, if challenged.”

“Like I said, he’s a cagy one.”

“Word!”

Bobbie snorted.

“Hey, my grandchildren keep me current! Especially the boys. Those two know way too much.” A few keystrokes later, I said, “The phone number is in service. I’ll have to check who it’s registered to when I get to the office. Same with the email address, which is Hotmail, by the way. No ultra-secure S-Mail for Jorgensen.”

“You can’t run the query from the car?” Bobbie cast me a wry grin. “I’m kinda anxious to catch this guy.”

“No, really?” I gently mocked. “I couldn’t tell! As for running a check now, remember, it’s a pay-by-query database. I never use my cell or wireless for anything that requires a credit card.”

“Gotcha.”

I gave the 1-Month Eval file a quick perusal. Karl got high marks for attendance and punctuality, but Mrs. Rogers noted that he “spent too much time with residents.” That burned me! Most of them were old and isolated, and needed all the human contact they could get. I read the line aloud to Bobbie.

“Woman’s a witch, and that’s probably unfair to witches,” he said.

The Beltran folder held intake records for a white male. I couldn’t interpret all the medical jargon, but it was clear that he was an end-stage liver failure patient. His height corresponded to Hank Wagner’s, but he weighed much less. That would be normal for a dying man, though. I pulled up the picture of Hank Wagner that resided on my tablet. He had blue eyes. Beltran’s were listed as brown.

I closed the tablet and tucked it back into my satchel. Without further data, speculation was valueless. Leaning back, I closed my eyes.

After a glance my way, Bobbie suggested I relax and take a nap. I gladly complied, ruing the difference in stamina between twenty-something and fifty-something. Ah, well as Mr. Wordsworth said, “The wiser mind mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.” With that, I slept.

Chapter 10

Rare is the human being, immature or mature, who has never felt an impulse to pretend he is someone or something else. — George Pierce Baker

After promising to call the moment I heard from Spider, I dropped Bobbie at the Lake Drive estate where he rented a luxurious, if small, flat over the owners’ multi-bay garage. My own condo welcomed me when I opened the door and stepped inside. I peeled out of the night’s dark clothes, set the clock for two p.m., and slipped into bed and oblivion.

When the buzzer sounded, I reluctantly forced myself up. Any more sleep and I’d be awake the whole night. The single cup coffeemaker shouted for me from the kitchen even as my bed whispered, “Angie, come baaack.” Coffee won out.

As I gulped down what I was sure would be the first cup of many that day, my cellphone played the opening bars of ‘Secret Agent Man.’ “Hi, Spider. What’s the news?”

“Magdalena and babies are fine. Gabriela was born at 4:52 and weighs six pounds, eight ounces. Daniel arrived right after Gabriela, at 5:10 and weighs five pounds, eleven ounces. The babies only went to the NICU for an initial exam. They’re healthy enough to room in with Magda. I am one happy, exhausted daddy!”

“That’s wonderful! Do you need help with Joey?”

“Nah, his best preschool buddy’s mom is keeping him for now. I’ll go over there later, after I’ve rested up a little, and bring him to Waukesha Memorial to meet his new brother and sister.” He chuckled. “Joey will be able to say Danny and Gabby, but Gabriela might be a little challenge.”

I could hear it now: Gab-wee-ella. “What about help when Magda and the babies come home? Do you have relatives nearby?”

“Nope.” His tone made it plain that the topic was off the table. “But we hired a baby nurse for the first two weeks. She’ll be there during the day. I don’t