Blood Kills by Nanci Rathbun (free novels to read txt) 📕

styled my hair, then reached into the underwear drawer. Carefully considering the contents, I realized with a start that my former fixation with sexy bra-and-panty sets had returned with a vengeance. Now that the long-anticipated reunion with Wukowski loomed, our game of “what’s under those classy clothes” beckoned. No time like the present, I decided, and selected a blush-pink silk charmeuse set to spice up the lightweight tailored tweed trousers and cowl-neck teal sweater. Sensible flats would have to be the order of the day, given the inevitable pools of water I’d be traversing.

It was too early to phone Bart’s office, so I retrieved the aforementioned paper from the outside hallway and settled down to read what passed for news these days. Malfeasance abounded, from politicians, police, and what seemed like every other organization in the city, county, and state—not to mention the country. I turned to the Green Sheet, located the daily crossword, and set to work. Admittedly, it was fairly easy, but it occupied my mind until nine a.m., when Bart would be at work.

***

“Law Offices of Bartholomew Matthews,” said a youthful voice. “Melinda Matthews speaking. How may I help you?”

The contrast between this greeting and the ill-tempered don’t-bother-me tone of Bart’s former administrative assistant was striking. I’d heard that Bart hired his niece after Bertha Conti’s abrupt departure in disgrace. Now if Melinda is only half as efficient as her predecessor, she’ll be perfect, I thought.

“Ms. Matthews, this is Angelina Bonaparte. I’m a private investigator. Bart and I have worked together in the past.” I felt the need to introduce myself since my last contact with Bart’s office was during the Wagner case that resulted in Bertha’s dismissal. Well before Melinda’s time.

“Please call me Melinda, Ms. Bonaparte. And I know who you are. My uncle will be very happy to speak to you. He’s always telling me about your joint exploits.”

“I see.” I let a moment of silence fall.

“Oh, please don’t worry that anything will ever be spoken outside this office. I know all about confidentiality. I used to work for a health clinic. But this is much nicer. No one’s dying here.”

You may think so, I mused, but given Bart’s clients, I’ll bet money that his office has seen its share of violence. “I wonder if Bart has an opening in his schedule today. I’ve been working with a woman who recently inherited a lot of money from a work associate after he was murdered. Now the police are freezing his assets, claiming they came from illegal gang activities. Not a Family matter,” I hastened to assure her. “Bratva. Russian organized crime.”

“Murdered? And Russians? Oh my! Let me check. And please don’t tell him I called him ‘uncle.’ He wants me to keep things on a professional level, but it can be hard to remember. One moment.”

She’s certainly more pleasant than Bertha, I thought during the wait, but I doubt she’s as organized.

“Angie,” came Bart’s smoke-ravaged voice, “I was about to call you. I need to see you and”—papers rustled before he spoke again—“Ms. Deborah Hill. As soon as you can arrange it. And before you ask, no, I can’t tell you more on the phone.”

What’s this about? I wondered, recalling that I’d made no mention of Debby when I texted him after finding Mick’s body. He shouldn’t even know her name. But it would do no good to question him now. He would follow his own agenda. “I’ll get in touch with Debby. The police think that she can be released from their safe house in a day or so, now that they’ve identified Mick as the villain of the piece.”

“I’ll be in court today and tomorrow. Let me send you back to Melinda to set it up for Thursday.”

“I appreciate it, Bart. The case of Debby Hill’s inheritance is more complex than I originally thought.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. But let’s leave that for our meeting. Tell me, is the MPD embargo still in effect?”

“Actually, they lifted it a few days early due to department personnel shortages.”

“And you and Detective Wukowski are…?” He let the question hang.

“We’re quasi together, but he doesn’t want me in the middle of this homicide investigation. For the sake of appearances, among other things. However, I see no reason not to help Debby, who happens to be a friend of my daughter and a fabric artist whose shop I’ve patronized.”

“Well, I can only wish you the best on the personal front.”

Knowing Bart’s dislike of change, I decided to put in a good word for Melinda. “Your new secretary has a good phone presence. Professional and friendly.”

“She’s helpful,” he acknowledged, “and the clients love her. Knows how to keep quiet about office business. But she takes twice as long as Bertha to get things done.”

Bart loved lists, so I presented a defense of Melinda with one. “First, she hasn’t worked for you for thirty years,” I told him. “Second, she probably has a life outside the practice, unlike Bertha. Third, Bertha’s methods were obsolete before Melinda was born, from the youthful sound of her voice. Maybe you should consider modernizing.”

“I have a computer and just upgraded to a secure smartphone, with help from Spider. How much more modern can I get?” he grumped.

“Maybe load your files and contacts on that fancy computer. Little things like that can make time management much simpler, Bart. It’s the difference between running a Google search or using a card catalog.” My former librarian’s mind did miss the challenge of finding information among the drawers of index cards, but online search engines certainly sped up the process of locating data.

“That’s what Melinda tells me,” he responded. “I’ll think about it, but I have a client waiting. I’ll transfer you to set up the appointment.”

“Okay. And Bart, Debby is very concerned about the future of the Arts Galleria. She’s retained me as her agent to help her navigate the muddy waters.”

“More like bloody waters,” he rasped.

“Sadly true. But if it comes to it, would you consider