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

the motive. As far as opportunity goes, you’re the ones who can ask that question.”

Iggy piped in. “I see you already eliminated the Dunwoodies.”

“Not on the strength of their dinner alibis. Did you check with some of the others at those meetings? Maybe one or both of the Dunwoodies never showed up. Or ducked out early. I’ve investigated enough cheating spouses to know that business meetings are a favorite excuse to get out of the house at night.”

“You’re right,” Wukowski agreed with me, for once. “We haven’t tried to validate the Dunwoodies’ alibis yet. But my take on it is that if one of them was the killer, they either had to be in collusion or they did it together. It’s barely possible for one of them to leave their meeting, rush to Elisa’s, kill her and get back to the ICC before the other one’s meeting let out. But it’s not likely.”

“Okay,” I said, “then let’s look at Alan and Marcia. Any alibi for either of them?”

Iggy checked his notes before he answered. “Nope. Marsha says she stayed at the office, working late on a big project. The security guard’s log shows she clocked out at ten-thirteen. He says she worked late a lot that week and the log backs him up. He doesn’t remember the specific night. So she could have faked the entry the next day. She could’ve even stayed late that night, but left the building by a back door and come back after killing Elisa. Alan claims that he was home alone, until Marsha got in around ten-forty. No phone calls, no one at the door. He watched some design show on HGTV. When she got in, he went to bed. He heard her in the shower, but then he fell asleep. They share quarters, but they’re not involved sexually.” He paused. “At the present time.” He looked up. “No way to validate.”

If I tell them what my instinct is saying, will they discount it? It was important to me to be perceived as professional, not some lady detective who was only good for digging up marital dirt. They’d been straight with me so far, so I plunged in. “What does your instinct tell you? I mean…” I hesitated, then went on. “Look, don’t ask me why. I just can’t see Alan or Marsha in that room, shooting or stabbing Elisa.” I stuck out my chin. “And don’t crack jokes about female intuition.”

Iggy started to snicker. Then he looked at my face and held up his hands, palms forward. “No, no, don’t get me wrong, Angie. I’m not laughing at you. It’s Ted.” Wukowski reddened. “C’mon, Ted,” Iggy said, turning to his partner, “you’re always talking about your gut says this and your gut says that. Isn’t that intuition?”

“Yeah, well…” Wukowski muttered, his eyes cast down. “I’m usually right, aren’t I?”

“Correct,” Iggy affirmed. “Darned near one hundred percent.”

I looked from one to the other. Wukowski intuitive? I’ll be darned! And Iggy confirming it? Actually relying on it? Incredibile, as Papa would say. I decided to put him out of his misery. “Okay, given that we both have gut instincts, what’s yours telling you about Marsha and Alan?”

“Not guilty,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes. “Not involved.”

“And the Dunwoodies?”

“There’s something there, I just don’t know what. I can’t put my finger on it.” He flipped back through his notebook. “When I interviewed her, she said that Elisa deserved to die. Let me find it.” He scanned the pages, then stopped. “Here. Here’s what she said. ‘The family is the most sacred of God’s creations, Detective. Anyone who threatens the family threatens God’s order in the world. I can’t feel sorry for her. God took vengeance on her for her sins.’” He looked up. “Pretty nasty, huh?”

“It just doesn’t jibe with her behavior at the funeral, though. The flowers, the card, the tears, her having to go home afterwards.” I shook my head. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand. Is she that cunning? Or that crazy?”

“No way to tell,” Iggy chimed in. “But we can do a little digging, see if she disappeared from the RCCLU meeting before nine.”

I told them about my lunch plans with Bobbie and our reservations at La Scala. “The staff there knows me, and Papa was a big contributor to the building campaign. They might open up to me more than they would to the police.”

“Yeah,” Iggy said. “See what you can find out. We can always go back later and talk to anyone who won’t cooperate with you, put some official muscle behind it.”

“Be careful, Angie.” Wukowski rose and looked down at me. “Be careful.”

“Your gut telling you something, Wukowski?” I asked flippantly.

“Maybe.” He shut his notebook and tucked it into his breast pocket. “I want you to call me after lunch. Check in. Okay?”

Great, I thought, now I have two wardens—Bertha and Wukowski. Of the two, I knew who I preferred, and he didn’t have a German accent.

Chapter 24

Do not let a flattering woman coax and wheedle you and deceive you; she is after your barn.

—Hesiod

The maître d’ seated us at a table in the center of the dining room. I took this as an indication that we were worth seeing. Bobbie certainly was, in his designer suit, shirt and tie. I hoped I was up to standard, too. We ordered—salade niçoise and iced tea for me, pasta alfredo for Bobbie. While we waited, I glanced around the room. “See anyone you know?” I asked Bobbie.

“Other than some politicians and celebrities, no.”

“I meant, anyone you know personally?”

“That dark-haired waiter, over in the corner, looks familiar. I think I’ve seen him at a bar or two.”

“Excellent. Now we just need to find a way to talk to him without causing a commotion.”

“No problem.” Bobbie left the table and ambled toward the vestibule, as if heading for the men’s room. I watched covertly, but didn’t see any sign that he’d made contact with the waiter. A minute