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

I entered her room. I sat down in the hospital recliner. Its wipe-off surface felt sticky on my bare thighs and, as I shifted slightly, her eyes popped open. “Gracie, how are you feeling?” I asked.

“Fine. But tired. You know.”

I nodded. “I still remember. How’s that little angel?”

“Oh, Angie, she’s just beautiful. Dark curly hair, long eyelashes. Did you see her in the nursery?”

“Not yet. I decided to stop and see you first. Want to take a stroll?” I helped her get out of bed, only too aware from her careful movements that the stitches probably were pulling. We walked slowly, arm in arm, down the hallway to the nursery, where the babies were lined up in their little plastic bassinets. Baby Angelina was indeed adorable, small wisps of dark hair peeking out from her pink knitted cap. “Oh, Gracie, she’s a beauty all right.”

“We named her after you, Angie.”

I sucked in a breath and turned to Gracie, feeling tears well up suddenly. “No kidding?” She nodded. “I’m so honored.” I wanted to ask why, but Gracie beat me to it.

“Angie, when I wanted to just give up and run away, you gave me hope. I don’t know if things will ever be the same between me and Tony, but I know from knowing you, from seeing what you’ve done with your life, that I can handle it if they’re not.” She clasped my arm. “And I really believe you’re the one who’ll get to the bottom of this business with Elisa and clear Tony’s name.”

I hugged her and we stood there, both of us a little weepy and emotional over the new life that lay in front of us.

When we got back to the room, I handed her the greeting card. “I didn’t know what you and Tony would need or want, so if any of this isn’t right, just say so. You won’t hurt my feelings!”

She opened the greeting card and the three business cards slid out and onto the bed sheet. The first was for a paid suite at the Pfister, any weekend they cared to make the reservation. The second was for my services as a babysitter for that weekend, with the notation, “Children and Grandchildren References Available.” And the third was for a couple’s massage at a local spa.

“Oh, Angie, it’s wonderful,” Gracie said as she reached over to hug me. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome,” I told her. “Just one thing, when you take that weekend, be really careful about baby number six, okay?” I grinned.

“No way! No effing way!” Gracie exclaimed, then put her hands up to her cheeks as she realized the pseudo-cuss word that came out of her mouth. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve been spending too much time with Tony.”

As we laughed and talked new mommy and baby stuff, my mind circled around the Morano case. There had to be a way to prove Tony innocent. This would not be Wukowski’s number four, I vowed. No effing way!

***

Bobbie was home when I called. “I need to pick your brain,” I told him. “Can we meet for a drink?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Anything to get me away from Guy for a while.” He sounded desperate as he whispered into the phone. “He’s so needy!” His voice rose, so I assumed Guy had entered the area. “Let’s meet at Ed’s Tap. It’ll be private this early in the day.” Some mumbling in the background, then Bobbie’s voice. “No, it’s a business acquaintance. She might have a job lead for me. I’m afraid you can’t come. Just order a pizza and hole up for a while. I’ll be home by eight.” Then, “See you there, Ms. Engel.”

Engel? I had to look it up. Engel—German for ‘angel.’ Imagine, a guy with looks and brains! Too bad he’s gay, I thought. Then I remembered Wukowski and I pushed all else aside for a moment, reveling in the memory of his hands and his lips and his teeth—and he’d only gotten to my ears, neck and back. What would he be like in bed? Then and there, I was determined to find out, caution be damned!

Bobbie was waiting at the bar as I entered. I boosted myself onto a stool and looked at him. I still wore my yellow linen shift, the one he’d seen me in that morning. He, however, had changed from his dangerously cut-off cut-offs into a tan knit polo shirt, bright blue linen slacks, and sockless slip-on moccasins. Very trendy, on-the-river clothing. I felt slightly mussed and unfresh.

I ordered a glass of the usual.

Bobbie leaned close and almost whispered, “What’s up? You said you needed to pick my brain, such as it is. What do you need to know?”

“Bobbie, it seems that the Dunwoodie Agency has paid big money to Mrs. Morano, Elisa’s mother, as part of an insurance settlement. Did they cover you when you were an employee?”

“Well, not for free, but they offered me a good break on a term policy premium.”

“What was the face amount on the policy?”

“Fifty K. Enough for a nice send-off and enough left over to pay my Visa bill.” He laughed. “Was Elisa’s payout the same?”

“Nope. It was double. Maybe because she’d been there longer.”

“I don’t think so, Angie. She hadn’t worked there a year, and Jane told me specifically that all benefits would be reviewed at the end of my first year. Except salary, that was at six months.”

“Hmm. So why pay Mrs. Morano a hundred thousand, without her signing any papers, mind you? And why set her up with a job and a villa in Belize?”

“Sounds like someone is paying hush money, doesn’t it?”

“It sure does. And I’d give a lot to know why.”

“No idea. But Angie—” he leaned over and put his well-manicured hand on my arm— “why don’t we just verify that the payment wasn’t really for insurance?”

“How do we do that, Bobbie?”

“I’ll bet you money that they never changed the security code. Jane was always misplacing her keys, so she