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

PI license be employed by a private investigator. I worked for Waterman long enough to learn the ropes—significantly shortened since I already had a degree in library science and understood the tenets of research. Then Susan and I decided to lessen expenses by sharing office space. Most of Susan’s clientele are of Japanese descent, but lately, she’s expanding her base and has made inroads into the Hmong and Vietnamese communities, as well as starting to get referrals for Caucasian clients.

Once in the outer office, I whispered, “Did you do the books for her parents’ store?”

“Yes,” Susan whispered back, “and there was no income there that would account for millions in the bank.”

“Poor kid. Not only to lose her parents, but then to find out that they lived a lie all those years and lied to her, too.”

We heard Adriana stir a bit and went back into the conference room. She was huddled under the throw, but her eyes seemed alert. I pulled a chair over and sat close, again taking one of her hands. This time, it was warm. I felt I could go a bit further.

“Adriana, what did your attorney tell you about the money? He must have some sort of explanation.”

“He said that my papa had sworn him to secrecy, and that, as Papa’s attorney, he couldn’t tell me anything, even though Papa is dead now.” She stopped, closing her eyes again.

I mulled over the legality involving attorney-client privilege. Usually, an attorney cannot divulge information about a client, even after death, unless there was suspicion of fraud or intent to commit a crime. But in the case of wills, there was wiggle room, because the beneficiary had the right to understand the testator’s intentions. However, that only applied if there was a dispute. Disputes over wills generally involved someone wanting more, not less. I needed to check my understanding before I met with Petrovitch.

I was ready to tiptoe back out when Adriana spoke. “If your papa and mama had behaved that way, would you want the money?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I replied. My father was a typical Sicilian father—protective, hard-working, and fairly chauvinistic about what his only daughter, and only child, should know. But to hide that much money while pretending that we didn’t have enough for me to even go to college—no, no way would Papa do that to me. So how would I feel if I found that out? “If you don’t accept the bequest, will you have enough to live on?” I asked her.

“Not for long. I have about three months’ savings in the bank. And the store income has been steadily declining for years. I doubt I can salvage much from it, maybe a year’s worth of living expenses—if I’m frugal. Of course, I’ve always been frugal, so that’s not a burden that I’ve never carried before.”

“We don’t know if the money came from legitimate sources or not, so I think it’s premature to decide to discard it. Let’s take a small step back and consider options. If you decided to keep it, or some of it, what would you want to do? You mentioned college. Would that appeal to you now?”

Her eyes sparkled a little. “I’ve always felt that God intended me to be a nurse. But they said we couldn’t afford the schooling.” She stopped for a moment. “It’s not too late, is it? People who are much older than I am go back to school.”

“Yes, they do, and no, it’s not too late, if that’s what you want. So maybe keeping the money to finance your education and give you a start in life is not such a terrible thing, even if we’re not sure yet where it came from.” I smiled at her obvious excitement at that idea.

“Maybe not. Of course, I don’t need that much. But there are lots of ways to put it to good use. I could talk with Father Matthieu at our church. He works with a lot of charities. He would know.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time, Adriana. First, are you still living in the same house?”

“Yes, but I’ve been staying with my friend, Jennifer, since my parents were killed.”

“I think it might be time for a change of residence, at least until we know more about the money and about the persons who were involved in the killings.”

“You think I’m in danger?” Her face, already pale, lost its remaining color.

“Probably not. But it won’t hurt to be cautious, especially since nothing was taken in the burglary.” She nodded. “What did Attorney Petrovitch tell you about drawing on the funds?”

“He said there’s an account for living expenses and gave me a checkbook for it. He also said there are several other accounts for investments and things, that aren’t so…um, liquid?”

Susan nodded. “That means that the investments aren’t as easy to convert to cash in a hurry.”

“I see,” Adriana responded. “Well, there’s a quarter million in the account I can draw on. I’ve never been that liquid in my whole life!”

We all giggled a bit. It was good to hear Adriana joke in the midst of her turmoil. It made me realize that she might be plain, but she had spunk. That would carry her far.

Now I needed to get her to a safe place. I called Anthony Belloni, aka Tony Baloney, a real estate mini-mogul who owed me big time for saving his butt when he was suspected of murdering his girlfriend, Elisa Morano. The dog had a wife and four kids, now five. I swallowed hard over working on his defense team—my own ex pulled the same shopping-around routine on me—but ultimately, Tony didn’t deserve life in prison for infidelity. He agreed to rent a nice two-bedroom apartment to Adriana, furnished and ready to move in. The building manager would be waiting whenever we arrived.

While Adriana filled out paperwork for me, Susan and I conferred. She would start digging into the accounts that Attorney Petrovitch disclosed to Adriana. I would take Adriana