Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set by Nanci Rathbun (surface ebook reader TXT) 📗

me down the short hallway, I placed a hand lightly on his sleeve to detain him for a moment and whispered, “Can you meet me after work? Say five-thirty, at Blu in the Pfister?”

He nodded. “Love to.”

Jane Dunwoodie’s office was a surprise. I expected the typical business impersonal, but it was all traditional cherry furniture and molding, and light sage green walls decorated with tasteful prints. On the credenza behind her desk were photos, in silver and bronze frames, of what I took to be her family—she, husband John and two children. Most of the pictures were obviously posed studio portraits, the only exception being a little girl and cocker spaniel puppy. The door opened and the “Dragon Lady” entered, with a cup of tea in hand. I expected her physical presence to match the impressions of formidability that Tony and Bobbie had given me, and was surprised at the five-foot nothing, small-boned woman in a boxy beige summer suit who moved toward me. It’s not often that I tower over an adult.

Jane didn’t give me the opportunity to enjoy it. She seated herself behind her desk, carefully placed her cup on a small woven coaster and motioned me to a chair on the opposite side. A rather comfortable-looking set of upholstered chairs graced the opposite corner of the room. Okay, I thought, it’s going to be all business.

“You wanted information about Elisa Morano?” she asked me.

I explained my role as Bart Matthews’ investigator. “Anything you can share that will help us with Elisa’s personal life will be greatly appreciated.”

She frowned. “This is a business. Elisa worked for us, we didn’t socialize with her. I don’t think we can help you.” She folded her hands on her desk and sat, silent and stiff.

“Then let’s talk about work. How would you characterize Elisa’s job performance?”

“It was satisfactory. We didn’t have any problems with it.”

That didn’t correspond with Elisa’s comment to Tony. “Apparently, Elisa thought otherwise. She seemed to feel that you were not happy with her work.”

The pupils of Jane’s eyes contracted, and she leaned forward. “Who told you that?” The words were clipped, angry.

“It’s based on statements that Elisa made. It came up in the course of other interviews,” I hedged.

She pursed her lips into a thin line and wrinkled her nose. Incoming lie. “I can’t imagine why. Her three- and six-month reviews didn’t reflect any problems. Of course, there were times when I had to correct her, but that’s only to be expected with a new employee.”

I decided to cut to the chase. “Did you know that she and Anthony Belloni were seeing each other?”

“Seeing each other! That’s a nice way of phrasing it. More like screwing each other, wasn’t it?” She glanced at a picture on her desk, one with its back to me. The vulgarity was in sharp contrast to her ladylike prim appearance and the room’s solid respectability.

“Did you know about it?” I repeated in a monotone.

“Not when it started, but then he began to meet her for lunch and pick her up after work. I told her that I didn’t appreciate that kind of behavior from my staff, that Tony was married and had children, for God’s sake.” Her eyes drifted back to the frame on her desk.

“How did she react?”

“She told me to mind my own business, that what she did outside the office was her own affair.” Jane snorted. “Affair was an apt description.” Her hands tightly clenched and released, the knuckles turning alternately white and red.

Jane Dunwoodie, I decided, was a very angry woman. Was her anger due to Elisa’s behavior? Or because Elisa dared to defy Jane? “I suppose Elisa was right, in that regard,” I said. “Her carrying on outside the office didn’t really affect her work. I don’t admire her morals, but I don’t think it would be her employer’s business.”

A flush rose above the Mandarin collar of Jane’s white blouse. Her unappealing features, too strong for such a small face and body, were alarmingly highlighted. “Don’t misunderstand me, Ms. Bonaparte. I don’t make it a practice to inquire into my employees’ private lives. But I can’t stand by and see a valued client degrade himself and rip his family apart.” She took a deep breath. “Elisa Morano was a selfish witch.” Her lips trembled and I knew she wanted badly to use the B-word. “She never gave more than she had to, to get what she wanted. I saw it on the job—she wouldn’t stay five minutes past closing unless we paid her overtime. And I saw it with Tony. I don’t know who killed her, but as far as I’m concerned, they did the world a favor.”

“That’s quite harsh, Mrs. Dunwoodie. Are you saying that Elisa deserved to die?”

“I’m saying that I don’t regret her demise.” She stood and gestured toward the door. “I’m afraid that’s all the time I have to discuss this.”

I walked around the corner of Jane’s desk, deliberately invading her territory under the guise of shaking hands, so that I could see the picture on her desk. It was just another family photo, apparently from several years ago. Jane’s dark helmet of hair was looser, lighter. She smiled sweetly as she gazed at the baby in her arms. Every mother has pictures of those moments when life is so perfect that your heart feels ready to burst.

I shook Jane’s hand and turned to leave the office. Pausing in the doorway, I asked, “Can I get a listing of the dates that Elisa worked here, and her salary?”

“Why?” she asked.

“It’s just routine,” I responded. “We’ll want to compare her pay to her bank account, to see whether she had any money coming in that can’t be accounted for.”

“Tell Bobbie to print out her records for you.” She picked up her phone, dismissing me without another word. I gently closed her office door behind me.

Back in the outer office, I told Bobbie that Jane had authorized me to get copies of Elisa’s records. Bobbie was