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

in front of it, ran the perimeter of the property. A fenced pool took up a large part of the area, and a play set, only slightly smaller than something you’d find in an amusement park, was established in another corner. The drapes covered French doors that opened onto a wooden deck, with flower planters dotting the railing. Comfy-looking padded lounge chairs occupied one side of the deck, while the other was dominated by a huge stainless steel gas grill. Looking out, I pictured the kids playing on the swings and mom relaxing on one of the chaises while dad grilled bratwurst or Italian sausage. A nice family moment.

I turned back to the room and the image melted away, replaced by the reality of a man accused of murdering his girlfriend while his pregnant wife waited anxiously at home. Life can really suck. “Looks okay, I can’t see how anyone can get close enough to hear us without trespassing,” I said as I sat down next to Gracie, opened my briefcase and removed pen and paper, prepared to take notes. “Where are the kids?” I asked Gracie.

“They’re with Tony’s mom. I didn’t want them exposed to all this.”

I nodded, and glanced at Tony, who had the grace to look ashamed. “Good idea,” I responded. “This should all blow over when the reporters realize there’s nothing happening here and they won’t get any good footage. Just keep the curtains and shades drawn and stay in the house for a couple of days. Reporters have short attention spans.” I looked at Bart and waited, silent. This was his show to run.

He reflexively reached into his suit coat pocket for a cigarette, then realized where he was and slowly withdrew his hand. This meeting should last one hour, tops. Bart couldn’t make it any longer without a smoke. He cleared his throat, loosened his tie, and let his eyes scan a paper that lay on the table in front of him. “I was just going over your report, Angie.” I nodded. “Umm, anything in particular you want to say?” he asked me, shifting in his seat and clearly uncomfortable.

I did a quick mental review. Bart must be wondering how much Gracie knew and didn’t want to give away any of Tony’s secrets that she wasn’t aware of. Time to cut to the chase. Laying my pen down, I looked Tony square in the face and asked, “Tony, is Gracie aware of all that we discussed? Is there anything you’ve told me or Bart that you want to keep private from her?”

I heard an intake of breath from Gracie. After a short count of three, which seemed to stretch on for hours, Tony shook his head. “I told her everything. No more secrets. None.” Gracie exhaled.

“Good. That’s how it should be.” I kept my voice level and unemotional, like a second-grade teacher reinforcing a correct answer from the class. It was one of those lose-lose situations, where Tony could accuse me of being judgmental and Gracie could take a ‘my husband, right or wrong’ stand if I came down too hard. And I didn’t want to cause Gracie any more stress than necessary. Still, I was damned if I would praise the guy for his minor attempt to do the right thing. I transferred my gaze to Bart.

“Okay, then let’s get down to business.” His long fingers, fat like sausages, drummed on the surface of the table, part of the typical Italian-American dining room ‘suite’—dark wood, ornately carved, with matching high-back chairs, sideboard and hutch. It brought to mind the many family meals at my father’s table. Would Tony’s kids have only a single parent when they sat down at the table, like me? I couldn’t let that happen, not if he was really innocent of the murder.

“Here’s how the cops see it.” Bart stared past Tony, his gaze fixed on the drapes. “Tony’s been carrying on with Elisa Morano, but now he’s ready to end the relationship. He goes to her apartment, in a building that he owns. As the owner, he has keys for all the units. Maybe he plans the murder, or maybe they fight. Either way, the gun goes off and Elisa is dead. Tony panics and leaves. The cops just need to put a bow on it and carry the package into the courtroom.” Tony started to object, but Bart raised a pudgy hand, palm forward, kept his gaze on the drapes, and continued. “Here’s what really happened. Tony wants to break off with Elisa. He drives to her apartment and calls her, but no answer. He waits in his car in the building parking lot. A guy comes out to toss some stuff in the dumpster. Tony sees no one else and no one sees him. After waiting for a half hour, he leaves and drives around for a while, trying to decide what to do next. Then he comes home and he and Gracie talk it out. In the middle of the night, the cops show up and arrest him.” He stopped and looked at Tony for the first time since his monologue began. “That about it?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Tony,” Bart continued, “I can’t lie and tell you this will turn out right. There’s just too much circumstantial evidence against you. We need a solid alternative, someone else with at least as good a motive, and the same means and opportunity you had. Without that, we’re sunk. I can offer the DA a deal, but that means you’ll have to plead guilty to a lesser charge, maybe involuntary manslaughter.”

Gracie started to cry, quietly at first, then louder. Tony sat, frozen to his chair, staring at Bart as if the reality of the situation just struck home. Neither man moved.

“Gracie,” I said, “it won’t help to break down now.” I put a hand under her elbow to help her rise from her chair. “You show me where everything is and I’ll make us a nice pot