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

was reluctant to start the interview process while in the midst of this crazy case.

I attached the hose to the vacuum and bent down to attack the fuzz and dust under the bed. Perhaps we’d get lucky and Bobbie would discover Hank’s whereabouts as Karl. Or maybe Spider would uncover the identity of the man who died at Padua Manor. The hum of the machine changed to a high-pitched whine. So that’s where Wukowski’s missing black sock went! I detached it from the hose, replaced the floor attachment with the small brush, and gave the baseboards some attention.

The man who died and was cremated as Jim Beltran entered hospice, which meant he had to be seen by a physician. So he was truly terminally ill and his death was natural, unless the attending physician conspired with Hank to kill him before his time. I doubted it. How did Hank engineer getting another man into Padua Manor under Jim Beltran’s name?

The dryer buzzed and I left the bedroom to attend to the load. The satisfying snap, smooth, and fold routine soothed my mind. I carried the stack of linen to the closet and settled bath towels, hand towels and washcloths into their assigned places. Before I could close the door and turn away, Doris Appleberg’s words rang in my head. There’s this homeless guy, Willie, that most of us tried to help. He wasn’t interested. But Willie and Jim, they got along. I’d see Jim talking to him, out on the sidewalk where Willie would beg. Haven’t seen the old wino for quite a while.

That must be the answer! I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a paper and pen, and began to write. Hank arranged for Willie to get care and eventually die at Padua Manor as Jim Beltran. It benefited Willie, whose illness had progressed to the point where he could no longer live on the streets, and it helped Hank. With Willie’s death as Jim Beltran, Hank’s obituary would be published by Frank Jamieson. Anyone nosing around about Hank’s death might come across the trail to Jim Beltran, as Bobbie and I did, and end the search once and for all. Hank would be free to live as Karl Jorgensen, or take on yet another new identity.

Which left Marcy in limbo, married to a man whose death was a fiction. She could not legally remarry or collect the insurance money she needed to raise their kids. Exposing his death as a lie might result in his dying in reality at the hands of whomever he ran from. And why did he run? Was Henry Wagner another persona? Who was this man, really? Until we had those answers, Marcy would be unable to live her own life without fear or constraint. That was simply unacceptable.

I pushed the vacuum into the closet. Cleaning could wait.

After interviewing Doris Appleberg at A Place To Lay Your Head, I’d transcribed the shelter information into my cellphone contacts. Doris was my link to both Jim Beltran and Willie. I tapped in the shelter number.

“A Place To Lay Your Head. Doris speaking.”

Her voice was as formidable as her grip. I held the phone away from my ear. “Doris, this is Angie Bonaparte. Frank Jamieson introduced us on Monday and we talked a bit about Jim Beltran.” As I spoke, I felt a small shock at the realization of all that had happened in the space of six days.

“I remember. How ya doing?”

“I’ve been fine. And you?”

“Just ducky.” After a short silence, she said, “I guess this ain’t a courtesy call. Did Jim’s missus have an issue with our keeping the car?”

“Oh, no. She was happy that you could get some use out of it. But Jim’s wife was touched by knowing that Jim was close to Willie. She’d like to do something to help him. When we talked, you mentioned that you hadn’t seen Willie for some time. I’m curious if he might have surfaced again.”

“That’s nice of her. But sorry to say, I’ve not seen hide nor hair of the guy.”

“Is there anyone else I could talk to about Willie? Another person who lives on the street?”

“Well, maybe Margie and Spike. Margie’s always got an ear to the ground, and she useta buy Willie breakfast at Webb’s now and then.”

“Are she and Spike a couple?” Despite Bobbie’s self-defense lessons with Bram, I didn’t want to send him alone to find someone called Spike.

“Ya could say that.” She snorted. “Spike’s the dog, a pit bull who’s a real sissy. Wouldn’t hurt no one, but he looks mean and that helps keep Margie safe.”

“Any ideas where I might find Margie and Spike?”

“They got a regular panhandling route. You up here today?”

“No, but my associate is. Do you think she’d talk to a man?”

“Long as he tips her. Tell him to mention my name.” She gave me Margie’s Saturday stops and times. “And wouldja let me know if ya find Willie? He looked pretty bad last time. Maybe he’s in the hospital.”

“Possibly. It’s worth a shot. I’ll call around.”

“Tell Jim’s missus not to give the old coot money. He’ll just spend it on booze.”

“Good advice.”

“Don’t think he’s got anyone. I’d pay a visit if I knew where he was.”

“I promise to call if I locate him. Thanks for your help.” After I disconnected, I paused to reflect on the unusual community of the down-and-outers. Doris would be sad to learn that Willie was dead, as I suspected. To have someone sad when you die was more than many could say.

I texted Bobbie to call me when he could talk and finished vacuuming. Afterward, I brewed a cup of mint tea, which has the fortunate effect of being both soothing and invigorating. As I settled on the couch and surveyed Lake Michigan’s steely blue waters from the bank of living room windows, my cellphone played the title song from Cabaret, Bobbie’s favorite musical.

“Hi, Bobbie. How are things going?”

“Super, Angie. Well, mostly super. First, I met Augusta and Myrna. Myrna