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

held a baby doll in her arms and just sat there, rocking and crooning to it. Pretty sad, especially when you contrast it with Augusta. Angie, I love that lady! What a hoot! She had on a peacock blue knit dress and four-inch leopard print heels. She’s got it goin’ on, for sure.”

I smiled at the image. “So she’s well? No one caught on to our dark-of-night break-in?”

“Augusta didn’t think so. I met Mrs. Meanie—Rogers—when I got there. What a hatchet face! Then Augusta and I went to a local steakhouse for lunch. I got her prints and the paperwork that Karl handled. Hopefully, Spider can find a few minutes to run them for us.”

“The family comes first. But knowing Spider, he’ll start PDQ.”

“Yeah, I bet he will.” With an audible intake of breath, he said, “I’ve got news on the Jorgensen front, too. I canvassed some merchants in the area of Eames Court and Eames Road. The counterman at a local diner remembered Jorgensen. Said he was a regular, eight-thirty nearly every morning since October. Always got a twelve ounce Columbian with room for cream. Not half-and-half. He asked for the real stuff. He stopped coming in sometime in early January.”

“Eight-thirty correlates with the end of his shift at the Manor.” I opened the Application document. “He applied there in mid-October. So around that timeframe, I suspect he got lodgings somewhere nearby, but he kept his room at A Place To Lay Your Head. And that’s why I wanted to talk with you.”

“About his room at the shelter?”

“Indirectly.” I paused to organize my thoughts. “I had a couple of breakthroughs today.” First, I told Bobbie about my Marriott scam.

“So the phone number’s in service and he answered?” Bobbie asked in an excited voice.

“I’m not certain it was Jorgensen, but a man answered. We’ll keep that in our hip pocket for later. Here’s the real reason I called. I may know who the dead man was.”

“Who?” Bobbie tended to speak in short phrases when his tension level ratcheted.

“Well, there are times when I’m doing an ordinary task, like driving or showering, that I have an inspiration about something that’s been roiling around in my head. This afternoon, as I cleaned the condo and did laundry, I got a sudden flashback to my interview with Doris at A Place To Lay Your Head. She mentioned that Jim was friendly with a homeless man, Willie, and that Willie was pretty bad off. She also told me that she hadn’t seen Willie in weeks.”

“Aha! So Willie is the guy who died as Jim Beltran at Padua Manor.”

“There’s no way to know for sure. I checked the patient files on Beltran that we smuggled out of the Manor. They didn’t contain a picture or prints.”

“Too bad.”

“It is. However, I called Doris to ask if she’d seen Willie recently. I scammed her a bit, told her that Jim’s wife wanted to do something to help Willie. No luck with a recent sighting, but when I wondered if anyone else on the street might help, she told me about Margie and Spike.”

“Spike?” His voice was a mite hesitant.

“No worries. Margie’s a panhandler and Spike is her dog—a pit bull who’s, according to Doris, a sissy.”

Bobbie laughed. “All bark and no bite?”

“Exactly! The interesting thing about Margie is that she has a regular route, based on the day of the week. So I’d like you to locate her and see what she can tell you about Willie and Jim. Show her Jorgensen’s picture. Who knows? She might have spotted him on her rounds. Mention Doris Appleberg and have some cash ready. Margie takes tips.” I gave Bobbie the Saturday afternoon itinerary. “Don’t rush back unless you have plans.”

“Not tonight. Steve’s away on a buying trip.” He paused. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll also check listings for rooms for rent in the area of Eames.”

“Good idea. Dress respectable, but on the edge of poverty. That’s how Augusta described Jorgensen in street clothes.”

“Okay. Should I call you after I talk to Margie?”

“Please do. I’ll be waiting to hear what you find out.” After that, I would contact Marcy and let her know about yet another of Hank’s hidden identities.

With the call ended, I felt at loose ends. No Wukowski to cook for. No Wukowski to meet for drinks or a meal. No Wukowski to …

Get a grip! I chastised myself. I gathered cleaning products for the bathroom and set off down the hall.

Chapter 14

Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows. — Pope Paul VI

My cleaning frenzy ended around seven. I checked the fridge. A grocery shopping trip went to the top of my to-do list. I called for delivery pizza, took a quick shower, and popped Pride and Prejudice into the DVD player. I owned the 2005 BBC miniseries with Colin Firth and the 1940 film with Lawrence Olivier, as well as Lost in Austen, Death Comes to Pemberley and Bridget Jones’s Diary. Yes, I am a P&P devotee, but I draw the line at the film with zombies!

Tonight, I chose Greer Garson and Lawrence Olivier. Although the film is spoiled by a rewrite in which Elizabeth and Lady Catherine reconcile, the interactions between Garson and Olivier are so deliciously witty, Mr. Collins is so disgustingly servile and Lady Catherine de Bourgh is so atrociously snobby that I manage to overlook the “happy ending.”

The pizza arrived. I put two slices on a plate, poured a glass of wine and pressed Play.

Just as Lizzie and Darcy’s rapprochement seemed established at the Netherfield garden party (substituted in the film for the Netherfield ball), my cellphone played “Cabaret.” I pressed Pause and answered. “Bobbie, I hope you’re not still working.”

“Nope. I just got a room at the B&B. Nice place! And Devon is such a sweetie. He put a plate together for me when he found out I worked for you.”

“Aw. Give him my regards.”

“I gotta tell you, I don’t think it was all about you!”

“Uh …