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

“Nah, no more than usual. Horton’s been ridin’ him for results on the bike trail murders, which got nothin’ to do with ya. Not to worry. Ted’s the best an’ Horton knows it. Jerk just likes to flex his teeny muscles. Have your legal beagle call me directly.” He handed me his card. “I’ll fix the statement for when Horton’s out on one of his long lunches with some dickhead politician.”

“Thanks, Art. I won’t forget it.”

We all shook hands and Bram and I decamped to his car.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I want to go back to the office. I’ll call for a car there, then contact Bart Matthews before I head over to Marcy’s house.” With a glance at my phone, I said, “Only two-thirty. What a day!”

Chapter 26

Life is like an onion. You peel it off one layer at a time, and sometimes you weep. — Carl Sandburg

Bram insisted on walking me to the office door and checking the premises before he left. I arranged for a 4-wheel drive Ford Escape to be delivered in an hour. Before calling Bart, I group-texted Bobbie and Spider. All OK with U and Tim?

The reply from Bobbie was instant. All fine. What about U? Still at MPD?

No. Capt Horton got on my case. I left. I’m calling Bart next. Meet later?

U bet

Spider’s reply came after fifteen minutes. All good here. Come to the farmhouse when you’re free. Meet the twins and talk.

The thought of holding the babies made me smile for the first time that day. I’ll bring the meal, I texted back.

Lifesaver, was his response.

I placed the call to Bart. Bertha barely had time to start her raspy greeting before I interrupted. “I don’t want to be rude, but this is Angie Bonaparte and I have an emergency that involves the police. I need to talk to Bart right away.”

“What kind of emergency, Ms. Bonaparte?”

“The kind that can get my butt thrown in a cell. Get him on the line. Please.”

“Hold.”

A couple of beats later, I heard Bart cough. “What’s up with you and the police, Angie?”

“The hypothetical man we talked about? He was shot dead at a meeting with me this morning. The cops are playing hardball.” I heard a gasp and it didn’t sound like Bart. “Bertha, are you still on the line?”

“My apologies,” she said. “I wanted to be sure I didn’t drop the call when I transferred.” With a click, her end disconnected.

“She’s getting weirder every time I call,” I told Bart.

“Forget Bertha. What went down today?”

With Hank dead, I felt free to give Bart the details of the Severson identity. I didn’t disclose the Beltran or Jorgensen links, though, since I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to hire Bart and could only count on his silence if he represented me.

As I played out the details of the Holy Hill encounter, Bart lit up and sucked in some smoke. After going over the Horton debacle, I took a breath. “So I need legal representation, in case this jerk tries to ramrod me again.”

“I’ll be happy to act on your behalf, Angie.”

“That’s the thing,” I said. “You’re the only defense lawyer I know, and I’d trust you in any other circumstances. Forgive me, but I have to be honest. Somebody likely followed me to Holy Hill by putting a GPS tracker on my vehicle. Only three people knew what I was working on: you, Papa and Hank’s wife, Marcy. I doubt that Marcy would know how to hire an assassin.” The tension of waiting for Bart’s response tightened my gut and a headache started in my right temple. I kept silent, waiting for him to make the next move.

The seconds crept along in agonizing silence before he spoke. “I would ordinarily be very offended, Angie, but I see your dilemma. I can only assure you that I have said and done nothing concerning the matter. Nothing. However, if you have pen and paper, I’ll give you a name. She has no Family connections, so you’ll have to educate her about the situation. Still, she’s very good.”

I heard the sincerity in his voice and recalled the other two cases we worked together. At no time during the Belloni or Johnson cases did I doubt his abilities or his trustworthiness. Every time I peeled away a layer of the Wagner case, there’d been another layer to expose, to the point where I was doubting myself and those who’d always supported me.

My suspicions died away. The breath I’d been holding whooshed out. “Bart, don’t bother. I can’t believe it was you. And I’m damn sure that Papa wouldn’t put me in the middle of Hank and the South Philly mob. I’ve been working the angles on this too long.” I grabbed my coat and pulled out Penske’s card. “Art Penske gave me his direct number. Call him to schedule a time for my statement and let me know. When my rental car arrives, I’m going to see Marcy. And once this case is wrapped up, I’m booking a flight to a beach somewhere and have the cabana boy bring me a drink every two hours, until this mess stops consuming me.”

“Good plan,” he said. “I’ll get back to you.”

***

After filling out the paperwork for the rental agency, I took a moment to text Wukowski. Will I see you tonight? Need to talk.

Sorry, not tonight. Can I come over in the morning, around 9:00?

Not tonight? After the blow-up with Horton, I expected he would be more concerned. Must be the bike trail case, I reasoned, hoping this meant there was a breakthrough. Tomorrow, I texted him.

It was time to face the hardest item left on my crisis list. I called Marcy.

“The kids are with my mom,” she told me. “I didn’t want them here when the police arrived.”

“Good idea,” I said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

***

Marcy opened the door before I could knock. Her eyes were red, but she didn’t look ready to break down. “Come in