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

a bottle of Leinie’s in hand. “But let’s not embarrass the men.”

In short order, I set the table and we sat down to eat. When Bobbie popped a bite of salad into his mouth, Joey gave a horrified look. “Mista Bobbie, we didn’t say ouw blessing!”

I knew quite well that Bobbie was not a person of faith, but he didn’t challenge Joey. “Sorry, buddy. I forgot.”

It took less than thirty minutes to finish the meal. Seeing a single row of lasagna left in the second pan, I was glad that I’d ordered two. The men had indeed done justice to the dish.

Spider turned to Joey and said, “Time for lights out, son.”

“Aww, Daddy …”

“No negotiating, young man.” Then he looked to Magda and said in a tender voice, “No negotiating for you either, mi corazón. Let’s get you and the babies bunked down for a few hours.”

“Yes,” she said with a yawn. “Please excuse me for leaving you so early, and thank you, Angie, for the lovely meal.”

Joey made the rounds of the table, shaking hands good-night or hugging.

I felt privileged to rate a hug. “Don’t forget that the Caped Crusader is there to watch over you, Joey,” I whispered in his ear. “Sleep well.”

While Spider attended to his family, I put the leftover lasagna into a container and slipped the two remaining garlic breads into a plastic storage bag. Bobbie cleared the table, Bram loaded the dishwasher, and Tim used the stick vacuum to clean up the detritus around Joey’s chair. Then I shooed the men into the living room while I made a pot of coffee. With mugs, spoons, creamer, sugar and the carafe on a tray, I entered the room in time to hear Tim say, “I doubt they got you on camera, Bobbie.”

As Spider’s feet and legs came into view on the staircase, my phone played Ian Hunter’s The Truth, the Whole Truth, Nuthin but the Truth. “Hello, Bart,” I said, retreating into the kitchen.

“We need to be at homicide at nine tomorrow morning. I can pick you up at eight-thirty.”

Crap. I’d have to reschedule with Wukowski. “No, I’ll meet you there.” I was hoping that I could get Wukowski away from his desk for a conversation afterward.

“Alright. See you then.”

I poured myself a cup of java and settled in a large rocking chair near the stone fireplace.

Bram opened the conversation. “Let’s debrief. We’ll start with the peripheral actors and then move on to Angie.” He nodded to Bobbie.

“It went pretty much as planned, until Tim rushed me out. I arrived at the church around ten to six, parked and went inside.” He held up his hands. “I wore gloves the whole time I was in the car, so my prints won’t be on it.”

“Good thinking,” said Spider. “It’s a burner car. Can’t be traced.”

Burner car? I pictured Spider as the American version of James Bond’s M, always with a new gadget or ploy.

“That place is huge,” Bobbie continued, “and cold! I wasn’t the only one inside wearing my coat and gloves. I felt I had to remove my hat, but I kept my head down. It didn’t seem odd, what with all the praying. There were cameras up near the altar, so I can’t be sure I’m not on their security tapes.”

“I checked,” Spider said in a flat tone. “You were only on camera when you entered. Good job keeping the Homburg in front of your face until you moved into a pew. After that, I lost you. Their surveillance is mostly for protecting the valuables on the altar from vandalism, so it’s set to record the center and not the periphery.”

“How’d you manage to check the recordings?” I asked.

“Need to know basis,” was his quiet response. “Go on, Bobbie.”

“There was a lot of up and down, a hymn or two, and a short sermon on keeping the faith in the midst of doubts. I watched the others in the church, the way you showed me, Angie, moving my eyes, but not my head.” He grinned at me and I nodded approval. “When the others went up for communion, I stayed on the kneeler with my face in my hands, like I was overcome with emotion. After the Mass ended, the priest waited at the back door to greet people, but I remained seated. When I heard the priest approach me from the center aisle, I got up and went out via the side door to the hall. He didn’t follow me. By then, it was six forty-five. I thought about going back to the car, but it might have looked odd, me sitting there in the cold.”

His face grew a little excited. “There’s a room off the hallway, they call it a chapel. All along the wall, there are crutches and walkers and even a couple folded-up wheelchairs. The sign says people leave them there after a miraculous healing.” He looked around the circle. “It’s hard to believe.” Then his eyes rested on me. “You used to be a Catholic, Angie. Was that a scam?”

Shrugging, I said, “I don’t know, Bobbie. I won’t say it’s impossible, but I don’t have proof that it’s real, either.”

“Well, the chapel gave me a good excuse to linger, so I went in there and pretended to pray some more. Just as I began to think I’d better leave, Tim called my cell and told me to get the hell out.” He laughed. “Not a good turn of phrase, Tim, me being in a holy place. Anyway, I scurried out and met Tim on the steps. He hustled me down the driveway and into his truck.”

“Good report,” said Bram. “Spider?”

“Bram and I got to the staging site around five-thirty. We split up, me in the woods above the path, with one of the sleds, and Bram farther back, keeping surveillance on the area. I saw a monk come out of the monastery that’s attached to the church and walk down the stairs to the path. Something about his stride made