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

“No need to tiptoe around it. I was present when he was killed. Executed, by a branch of organized crime in Philadelphia. It was truly sad, Frank, a real waste of a good man’s life. I wanted you to know that.”

I heard him swallow. “That’s rough,” he said. “I’m glad you told me. And I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks. The other reason I called is to ask you about A Place To Lay Your Head. I’m wondering if there’s something Doris has mentioned that they could make good use of.”

“They need a new furnace, but that’s not an insignificant amount of money, given the size of the building.”

“How much do you estimate it will cost?”

“Nearly five thousand for a high-efficiency model.”

“Get them the best. I’ll cover it.” Or rather, the South Philly Mob’s guilt money will. “Another thing that’s on my list. I talked with Doris about a homeless man, Willie Parsons, during the course of the investigation.”

“Yep. I know Willie. He’s been in court a few times on vagrancy charges. Haven’t seen him around lately.”

“Willie passed away at Padua Manor. It’s a convoluted story, with Hank at the center. Since you represented him legally, I believe your dealings are covered by attorney-client privilege, even after death.”

“True,” was all he said.

“Do you want to know the whole story, or would you prefer to stay on the edges of it?”

He exhaled. “Tell me.”

As I gave him the short version of the Tommaso-Hank-Jim-Karl saga, Frank made the occasional “I see” and “Jeez.” When I explained about Hank working as Karl Jorgensen at Padua Manor, and that he managed to get Willie admitted under Hank’s name, he stopped me. “That wasn’t in the papers,” he said.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way, for the sake of one of the residents who helped me. It was a mercy, really, because Willie was in end-stage liver failure and got decent care there. His death was the reason that Hank’s obituary made it into the Stevens Point newspaper and initially got my attention.”

“What a tangled web we weave …”

“… when first we practice to deceive,” I ended the quote. There were so many silken threads to that web, threads that led to Hank’s death and my estrangement from Wukowski. It might have been better if Hank had just continued to live under the radar. But no one can undo the past. We can only live into the future. “I wanted you to know the truth, Frank. And to thank you for being a friend to Hank.” I thought back to my original assessment of him. “I misjudged him. He was a good man.”

Chapter 37

Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. — A. A. Milne

I was wrung out when I got back to the condo. Still full from my lunch at Tre Rivali, I decided to do what I told Bobbie. When I unscrewed the cap on the bubble bath, its citrusy aroma brought back the memory of Wukowski joining me in the tub barely three weeks ago. I replaced the cover and reached for an unopened bottle of homemade milk and honey bath lotion that Emma and Angela made as a Christmas gift. I needed to hold onto other memories.

With a glass of B&B resting on the low teak table next to the tub, I sank into the soothing water and closed my eyes. The next days, weeks, months and years would test my mettle, I had no doubt. I’d been alone after the divorce, but that was a time tinged with anger and resolve to find myself. I accomplished that. I created a good life outside of marriage, a life that felt fulfilled and happy, bookended by my business and my children and grandchildren.

Then came Wukowski. A difficult man, to be sure, but an honest, honorable, loving man, for all that.

I wouldn’t collapse. I fought too hard for my life and I couldn’t backtrack. My friends, my family, my work—those would be my consolation and my support until two years, six months and twenty-five days had passed. The day was noted in my calendar. Time to stop counting.

Seneca wrote, Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life. This interval would be my separate life. I took a sip of B&B. Angular bangs would look good on me, I decided. I thought Wukowski would like them, too. Someday.

THE END

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nanci Rathbun is a lifelong reader of mysteries–historical, contemporary, futuristic, paranormal, hard-boiled, cozy … you can find them all on her bookshelves and in her ereaders. She brings logic and planning to her writing from a background as an IT project manager, and attention to characters and dialog from her second career as a Congregationalist minister. (Her books are not Christian fiction, but they contain no explicit sexual or violent scenes, and only the occasional mild curse word.)

Her first novel, Truth Kills, was published in 2013. Cash Kills, the second book in the series, was published in November of 2014. The third Angie novel has a working title of Deception Kills, with plans to publish in 2017.

A longtime Wisconsin resident, Nanci now makes her home in Colorado. No matter where she lives, she will always be a Packers fan.

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