Blood Kills by Nanci Rathbun (book club reads .TXT) 📗

representing her in any possible criminal dealings? I know it’s outside the scope of your usual clientele, but I’d take it as a personal favor.” I waited, well aware that Bart was in my debt for uncovering a leak in his legal office that led to a man’s murder.

“If it does indeed come to that, I will be at your service, Angelina.”

The use of my full first name made it clear that we had veered into the area of an unspoken contract. “Your support is most appreciated, as always. Thank you.”

“Not at all,” he assured me in a tone a shade lower than normal. “Between friends, there is no debt and therefore no need for thanks.”

So Bart’s representation would clear the books between us. I considered it a very fair exchange.

Chapter 39

Opportunity makes a thief.

Sir Francis Bacon

Debby called me early on Wednesday morning. “Angie, the police think it’s okay for me to go home and resume my normal activities. I’m so relieved.”

“That is good news,” I told her. “Do you and Bleki need a ride?”

“No, but thank you. Detective Wukowski will take us. He wants a chance to look over the house, just to be on the safe side. That’s so considerate of him, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” I said, glad of his innate sense of wariness. When the call ended, I would notify Spider to deploy his security detail. “I hope you’re not going into the shop this week.”

“Well…”

“I know you want to get caught up on things, Debby, but I feel uneasy about your being there after the other owners close up and leave. And knowing you probably have a backlog of tasks to take care of, it will be tempting to stay late. At least that’s what I do when I’ve been away for a while.”

With a sigh, she said, “You’re right. After Detective Wukowski leaves, I’ll get a nice salad from Culver’s and hunker down at home with Bleki. Angie, you cannot believe the amount of junk food I ate at the safe house. How do those officers manage to fit into their uniforms?”

I laughed. “I think they just trade up a size.” But not Wukowski, I thought. He’s… just right.

“That’s not happening,” Debby protested. “It’s salads, baked chicken, and veggies for me for at least a week. And an extra thirty minutes walking Bleki before I head to the shop.”

“We have an appointment tomorrow with the attorney I mentioned. Why not stay home until then? He can advise you on next steps.”

She agreed and hung up. I sent the text to Spider, then contemplated the rest of my day and evening. I’d skipped my usual mail pickup on Saturday. Bobbie was out doing… Bobbie things. I didn’t keep track of his time. After all, he was an associate partner now and not an hourly employee.

I decided to leave early, stop at the service center for mail and packages—I’d been notified that my quarterly delivery of facial cleansing oil awaited me—and maybe mimic Debby and pick up a tabbouleh salad with a lamb kabob at Abu’s Jerusalem of the Gold restaurant for later.

After supper, I would phone Wukowski. We hadn’t talked since the uncomfortable meeting at Homicide, and our enforced separation would officially end in seven more days. We might be on opposite sides regarding Mick Swanson, but I would not let that postpone our reunion. A very special negligee hung in my closet, waiting for his attentions.

***

Loaded down with a carrier bag of food, the expected box and assorted letters, I headed for the elevator in the parking garage of my condo. The bell dinged and my neighbor Sally stepped out, clutching her handbag as if it contained the Koh-i-Noor diamond, with a whistle at the ready in the other hand.

“What in the world has you so agitated?” I asked.

“Oh, Angie, haven’t you heard? Someone broke into the mailboxes early this morning. The police are still in the building, questioning residents.”

“But… what about the security system? And the cameras?”

“All deactivated, according to the officer who came to my door. Funny, though, nobody cut the power. My clocks weren’t flashing this morning.”

“Nor mine,” I agreed. “I don’t use the building boxes, you know,” I said, lifting my package and the hold-all lettered with SECURE MAIL SERVICES OF MILWAUKEE on the side.

“After this, I’m switching too. You recommend them?”

“Absolutely. They’ve never let me down.”

“Good to know.” She hesitated and then asked, “Would you mind watching until I get to my van? I need to pick Joseph up from therapy.”

“Of course not.” I set my packages down to free my hands and let her see the 9mm in its purse holster. “I’m licensed. If you want me to come down when you return, just call and I’ll wait here for you.” Her son Joseph used a wheelchair as a result of MS, making them particularly vulnerable to a thief or mugger.

Her eyes wide, she whispered, “Oh my!” and scuttled to the disabled parking spots along the far wall.

Upstairs, after looking through my mail and shredding what most people would simply toss, I decided to take the now-empty cosmetics box to the recycling area in the basement… with a side jaunt to the electrical box that lived in the same general vicinity of the dumpster.

No signs of tampering. Glancing up, I noted that the security camera that covered this area swiveled to follow my movements. Definitely in service. I put the lack of surveillance during the mailbox break-ins down to a glitch. Surely petty thieves wouldn’t have the know-how to interrupt the building’s security system.

Back inside the condo, I washed up and prepared a cup of ginger tea for an afternoon boost without the jitters that caffeine could bring on. The sense of wellness that only comes from a place of belonging soothed me as I sat in my favorite wing chair and lifted my feet onto the small upholstered footstool. This was not my papa’s leather monstrosity, mind you, but a modern version, whose back curved in