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

intake of breath, Wukowski started to speak. “It seems that some of the people who knew Elisa were more open with you than with us. Would you agree?”

I nodded.

“Tomorrow’s the funeral,” he continued. “Are you planning to attend?”

“I haven’t decided,” I answered. “It might be inappropriate, given that I’m working to defend the one who’s accused of killing her. I wouldn’t want to upset Mrs. Morano at her daughter’s funeral.”

“No worries there,” Wukowski said. “She specifically asked for you when we told her that we’d be there.”

“Well, as long as it’s not upsetting to her mother, I’ll be there. I’d like to see who turns up.”

“That’s the thing, Angie. You could help us out and still do your job. Just show up and keep your eyes open. Let us know if you spot anything unusual or suspicious. We’ll do the same for you. How about it?”

I emptied my wine glass, then gestured to his beer bottle. “Another?” I asked. He shook his head, so I went to the bar and whispered to Marlene to pour slowly, while I thought about how I should respond.

Returning to the table, I started to explain my position. “The situation is somewhat difficult, Wukowski. My client is Bart Matthews and, indirectly, Anthony Belloni. I can’t agree to do anything that would put Bart’s defense in jeopardy. My first responsibility is to Bart.”

“What about the law?” Wukowski growled. “You willing to break the law to protect Bart’s client? You willing to let a murderer walk free?”

“I think of it like being a doctor or a priest in a confessional,” I said in a low voice, attempting to defuse his anger. “I’m sure there are times a priest hears things that he wishes he could report. But he can’t.” I locked eyes with Wukowski. “I won’t break the law to protect a guilty client, Wukowski, but I also won’t betray anything that’s told to me in confidence, unless it’s to prevent the future commission of a crime. Not only is it my code, it’s also the law that you’re so fond of throwing in my face. In this state, a P.I. who’s working for an attorney is protected under the attorney-client privilege. It’s unethical for an attorney to reveal what’s been told to him or her in confidence. It’s unethical for me to reveal what my investigation uncovers, too, unless Bart authorizes it. Plain and simple.”

“Some code. Lets a guy like Belloni off the hook.”

“Are you so sure that Tony did it? Is that why you’re here, asking me to cooperate with you? Because you’re positive he’s the one?”

He glanced down at the scarred wooden table, then around the room. Finally, he spoke. “You’re right, Angie, we’re not positive. We don’t want to put the wrong person away and let the murderer go free. So will you help? Just keep your eyes and ears open tomorrow. Okay?” He was practically pleading with me.

“I’ll do whatever I can, without violating my professional standards.” I mentally ran down the table of “suspects” that I’d delivered to Bart earlier. “Who’s number one on your hit parade, besides Tony?”

“Can’t say.” He stared at his hands. If he wore a wedding ring at one time, the tan line had faded away.

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t. Not because I’m prevented, you understand. Because this case is a jumbled-up mess. Too many possibilities and not enough evidence.” He peered into my eyes. “Who’s number one on your list?”

I was flattered that he asked. It felt like an acknowledgement of my professional skill. Was there any reason not to talk with him? I had no evidence to bring to the table, but I did have a few good guesses that might direct the police away from Tony. I mentally tipped my hat to Bart and decided to plunge ahead. “Did you interview Elisa’s old roommate, Marsha Cantwell?” I asked him.

“Yeah, we talked to her. Didn’t get much, though. Just that they’d met at design school and decided to room together to save on expenses. She mentioned that Elisa had given her some tips on girly stuff—how to dress, makeup, that kind of thing. Seemed like Marsha had a kind of hero worship for Elisa.”

I overlooked the ‘girly’ reference. “And what happens when your hero turns out to have feet of clay?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning when you look up to someone, take them as a role model, and then they betray you, it can leave a bitter taste in your mouth.” I gave him the Elisa-Marsha-Alan story, then added, “Love triangles have led to murder before, and Marsha is not entirely stable.”

“Yeah. She told us about the breakdown when we questioned her. But not about the boyfriend and Elisa. Damn it, we should’ve gotten that out of her.” He shook his head and stared down at his hands for a few seconds. “That’s the kind of thing that Liz would’ve gotten.” His voice was low, mournful. “People just opened up to her.” Then he seemed to realize what he’d said, grabbed his empty beer bottle, and stood up. “I think I will have another one. How about you?”

“Look, Wukowski, why don’t we get something to eat first? I’m past the age of getting shit-faced from drinking on an empty stomach.”

“You’re right,” he told me with a rueful glance at the empty bottle. “How about Ma’s? I could go for an omelet.”

“I’ll drive. I’m parked right in front.”

The Miata rated one raised eyebrow, but he managed to lever himself into the passenger seat. A breeze off of Lake Michigan had cooled the East side to about seventy, although it was probably at least ten degrees warmer inland. The infamous “lake effect” was a friend in the summer, but a bitter enemy in the winter, when it could dump fifteen inches of snow in downtown Milwaukee and leave the western suburbs with just a dusting. Tonight, we drove in silence, simply enjoying the cool air at the end of a hot summer day.

Ma Fischer’s is an East side institution. In the 60s,