Читать книгу Hard Rustler - B.J. Daniels, B.J. Daniels - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Whitehorse, Montana. Rob swore as he sat for a moment in the dark in the parking lot of the expensive nursing home. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time Bernie had been convinced he’d found Baby Doll. Before, it had been some old woman in Maine. Then one in California. Another in Maryland. Oh, and that one in Tennessee.

Now Whitehorse, Montana? He’d gone on too many wild-goose chases, all of them dead ends. None of the women had been Baby Doll. None of them had had the loot. All they had in common was that they were six feet under now.

He pulled the photocopied snapshot and obit from his pocket and looked at them again. Francesca Clementine? At least he wouldn’t have to kill this one—she was already dead. But the granddaughter wasn’t, he reminded himself.

He debated not going and telling the old man that he had and that Francesca Clementine wasn’t his Baby Doll. It would break the old man’s heart, but it wasn’t the first time. After all, what were the chances that this Francesca Clementine had even been to New York City, let alone had a love affair with a mobster and stolen a king’s ransom in already stolen loot? Less than nil.

So why waste his time? Just give it a few days and then report back to Bernie... It was a gamble, though. He suspected the old man had Alzheimer’s or dementia and his brain was more pickled than his aunt’s canned beets.

But that didn’t mean Bernie wasn’t dangerous. He still could make Rob’s life a living hell. That’s if he didn’t just cut bait and have Rob killed.