Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa - Jersey Girl 01 - New Math Is Murder by Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa Page A
Authors: Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa
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muttered.
“And it should. You’re getting good columns out of this.”
I never dreamed of becoming a fabulous investigative reporter, writing a bestseller, or having the honor of Poet Laureate bestowed upon me. My dreams were more ordinary—making a halfway decent living by writing, a little name recognition every now and then, maybe a one-on-one interview with Colin Farrell in a small Irish pub—everyday stuff.
I got up off the couch. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got to get going. My kids are beginning to think their mother walked out on them, too.”
“Just let me throw on a shirt, and I’ll walk you down to your car.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “Don’t bother.”
“I insist,” he said.
I wasn’t about to argue. I didn’t feel safe in the parking lot, even if it was in the ritziest neighborhood in town. Night in the bay area was always dark and deserted in the winter and early spring, before warm weather brought out kids and cars and beachgoers.
Rhodes slipped on a shirt, and we went to wait for the elevator. I checked out the rug pattern in the hallway to avoid conversation. After a few silent, awkward minutes, the bell dinged, and the door slid open. I was vaguely aware of a couple standing off to the right when we stepped inside.
It took a few seconds to register the familiar faces. When it hit me, I wanted to crawl into the corner and die.
“Colleen?” Neil, my almost ex, said.
Though I knew they lived in the building, I never expected to see Neil and Theda on their own turf. My fantasies ran more along the lines of him coming to the house in the middle of the night and pounding on the front door, declaring his undying love for me. And I, ten pounds lighter and happily single once again …
In fact, Neil would have been nuts to beat down my door. Theda Oates, in her flowing, periwinkle garb and matching silk pumps, looked positively regal. They were both dressed to kill, on their way out for a night on the town. In comparison, I looked like the leftover junk brought out to the curb after a garage sale.
“Great,” I whispered under my breath.
“Colleen? What are you doing here?” Neil asked me.
“She’s working,” Rhodes volunteered when I failed to answer.
He punched the lobby button, and the car gave a slight shudder as it began to descend.
“Why would you be working so late at night?” Neil asked, eyeing Rhodes but directing the question to me.
“Hot story,” Ken answered with a wink.
I gave Rhodes a grateful smile and noticed he had never bothered to button his shirt. Theda Oates got an eyeful of Ken’s washboard abs. I hoped she made a mental comparison to Neil’s mid-life-crisis paunch and was eating her heart out.
“Who’s with the children?” Neil asked in a newly-acquired, upper-crust tone.
“Certainly not you, Neil,” I answered.
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Rhodes led me to the building’s entry, where the doorman waited to be of service.
“I’ll be in touch, Colleen,” Neil called out after us.
I hurried to my car. My hands shook so badly that I dropped my keys twice.
Rhodes picked up the key ring from the ground and unlocked the door. “What a personable guy, Colleen! So warm and friendly.”
“Isn’t he something special?”
“What did you ever see in him in the first place?” Rhodes asked.
“I saw happily ever after.”
Rhodes laughed. “Well, so much for that! Be careful driving home. It’s dark down here.”
I remembered the little boy who got knocked off his skateboard by a hit-and-run driver just a few weeks before on another dark Tranquil Harbor night. “I will.”
“And stop by the office before you interview that teacher. Let’s go over some questions I’d like you to work into the conversation.”
“I’ll stop by on Monday.”
I drove home more curious than ever about Ken Rhodes. There was money somewhere in his background, that much was obvious. He might have been a hard-nosed
“And it should. You’re getting good columns out of this.”
I never dreamed of becoming a fabulous investigative reporter, writing a bestseller, or having the honor of Poet Laureate bestowed upon me. My dreams were more ordinary—making a halfway decent living by writing, a little name recognition every now and then, maybe a one-on-one interview with Colin Farrell in a small Irish pub—everyday stuff.
I got up off the couch. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got to get going. My kids are beginning to think their mother walked out on them, too.”
“Just let me throw on a shirt, and I’ll walk you down to your car.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “Don’t bother.”
“I insist,” he said.
I wasn’t about to argue. I didn’t feel safe in the parking lot, even if it was in the ritziest neighborhood in town. Night in the bay area was always dark and deserted in the winter and early spring, before warm weather brought out kids and cars and beachgoers.
Rhodes slipped on a shirt, and we went to wait for the elevator. I checked out the rug pattern in the hallway to avoid conversation. After a few silent, awkward minutes, the bell dinged, and the door slid open. I was vaguely aware of a couple standing off to the right when we stepped inside.
It took a few seconds to register the familiar faces. When it hit me, I wanted to crawl into the corner and die.
“Colleen?” Neil, my almost ex, said.
Though I knew they lived in the building, I never expected to see Neil and Theda on their own turf. My fantasies ran more along the lines of him coming to the house in the middle of the night and pounding on the front door, declaring his undying love for me. And I, ten pounds lighter and happily single once again …
In fact, Neil would have been nuts to beat down my door. Theda Oates, in her flowing, periwinkle garb and matching silk pumps, looked positively regal. They were both dressed to kill, on their way out for a night on the town. In comparison, I looked like the leftover junk brought out to the curb after a garage sale.
“Great,” I whispered under my breath.
“Colleen? What are you doing here?” Neil asked me.
“She’s working,” Rhodes volunteered when I failed to answer.
He punched the lobby button, and the car gave a slight shudder as it began to descend.
“Why would you be working so late at night?” Neil asked, eyeing Rhodes but directing the question to me.
“Hot story,” Ken answered with a wink.
I gave Rhodes a grateful smile and noticed he had never bothered to button his shirt. Theda Oates got an eyeful of Ken’s washboard abs. I hoped she made a mental comparison to Neil’s mid-life-crisis paunch and was eating her heart out.
“Who’s with the children?” Neil asked in a newly-acquired, upper-crust tone.
“Certainly not you, Neil,” I answered.
The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Rhodes led me to the building’s entry, where the doorman waited to be of service.
“I’ll be in touch, Colleen,” Neil called out after us.
I hurried to my car. My hands shook so badly that I dropped my keys twice.
Rhodes picked up the key ring from the ground and unlocked the door. “What a personable guy, Colleen! So warm and friendly.”
“Isn’t he something special?”
“What did you ever see in him in the first place?” Rhodes asked.
“I saw happily ever after.”
Rhodes laughed. “Well, so much for that! Be careful driving home. It’s dark down here.”
I remembered the little boy who got knocked off his skateboard by a hit-and-run driver just a few weeks before on another dark Tranquil Harbor night. “I will.”
“And stop by the office before you interview that teacher. Let’s go over some questions I’d like you to work into the conversation.”
“I’ll stop by on Monday.”
I drove home more curious than ever about Ken Rhodes. There was money somewhere in his background, that much was obvious. He might have been a hard-nosed
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