Hide nor Hair (A Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa

I shrugged. His description was far yuckier than mine. “What did you order?” I asked.

  “A meatball parmesan sub. I guess you’re getting a pie?”

  “It’s about the only thing Sara will eat, after she scrapes off all the cheese, that is.”

  “Tell you what. Let me get another pie, and I’ll follow you back to your house. We can eat first, then we’ll both go over your story. At least we’ll get a jump on next week’s headline.”

  “Do I get the byline alone, or do I have to share?” I asked.

  “You’re turning into a byline hog,” Ken told me. “Willy was the one who actually spotted the body from the plane. He got the pictures. You were just along for the ride.”

  “But it’s my story,” I insisted.

  Ken went to the counter to order an additional pie, while I entertained myself with thoughts of a Pulitzer. He was gone long enough for me to fantasize about a CNN interview. When he returned, he was carrying two pizza boxes and a long, white paper bag with his meatball sandwich tucked inside.

  “I have to pay for my pizza,” I told him.

  “I’ve got it covered,” he said.

  The gesture made me all tingly inside. For most women, candlelight and fine wine with a tall, mysterious stud of a man spelled romance with a capital R. For me, it was the free food.

  Ken followed me home and we set up the meal in the dining room. The kids came downstairs and had the decency to hide their shock at finding Ken Rhodes in our kitchen. He had been to the house before and knew where I kept the hard stuff. He grabbed a couple of ice cubes from the freezer and made himself a Scotch and water. Sara prepared a big salad and placed the bowl next to her paper plate and plastic cup, our usual mealtime tableware. She had enough manners to ask if anyone would care for some greens—a polite move that reminded me she was growing up, even if she didn’t behave that way much of the time.

  Bobby transferred two large slices of pizza from the box to his plate. A boy after my own heart, he didn’t care who was sitting at the table. His main interest was the pizza. Ken offered Bobby a piece of his sub, which my son eagerly accepted and put on its own separate plate.

  Sara took small bites of her slice, surprisingly with the cheese still on top, between forkfuls of salad. She appeared to be thinking something over. Ken Rhodes glanced my way, then back at my daughter. He obviously noticed it, too. I thought Sara might be feeling somewhat uncomfortable with a man who was not her father sitting at our table.

  “Is anything wrong, honey?” I asked her, hoping she retained enough of the etiquette she had displayed earlier in the meal not to blurt out something insulting to our guest.

  “Well, yeah. I actually wanted to ask Mr. Rhodes a question.”

  Here it comes, I thought.

  “What do you want to know?” Ken asked her.

  “I was thinking it’s only the end of September, and there’s already been two bodies found in the Harbor. Do you think there’s a chance two more will turn up before New Year’s Day?”

  “Dear God!” I said, appalled.

  Bobby laughed so hard he started to choke on his pizza. Ken jumped out of his chair and pounded Bobby on the back to help him get the food down. Sara looked totally dumbfounded, as though she had introduced a perfectly reasonable topic of conversation during a casual meal and couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

  “Drink this down, slugger,” Ken told Bobby, holding a plastic cup of diet soda up to his mouth and eyeing Sara with an amused half-smile.

  “What?” Sara asked, annoyed.

  “Was that an inside joke or something?” Ken wanted to know.

  Sara’s question called for an explanation, one I hoped wouldn’t sound like my kids were raised in a gambling hall. “They started a pool at the high school,” I told him. “Sara’s friend is betting I’ll find two more stiffs before the end of the year. She’d rather win the bet herself, so she’s hoping that’s the last of the Tranquil Harbor body count.”

  Bobby took the cup and drank the rest of the soda on his own. The choking incident hadn’t been enough to curb his appetite. He stood and reached inside the open box for another slice of pizza.

  Ken returned to his chair and lifted out a slice for himself. “No, Sara, I think the body in the field is probably the last one your mother will find for a while. If you’ve bet on two as the final body count this year, you might want to up your ante.”

  I glared at him.

  “Oh, come on, Colleen!” Ken said. “You’re shocked that she’s betting on corpses? For God’s sake, anyone can tell this kid is you from head to toe.”

  Bobby started laughing again, and Sara threw a wadded-up napkin at him. Ken smiled, and I found myself smiling, too.

  The doorbell rang, but everyone was busy joking about stiffs and illegal wagering on a high school level. So I got up and answered the door.

  “Sounds like a party in here,” my ex, Neil, said, standing in the open doorway and poking his head inside to take a look. It was obvious he didn’t much care for what he saw. “Mr. Macho, huh? How cozy! So now he’s got my kids, too? Why don’t you make him pay for the air and the furnace?”

  9

  I ushered Neil into the den, far enough away from Ken Rhodes and the kids for privacy, yet close enough for them to hear a loud commotion in case I lost all composure and beat the stuffing out of him.

  “Have a seat, Neil,” I said, businesslike.

  Neil picked up on my tone. “Really? In my own house? I paid for all this, Colleen.”

  I smiled.

  Poor Neil, I thought. He had such soulful brown eyes and thick, brown hair. Bobby looked so much like him, it made my heart ache. But the resemblance between my ex-husband and my darling child was not nearly enough to soften my heart.

  “There’s something you have to realize, Neil. This is my home—mine and the kids. You might have purchased it, but I’m paying for it in sweat equity. You left, not me.”

  Neil ran his fingers through his hair. It was clear he didn’t much care for my newfound assertiveness. “Yeah. Right. So why aren’t you paying for a new furnace and central air if it’s your home?”

  “My lawyer contacted your lawyer. It’s part of the settlement. You take care of the repairs for the next two years. The new units go in tomorrow. I don’t understand why you came by.”

  I detected the slight sagging of his shoulders. Not that he in any way resembled a beaten man, but something wasn’t quite right. I waited for an explanation as he slumped into the sofa cushions. “Your lawyer’s a harpy. I’m shelling out money left and right. Sara called me late this afternoon. She wants a new cell phone and she’ll be driving soon. She said she wants a car! Can you believe it?”

  “She also wants a part-time job after school and needs a way to get back and forth to it. I’ll be taking on the car insurance,” I told him. “This is what happens when kids grow up!”

  I realized my voice had taken on an angry tone. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but something made me go to the windows and push the curtains aside and look out. “I notice you’re still driving that new Lexus. If money’s so tight, why don’t you trade in your show-off car for something cheaper?”

  “I have to maintain a certain image to look successful. Clients wouldn’t have much confidence in a PR man driving a …”

  “… seven-year-old used Nissan Sentra?” I guessed.

  Neil got up from the couch and left, too annoyed to even give the kids a quick kiss goodbye. I knew I had flattened his enormous ego and felt pleased with myself for doing so.

  “He’s mad?” Bobby asked sheepishly when I rejoined Ken and the kids at the table.

  “Oh, no, honey,” I lied. “Your father just thinks the cost of replacing the central air and the furnace is just a bit too high.”

  “Sure, Mom,” Sara said. She had been getting more savvy by the hour since Neil left us to move in with the incomparable Theda Oates.

  “Is everybody finished eating?” I asked,
knowing that the kids’ appetites had vanished the moment they heard me yelling. “If you guys still have some homework, you should go upstairs and finish it. I’ll clean up down here.”

  The kids left the table and went upstairs, although not running as they usually did.

  “Did our voices carry?” I asked Ken.

  “We heard a few things. Not too much. The end of a marriage is never easy.”

  I picked up the paper plates and tossed them into one of the empty pizza boxes. Ken gathered the cups and used paper napkins and carried them out to the kitchen. Neil’s visit upset me, though not so much because of his miserly ways. He had always been a bit on the frugal side as far as family finances went, and it was a trait the entire family had gotten used to and even joked about over the years. I knew Neil loved the kids as much as I did. But our bickering wasn’t helping Sara and Bobby feel particularly secure during these tough emotional times.

  “I have to stop the shrew stuff,” I told Ken. I tossed the pizza boxes in the trash, feeling close to tears. “I guess I’ll never forgive Neil, but all this squabbling has to end, or the kids will end up hating us both.”

  Ken came up behind me and wrapped his strong arms around me. I could feel myself letting go. How long had it been since I was engulfed in a man’s arms? The thrill I felt went far beyond the free pizza. It seemed as though I had been on my own for ages. Under the circumstances, the kids were great company. My parents had been nothing but supportive. In her own strange way, my sister, Kate, had been my champion, and Bevin Thompson was my rock. But Ken Rhodes’s arms were so comforting …

  I took a deep breath, refusing to cry. I straightened up and turned to face him. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him as hard as I could. “Thank you,” I said. “Thanks for being here. I hate all this up-in-the-air crap that comes with divorce. I hate being angry all the time …”

  His lips gently brushed my forehead. “It’s okay. It gets better. Why, a year from now …”

  “… I’ll be laughing about it? I don’t think so.”

  “It’ll be okay, Colleen. Things have a funny way of working out.”

  We broke contact, reluctantly on my part. There was work to be done and no time for romance or self-pity. I went to the sink and filled the glass pot to the top to make fresh coffee. “We’ll need some pretty strong stuff to keep us conscious tonight. I’m so full, all I feel like doing is taking a nap.”

  “Me too,” he agreed.

  I waited for the coffee to brew, then carried two steaming mugs to my cluttered desk in the den. Ken brought in a kitchen chair, so we could both read my story directly from the monitor. I pulled up the article and sat back. The gentle, caring Ken Rhodes turned into the editor Ken Rhodes in an instantaneous Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde move. It didn’t take long for him to rip the story apart.

  “You can mention the shoe in the evidence bag,” he said, shaking his head. “Maybe change it to a sandal, which suggests it was a woman’s body.”

  “Everybody in town knows it was a woman,” I mumbled.

  “That doesn’t matter. You can drop some subtle hints about how the body may have reached its final destination, though make it clear that the cause of death is pending the medical examiner’s conclusions.”

  “Sure.” I hit the backspace key to wipe out the phrases I had so painstakingly written.

  “The rest of it looks okay.” He took a sip from his mug and grimaced. “You make lousy coffee.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. Is my vague description of the body okay, or does that have to go, too?”

  “Severe traumatic injuries is okay; maybe a little redundant,” Ken said. “The part with the woman not being immediately identifiable is the right way to go.”

  I smiled. At least I had gotten something right.

  I saved the file and started an email to the newspaper so that Ken would have the story on hand the moment he needed it.

  “Don’t forget to attach the file,” he reminded me.

  I opened a list and searched for the file. Not only did all of the file names look unfamiliar, I couldn’t even remember what file name I had used to save the story.

  “For God’s sake, Colleen! No wonder you still print out your stories and bring them up to the office. Your computer files are a mess. You don’t even have a separate folder for your Town Crier stuff.”

  I gave Ken my very own patented stupid expression, which told him all he needed to know. “You have no idea at all how to do that, do you?” he asked.

  “Give me a few minutes. You’re making me nervous. I’ll find it.”

  “Close it all out and reopen the Word program. It’ll come up on a list automatically under recent files. Print it out, so I can take it with me. Wait until I’m gone before you try to attach it to an email. I can’t stand to watch you fumbling with it. Meanwhile, I assume Matthew Oliver will be out here in the morning to resolve your heating and cooling problems. As I said, I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation with Neil. Let’s see if we can work out some questions for you to ask the Hot Air King regarding his deceased wife.”

  I grabbed a pad out from beneath a pile of junk mail on my desk and found a pen in the drawer.

  “You said Matthew came out to the house a few days ago, but he didn’t say much. He might be more willing to talk now that a few more days have passed.”

  I called up the weather on the computer screen. “It’s supposed to be in the mid-eighties tomorrow. Hot enough work installing a furnace in the basement and a new air unit outside in the sun. I’ll make a big pitcher of iced tea and make sure good old Matthew Oliver is plenty hydrated. If he keeps coming into the kitchen to get a cold drink, I can get him to talk.”

  “Use the hair angle to get him talking. Ask him if Dizzie’s Salon will go on without her,” Ken suggested.

  My hand automatically went to my hair. Though it wasn’t inordinately humid outside, the curls still magically happened. I wondered if my unruly mane reminded him of the salon.

  “You never went to get your hair straightened out at that Trina’s Tresses place,” he said, confirming my hunch.

  “Next week for sure,” I told him. “Seriously. Next week. I have enough to do without going there and worrying if I’m going to come out bald.”

  Ken pushed back the kitchen chair and stood. “Just make sure you get Trina to work on you. Try to fit whatever she says about Dizzie Oliver into your next column.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “And remember, you still have to finish that story for Meredith about the flying lessons.”

  I nodded. How could I forget?

  “And Colleen …”

  “Yes?”

  His voice softened. “Don’t beat yourself up over Neil and the kids. Cut yourself a little slack, okay?” He took the sheet of paper with the airport body story from the printer tray and started for the door.

  “Thanks,” I called out after him.

  “Anytime,” he replied before leaving. I watched him go, wondering if he would figure into my future in some way more significant than being my employer.

  I hoped so.

  * * *

  I returned to my desk, feeling melancholy, and scribbled a few thoughts down on the pad of paper before turning my attention back to the computer. There was already a draft of the email I would be sending Ken Rhodes, and I called it up. It took fifteen minutes, give or take an hour, to find the story about the body in the field. I attached it to the email and sent it, then went to the kitchen to eat a celebratory Twinkie.

  I found Sara rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for apples. Of course, there were none. I needed to make a food run, but the last few days had been so busy, there hadn’t been time. I suggested water, of which there was plenty. Sara wanted something more.

  “There’s never anything decent to eat in this house,” she complained.

  I looked at her skinny legs and thin arms. The kid had always been a picky eater, b
ut she’d been on a healthy-eating kick for months and months now, which meant she wouldn’t touch most of the items that were staples in my house. Even if I jammed the refrigerator with what I considered healthy choices, I knew she would snub them.

  “Maybe you can add a little more variety to your diet,” I suggested. “A baked potato once in a while, a piece of salmon, or even a turkey burger …”

  “A baked potato?” she asked incredulously. “Carbs are killers, Mom.”

  “Brown rice won’t kill you. And you did eat that slice of pizza.”

  “I guess brown rice is okay,” she said reluctantly. “I don’t know about the salmon. Did Mr. Rhodes leave?”

  “You’re changing the subject,” I said.

  “He’s nice, Mom. Really nice.” She gave me a small, shy smile. I waited for more. “And sooo good looking!”

  “Yeah, sometimes he can be very nice,” I added. “But he’s only a friend, honey. Don’t get your hopes up.” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself.

  She grabbed a bottle of water and let out a huge sigh as she made her way back to her bedroom. The discussion about her diet and my love life had ended for the day.

  10

  Though it was the very last day of September, the heat and humidity made it feel like the beginning of August. The brief reprieve from the oppressive heat that Tranquil Harbor had enjoyed the day before was nowhere to be found. Weather forecasters warned tri-state area residents that temperatures would remain near ninety for at least a week—a true Eastern Seaboard Indian summer.

  The Hot Air King’s truck pulled up in front of the house at twenty to eight, before the kids were out the door.

  “Get moving, everyone!” I called upstairs.

  With the heat, nobody really felt much like hurrying. Sara dragged herself downstairs and took her sweet time in the kitchen. She downed a cold glass of apple juice and took a granola bar from the box in the cabinet.

  “Is that all you’re having?” I asked her.

  “It’s too hot to eat anyway,” she mumbled, pulling at the shorts and tank top she’d chosen to wear that day.