Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa - Jersey Girl 01 - New Math Is Murder Read Free

the bright sun filtering through the trees from the direction of the bay. “Looks like it’s shaping up to be a great day. You should try to get out. Take your mind off this.”
    “Yeah, maybe I’ll go jogging,” I said.
    Another grin. “Seriously. You’re a wreck, Colleen. You’re shaking.”
    I anticipated seeing Mr. Whitley’s body each time I closed my eyes. I needed to cry, but not in the middle of the Little League parking lot in front of police, reporters, and scores of onlookers.
    “I just want to go home!”
    “Okay. Sure. You want a squad car to take you? The whole block is filled with reporters,” Haver said, pointing to yet another news van that pulled over on Poe Street.
    “No. I see my kids over by the fence. I just want to drive them to school and get back home as fast as I can.”
    “That’s fine. I can always drop by your house later if I need anything else.”
    I inched away from the concession stand. “Like what?”
    “More detailed information.”
    “Fine,” I said, and walked off toward the fence and my kids—whose grilling, I knew, would be far more in-depth than Ron Haver’s had been.

3
    “What a nightmare!” I told Bevin Thompson, my across-the-street neighbor.
    “And this was always such a nice neighborhood,” she said absently. Her eyes looked a little vacant. Of course, she was right. Nothing much ever happened in our tiny, upper-middle-class enclave. A dead body was completely out of the ordinary, a really big deal.
    “A reporter chased me halfway up the block,” I complained as I paced back and forth in my kitchen, waiting for the coffee machine to finish dripping. “The kids badgered me on the ride to school. Would you believe Old Lady Testino called to ask if Whitley’s head was attached to his body?”
    Bevin winced, though anything coming from Mrs. Testino’s mouth was bound to be shocking.
    I continued to pace. It seemed to be the only way to keep from shaking. Too many thoughts were going through my head. “Dear Lord, my nerves are shot. I wish Neil was here. I called and left a message for him. He never called back.”
    “There’s a shock,” Bev mumbled.
    When Bevin bought the house across the street seven years ago, we became instant friends, despite being polar opposites. She was one of those tall, willowy types, with flaming red hair and goddess-like good looks. A talented landscape artist, Bevin had had showings all over the state and twice at one of those small, pretentious galleries in Manhattan. My short stature had never been thin enough to be considered petite, and my freaky hair tended to retract into tight little ringlets at the mere forecast of rain. My writing skills were solid but not dazzling, and a reader had once referred to one of my stories as hack journalism.
    As for our husbands, opposites failed to attract. Neither man liked the other. I never really cared for pompous Franklin Thompson, and Bevin outright hated Neil from the start.
    “If I don’t get that cup of coffee soon, I’m going to chew raw grounds,” I said.
    “Would you please sit down! You’re wearing out the floor tiles.” Bevin reached in the cupboard for coffee mugs. “Where’s your mother this morning?”
    “She went to Dizzie’s Salon for hair repair. She’ll be back soon.”
    “Good. Maybe the smell will be gone by then.”
    I sniffed the air. Sure, I needed a shower. I had a tough morning. A jog can take a lot out of a girl. So can an encounter with a corpse.
    “Did my deodorant fail or something?” I asked.
    “There’s a distinct smoke smell.”
    “I don’t smell a thing.”
    “It’s all over your clothes, Colleen. Do you think half the neighborhood doesn’t know you sneak-smoke out back near the fence where your mother can’t see you?”
    My parents lived in the house directly behind mine. The arrangement had been a mixed blessing. It was convenient for the kids to come and go, though privacy for both households was nonexistent—not that my