Chapter 3
“You can’t be serious,” Greg, a man that she’d gone out with a total of three times before he’d finally announced that he couldn’t date her because she reminded him of his kid sister, said as he carefully placed his coffee back on the coaster, well aware that she’d kick his ass if he stained her great-grandmother’s table.
“Oh, no, I’m completely serious,” Jodi said, looking over the notes that Mr. Tate had provided her with so that she could redo the proposal and shook her head, refusing to compare their small, rundown library to the Louvre.
“You do realize that you’re telling a police officer, one on duty,” Greg clarified before continuing, “about your plans to murder your neighbor, right?”
She blinked at him before asking, “And your point is?”
With a frustrated growl, he reached over and grabbed another sandwich off the small platter that she’d made when he’d called to tell her that he’d be swinging by on his dinner break. They both knew that he was really making sure that she hadn’t snapped and finally killed the bastard living across the hallway.
She’d learned a long time ago that it was best to keep plenty of deli meat and beer on hand for those times when her guy friends stopped by. It was either that or listen to them bitching about being hungry until she gave in and baked them some cookies. Since baking meant cookies, brownies, and cakes, her weaknesses, she made damn sure that her house was always well-stocked for company, guy company. Unless she was stressed, then she baked like it was going out of style.
“He can’t be that bad,” Greg said, sighing heavily as he reached for more sugar.
“I’ve come up with thirty ways to kill him,” Jodi calmly explained as she refilled his cup of coffee.
“You need to get the hell out of here before you do something stupid,” Greg said as though she wasn’t painfully aware of that fact.
“I can’t afford to move,” Jodi said, focusing her attention on the notes once again, only to roll her eyes in disgust when she read the next paragraph.
“You have a good job, Jodi. It even pays more than the museum. You should be able to afford to buy your own house by now,” Greg pointed out, looking around the kitchen until he spotted the bag of chips that she’d taken out and forgot to put on the table while she did her best not to wince.
He had no idea that Jerry screwed her over when he’d walked out on her. If she honestly didn’t believe that he’d grab the rest of the guys and go beat the shit out of him, she probably would have told him about the money. She didn’t want anyone else to pay for her stupidity, even if it meant that Jerry got the ass whooping that he’d more than deserved.
“Why don’t you ask your dad for help?” Greg suggested.
“I can’t,” Jodi mumbled pathetically even though she technically could.
Well, there wasn’t anything technical about it. If she needed money or a place to live, her father would gladly give it to her. If her mother was still alive, she would have already dragged Jodi back home and babied her until she was able to get back on her feet. Some days, she was sorely tempted to give in and admit defeat, but then her pride would rear its ugly head and demand that she keep trying.
“Well,” Greg said, getting up so that he could grab the chips off the counter, “you’ve gotta do something. Maybe go back to school.”
She had to snort at that. “So that I can be even more overqualified? No thanks,” Jodi said, adding the request for the wall of plaques declaring the members of the City Council heroes and hating herself for it.
“Maybe you could-” Greg started to suggest, only to get cut off by his radio.
“Echo ninety-four, please respond to a twenty-five at 178 Harrison Road.”
Jodi cocked a brow in question even as she stood up and quickly packed the rest of the sandwiches for him.
“Shoplifter,” Greg said with a heavy sigh as he took the large paper brown bag from her and shoved the bag of chips inside.
“Well, you have fun with that,” Jodi said dryly, sitting back down in front of her laptop when all she wanted to do was grab the pint of chocolate ice cream that she had hidden behind a bag of broccoli and go kill a few hours and a few hundred brain cells with reality television. Anything was better than writing this drivel.
“And try not to kill your neighbor,” Greg said, giving her the customary pat on the head before heading out.
“I’m not promising anything!” Jodi called after him, hoping that wouldn’t be considered admissible in court later.
“Congratulations! You’re getting a raise.”
“Uh-huh,” Danny said, using his tee-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face as he waited for his uncle to skip the bullshit and get to the reason why he was about to get screwed over.
“And a promotion,” Uncle Jared said with that forced smile that he knew so well. It was the same smile that Uncle Jared used when he’d informed him that the stage at The Hunter’s Nest, the all-male strip club in the next town over, had collapsed and he needed Danny to go there and rebuild it.
What his uncle had failed to mention was that the club would be open for auditions while he was there. If Danny had known that, he probably would have turned down the Yankees tickets that his uncle used to entice him to take the job. He definitely would have turned down the job if he had known that half the applicants would try to use him and his tools as props as they did their best to outstrip the competition. It had been one of the most disturbing jobs that he’d ever done, and he’d sworn then and there that he would never allow his uncle to bullshit him into doing anything ever again.
“Not interested,” Danny said, in no mood to have a guy named “Blade” invite him home for a private audition tonight or any other night for that matter.
