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

fridge. Still, I wasn’t all that hungry anyway. I set the sandwich aside.
    “Do you intend to follow up on this Whitley thing?” Haver asked.
    “Follow up?” I asked.
    “For the newspaper. Let’s face it, you’d have an interesting perspective.”
    I sank deep into the sofa cushions. “I don’t have the experience to write anything that deep. I’m not a beat reporter. I get fluffy assignments and do as I’m told.”
    Haver finished off the rest of his sandwich and washed it down with coffee.
    “Was there something else you wanted to ask me?”
    He wiped his hands on a paper napkin and read over his notes. “Well, let’s see. You left here at approximately six thirty for your run. You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary—except for Jason Whitley. You tripped over his body …”
    “Because I didn’t see him,” I reminded Haver.
    “Did you see any footprints on the path while you were jogging?”
    “The ground was wet. Loads of puddles. Twigs. Pine needles. But I didn’t notice any footprints. I wasn’t looking down, of course. If I had been …”
    “… you wouldn’t have tripped over Whitley,” Haver said. “Yeah, I gathered that much. Did you notice anyone else in the woods while you were jogging?”
    “No. Things were quiet. It didn’t look like anyone went anywhere near those woods since last fall. There weren’t even candy wrappers from the kids using the path as a shortcut to and from the field. Isn’t that odd?”
    “The season just started,” he reminded me. “Our team played Monday night and the Dodgers had a practice on Tuesday that ended at seven. There hasn’t been a game since then, and none of the other coaches held a practice this week. There wasn’t enough time for a good trash buildup.”
    “If nobody used the path since the Dodgers practice, that would mean Whitley died sometime between late Tuesday night and this morning.”
    Haver laughed. “No offense, but you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out. Jennifer Whitley called the Harbor police at three o’clock in the morning on Wednesday to tell them her husband never came home. She wanted to know if there were any accidents. She drove over to the high school and found her husband’s car parked in the lot—but no Jason.”
    I jumped right in, intrigued by the possibilities. “Maybe he was kidnapped or killed during a robbery. You know, Sara says he always carries a briefcase, like he’s a corporate raider or something.”
    “Who’s asking the questions here, Colleen?”
    “Sorry,” I muttered.
    “You sound like you’re interrogating me.”
    “I said I’m sorry. Jeez! Why wouldn’t I be curious about all this? After all, I did stumble upon the crime scene, so to speak.”
    “Who said there was a crime?” Haver said.
    He had me there. “You mean Whitley died of natural causes?”
    “Suppose he had an accident.”
    “What kind of accident?”
    “Maybe he fell while he was jogging,” Haver teased.
    “There wasn’t anything on that path he could have hit his head on. To my way of thinking, someone killed him and dumped him in the woods.”
    “That’s your theory?” he asked.
    “It’s a good theory. Were there any fingerprints on Whitley’s car? Any blood?”
    “I’m not getting into this with you,” Haver said firmly.
    I realized I must have sounded like Jane Marple on speed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to badger you. What else do you need from me?”
    Haver looked uncomfortable. “I was wondering how well you knew Jason Whitley.”
    “I know him from school. He’s Sara’s algebra teacher.” I paused. “Or rather, he was . Not much of a motive, unless you think I killed him because he’s robbing my tax dollars. Would that make me a suspect? Still, the mayor’s robbed us blind for years. What if he turned up dead?”
    “We’d all be suspects,” Haver said.
    I eyed the sandwich half Haver gave me. I took one more bite, enough of a base for my stomach. “I’m