T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 03 - Southern Peril Read Online Free Page A

It means worthless or of no value.”
    “Oh.” I wondered when my father had begun exploring the English language. He’s a retired cop, and his vocabulary is usually more direct and to the point. “Then why didn’t you just say ‘worthless’?”
    Fran put a mug of coffee in my waiting hands. “I gave him a Word-A-Day calendar,” she said. “You know, the little square kind, where you rip off each day? It’s actually three new words a day.”
    “Yeah,” Spud grunted. “I’ve got to keep my mind cuspidated.”
    “Huh?”
    “It means sharp, for crying out loud. Like a razor’s edge.”
    I bit into a cinnamon roll, and the dough melted in my mouth.Maybe having Fran around wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all. She could park her shoes under Spud’s bed every night for all I cared, as long as she kept fixing breakfast in the mornings. “I don’t think that word applies to your cerebrum,” I said.
    “My what?”
    “Your brain,” Fran told him. “Everybody knows that word.”
    “Whatever. Learning new words is like exercise for your head. Use it or lose it, as Frannie says. And I’ve got to keep my head in shape.”
    “Both of them,” Fran said matter-of-factly.
    “Thanks for the visual.” I might have done a gross-out shiver.
    We heard somebody jogging up the stairs from the Block, and Trish beeped her way into the kitchen after knocking once. “Hello? … Jersey, you here?” Trish is a local private investigator.
    “Does everybody know my security code?” I asked.
    “Probably doesn’t help that somebody wrote it on the wood handrail,” she said.
    I shot a look at my father. The scolding kind.
    “Wanted to make sure I didn’t get locked out after you changed it last time, for crying out loud. Besides, it’s in pencil. I can erase it once I memorize it.”
    “What is that heavenly smell?” Trish asked before I could scold Spud. “I’m about to start drooling.”
    Fran brought her a plate and Trish devoured a cinnamon roll standing up. She sat down for the second one. “Fran, you could open a shop and sell these things,” she said, and went for a third.
    When she quit eating, I asked Trish to do a detailed background check on Morgan and tail him for a few days.
    Spud pulled off his readers and squinted at me. “Who’s Morgan?”
    “You want Trish to follow somebody around all day, sneakylike?” Fran asked.
    “And why do you want to know this Morgan person’s business?” Spud’s mustache moved from side to side. “I thought you’re done with the dangerous work stuff.”
    “Does this Morgan fellow know that you’re going to tail him?” Fran wanted to know.
    I held up a hand to stop further ping-ponging. “It’s a favor for my judge friend, Spud. And you know I don’t discuss work details at home.” Meaning not in front of Fran. My father nosed into my business all the time, but I barely knew her.
    He caught my drift. “I tell Frannie everything anyways, for crying out loud.”
    “Yeah.” Her head bobbed. “Ever since he almost killed me, we’ve been tight.”
    Spud and his poker buddies had been hauling a bunch of thrift store purchases down the road when a life-size anatomically correct mannequin flew off the roof of Bobby’s van. Fran ran it over and damaged her scooter, at which point Spud asked her out on a date. He figured a dinner tab would be cheaper than the repair bill.
    I updated the bumbling lovebirds on the judge, her brother, and Argo’s.
    “Huh,” Fran said. “I wouldn’t mind going to Argo’s sometime.”
    “Those fancy eatin’ houses cost too much,” Spud said. “They’re real proud of their food.”
    Fran fluffed her hair. “We can go, my treat.”
    “ ’Long as you don’t get involved with my work,” I cautioned.
    “No worries there. This Argo’s thing of yours is kind of vapit.” Spud turned his attention to the sports section.
    “You mean vapid,” Fran said. “That was one of last Tuesday’s words.”
    “Whatever,”