So About the Money Read Online Free PDF

JC stood for “Just Cool” as often as it did “Just Crazy.”  
    “Is this your loosen-up-the-idiot routine, so I’ll say something stupid like, ‘I killed Marcy’?”  
    His face immediately closed off, but before he could make another comment, she pulled on the composed shell she used at the negotiating table. “Look. At least for tonight, let’s declare a truce. You quit taking jabs at me and I won’t take any swipes at you. I’ll tell you everything I know about Marcy.”
    He pushed away from the wall and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
    “If we’re going to talk about her, I need coffee.” She headed toward the kitchen.  
    JC followed her into the large area beyond the vacant living room. “Nice.”
    There was no snark in his tone this time.  
    She surveyed the renovated space with pride. A tile-topped peninsula—she’d set every one of those suckers—separated the kitchen from the dining area. Cherry cabinets lined the interior walls and surrounded the Bosch appliances. City lights sparkled through the oversized windows at night, but right now she could see eighty miles to the Blue Mountains.  
    “Have a seat.” She pulled out coffee and filled the machine. “With all that activity at Big Flats, I’m surprised you’re here. Shouldn’t you be following leads or something?”
    From the safety of distance, she gave him a closer examination. His hair was shorter. No big surprise there, he was a policeman. His face was tanned; apparently he still spent time outdoors. The lines at the corners of his eyes were new. He’d filled out, not that he’d been a wimp when she knew him. She checked out the broad chest and shoulders tapering to slim hips and remembered why hormones had fried her brain when she was in college.
    Good thing she was too smart for that now.  
    All his assets still didn’t outweigh the big ol’ blot in his liability column, a.k.a. infidelity.
    He dropped his coat on a counter stool, but claimed the chair at the head of the table. “You looked like you were nearly out on your feet earlier, so I let you go home.” A lazy smile, the kind that used to set her heart racing, warmed his expression. “You still look good, though.”
    “Hmm.” Telling her pulse and her traitorous hormones to go take another cold shower, she gave her ratty yoga pants and T-shirt an appraising glance. She didn’t have to see her hair to know it had already dried in the desert air without benefit of blow-dryer, styling gel, or flatiron. “What do you want, JC?”
    He laughed.
    It was the belly-deep, I’m-an-idiot-and-you-called-me-on-it combined with I-don’t-take-myself-too-seriously chuckle she remembered. One of the protective barriers holding in her anger and hurt creaked a little, as though it was rusty and maybe she didn’t need it anymore.
    No, no, no . He was not getting under her skin.
    The coffee machine made steamy brewing noises behind her. Deliberately turning her back on him and his smile, she picked up his coat and headed toward the closet. As she draped the garment over a wooden hanger, her nose caught floral perfume wafting from the wool. Definitely not JC’s cologne.  
    Her stomach knotted. She should’ve known there’d be a woman in his life.  
    Anger knifed through any remaining illusions. She knew better than to trust anything he said or did. But what did he think he was doing, giving her that c’mon look?
    She slapped the hanger onto the closet rod. He wasn’t wearing a ring. Was he still married to what’s-her-face? Like being married stopped anybody. Look at Dad. If he fell off the rails, why should she expect JC to be different?
    She already knew JC wasn’t different.
    She returned to the kitchen and slammed around a few coffee mugs. She wasn’t sure if she was mad at her father, JC, or herself for still being even the tiniest little bit attracted to him.
    Damn him.
    He had a notepad open on the table. “I have some questions.”
    “Well, we can keep this