Tomb With a View (PM6) by Daniels Casey

Tomb With a View (PM6) by Daniels Casey

Author:Daniels, Casey [Daniels, Casey]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101188569
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2010-07-06T07:00:00+00:00

OK, so Jack was delectable.

Jack was charming.

Jack was one hell of a good kisser.

None of that was enough to turn me from a capable, self-confident, independent woman into a complete moron.

Was it?

I liked to think not, and I proved it to myself by smiling and chatting my way through lunch out at one of the picnic tables near the memorial like nothing was wrong. And when Jack left? Well, of course I told him I’d talk to him soon. I even agreed to meet him for drinks later in the week. That would certainly not be a sacrifice.

No, no . . . not because Jack was hot. Because now I knew he wasn’t on the up-and-up.

See, I realized something the moment I saw that upside-down sign outside the ballroom door: luscious or not, that kiss was nothing more than a diversionary tactic. Any idiot could see that. While I’d been busy getting all melty and enjoying the sensations that popped through me like Fourth of July fireworks, Jack had turned over that sign.

Question number one, of course, was, why?

Question number two (not as important but way more aggravating) was, did he really think I wouldn’t notice? Unfortunately, I knew the answer to that one. Jack was a guy. He assumed women were dumb, and that I would be left so starry-eyed from getting kissed, I wouldn’t pay attention to anything else.

How wrong he was!

Unfortunately, though I was itching to have at it, I got a little sidetracked in my quest for the truth. No sooner had Jack gone than a bus full of visitors showed up from the Rocky River Senior Center, and after that, the day was not my own. The old folks kept me running, and by the time four o’clock rolled around, all I wanted to do was go home and take a nap.

Unfortunately, a private detective’s life is never that easy.

In an effort to satisfy my curiosity, I locked the front door of the memorial and headed up the winding staircase to the ballroom. I tugged on the door.

Yep, it was locked.

So it was my imagination that made me hear what I thought were noises coming from inside. But not my imagination about the CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC sign.

Thinking, I batted the little sign back and forth and watched it swing from the red velvet rope where it was hanging.

“Jackson McArthur, history teacher from Lafayette High School, Hammond, Indiana.” I mumbled the words to myself, my mind racing and every one of my thoughts leading to the same place.

Within a couple minutes, I was at my desk in the administration building, asking myself the same question I’d asked myself back at the memorial. Namely, just how dumb do guys think women are?

Because for one thing, there was no Jackson McArthur in the Hammond, Indiana, phone book and I know, I know . . . he could have had an unlisted number, and for all I knew, a guy as gorgeous as Jack needed one or he’d have every woman in town panting at his front door.



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