of thinking,” he said, leaning one hip against the corner of the cabinets in the kitchen. The coffee was really doing its thing, percolating and sputtering and hissing and filling the small kitchen with a warm, rich scent.
“Was it Marla? Did she knock off her mother-in-law?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did it happen?”
“I don’t really know, Jannelle. Enough with the interrogation.” He heard his voice rise with impatience and made an effort to bring it back down. “It’s early. Slow down. For all I know, Eugenia could have fallen down the stairs. It doesn’t look that way, but who knows?”
“I’ve already had a reporter call here . Can you believe it? I think the jerk knew you were Cissy’s husband, couldn’t find you in the book, and was calling anyone named Holt with a ‘J’ for the first initial. Jesus, I’m going to have to change that. You know, Dad probably got a call too. And J.J. Brace yourself. They’re bound to be as pissed as I am about it. Probably worse.”
“I’m braced.” Jack wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear. He was already rooting around in a cupboard for a cup, came up with a mug from his days at UCLA, and pulled the pot out of the coffee machine before it was ready.
“So this guy didn’t call you?”
“Not yet. But our house…Cissy’s place is unlisted. I don’t have a phone at the apartment. Just use the cell.”
“They’ll track you down.”
Of that much, he was certain. He poured himself a cup while some of the black brew drizzled from the reservoir and through the filter onto the hot plate, where it sizzled. Quickly, he returned the carafe to the coffee machine and listened as Jannelle barraged him with more questions. Rapid-fire, she demanded:
“When did it happen?
“How?
“Who would have done this?”
A bit of conscience hit her, and she asked, “Jesus, how is Cissy? You’ve talked to her, right? You…Oh God, that’s why you’re whispering! You’re with her, aren’t you? Oh, Jack, no!” He heard her take another long drag. “Didn’t I tell you to divorce the bitch and be done with it?”
Jack wasn’t in the mood. “What is it you want, Jannelle?” he asked coldly.
“Answers.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what to say if the damned media calls again.”
“Whatever happened to your stance that ‘no publicity is bad publicity’?”
“Maybe that was a little broad. I’m rethinking it,” she said from her condo in Sausalito.
“Try ‘No comment.’ Look, I’ve got to run, I’ll talk to you later.” Before she could say another word, he hung up and took another long gulp from his coffee. What was it with Jannelle? Naturally bossy, she was forever sticking her nose into his business.
But then, his whole family had a tendency to get under his skin. All opinionated; no one could ever keep his or her mouth shut. And they’d all chimed in on his separation from Cissy. Jannelle, divorced twice herself, had never liked Cissy and was rooting for the split to be finalized. When he’d given Jannelle the news, she’d arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow, crossed her incredibly long legs, leaned back in her chair in the Italian restaurant on Pier 39, and smiled. Outside, a colony of sea lions lazed on the docks in the cool wintry sun. Inside, Jannelle ordered two glasses of champagne and said, “Let’s toast to your new freedom. I’ve always said you should divorce the bitch.”
Jack had walked out, leaving her with the two flutes of expensive champagne and the bill. He’d wandered aimlessly along the waterfront, smelling the brine of the sea and wending his way through tourists willing to brave the sunny, if windy, day.
Things had gone differently with his father. Jonathan Holt had been saddened when he’d heard of the potential demise of Jack’s marriage. He’d met Jack in an Irish bar not far from Jack’s office in the financial district. “I hope you find a way to bury the hatchet and patch things
“Was it Marla? Did she knock off her mother-in-law?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did it happen?”
“I don’t really know, Jannelle. Enough with the interrogation.” He heard his voice rise with impatience and made an effort to bring it back down. “It’s early. Slow down. For all I know, Eugenia could have fallen down the stairs. It doesn’t look that way, but who knows?”
“I’ve already had a reporter call here . Can you believe it? I think the jerk knew you were Cissy’s husband, couldn’t find you in the book, and was calling anyone named Holt with a ‘J’ for the first initial. Jesus, I’m going to have to change that. You know, Dad probably got a call too. And J.J. Brace yourself. They’re bound to be as pissed as I am about it. Probably worse.”
“I’m braced.” Jack wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear. He was already rooting around in a cupboard for a cup, came up with a mug from his days at UCLA, and pulled the pot out of the coffee machine before it was ready.
“So this guy didn’t call you?”
“Not yet. But our house…Cissy’s place is unlisted. I don’t have a phone at the apartment. Just use the cell.”
“They’ll track you down.”
Of that much, he was certain. He poured himself a cup while some of the black brew drizzled from the reservoir and through the filter onto the hot plate, where it sizzled. Quickly, he returned the carafe to the coffee machine and listened as Jannelle barraged him with more questions. Rapid-fire, she demanded:
“When did it happen?
“How?
“Who would have done this?”
A bit of conscience hit her, and she asked, “Jesus, how is Cissy? You’ve talked to her, right? You…Oh God, that’s why you’re whispering! You’re with her, aren’t you? Oh, Jack, no!” He heard her take another long drag. “Didn’t I tell you to divorce the bitch and be done with it?”
Jack wasn’t in the mood. “What is it you want, Jannelle?” he asked coldly.
“Answers.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what to say if the damned media calls again.”
“Whatever happened to your stance that ‘no publicity is bad publicity’?”
“Maybe that was a little broad. I’m rethinking it,” she said from her condo in Sausalito.
“Try ‘No comment.’ Look, I’ve got to run, I’ll talk to you later.” Before she could say another word, he hung up and took another long gulp from his coffee. What was it with Jannelle? Naturally bossy, she was forever sticking her nose into his business.
But then, his whole family had a tendency to get under his skin. All opinionated; no one could ever keep his or her mouth shut. And they’d all chimed in on his separation from Cissy. Jannelle, divorced twice herself, had never liked Cissy and was rooting for the split to be finalized. When he’d given Jannelle the news, she’d arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow, crossed her incredibly long legs, leaned back in her chair in the Italian restaurant on Pier 39, and smiled. Outside, a colony of sea lions lazed on the docks in the cool wintry sun. Inside, Jannelle ordered two glasses of champagne and said, “Let’s toast to your new freedom. I’ve always said you should divorce the bitch.”
Jack had walked out, leaving her with the two flutes of expensive champagne and the bill. He’d wandered aimlessly along the waterfront, smelling the brine of the sea and wending his way through tourists willing to brave the sunny, if windy, day.
Things had gone differently with his father. Jonathan Holt had been saddened when he’d heard of the potential demise of Jack’s marriage. He’d met Jack in an Irish bar not far from Jack’s office in the financial district. “I hope you find a way to bury the hatchet and patch things
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