hoped.
A couple of hours later, Jeff showed up with his daughter, Kelly, in tow. He skidded to a stop just inside the front door. “Violet Parker, what are you doing to my kitchen floor?”
I didn’t raise my head. “Your grout is dirty.”
“Is that my toothbrush?”
“I’ll buy you a new pack of them.”
“You’re early.” Something thunked on the counter.
Sitting back on my heels, I swiped my sweaty brow with my forearm and glanced up at him, only to do a double-take. “Wow. You look ...” different ! “Nice.”
Jeff rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I need a shave.”
I gaped at him. When I’d first met Jeff Wymonds more than a month ago, I’d pegged him for the one who’d been kidnapping little girls around town, especially after I’d caught him tossing girls’ clothing in a Dumpster. I’d come within a phone call of turning him into the cops.
Smelling of beer, sporting a scraggly beard and hair, and wearing a stained T-shirt, Jeff had looked one notch above roadkill. Then I learned his wife was dumping him for another woman and taking their baby son with her, leaving him to care for their troubled daughter and pick up the pieces alone. On top of that, she wanted the house—or at least her half of the money for it—so Jeff was on the verge of being homeless, too. Given all that, his lack of hygiene and fondness for alcohol made a little more sense.
But this man, mostly clean-shaven and with freshly trimmed dark blond hair, looked nothing like the monster who’d leered at me through a screen door on our first meeting. Not even remotely. Now I could see why Natalie had once told me Jeff “cleaned up nicely” and why she’d bebopped naked with him in his back seat during high school.
“Your hair looks good,” I said, unable to pull my eyes away, my brain stuck in a Before-and-After loop.
“It’s a little short.” He raked his fingers through his spiky groomed hair. “I stopped at the barber on the way home.”
“I like it.”
“Enough to go out to dinner with me?”
That broke my stare. I shook my head. “You know my rule.”
“Yeah, that whole you-don’t-date-your-clients crap.”
“Exactly.” Except for Wolfgang Hessler, who’d tried to turn me into a shish kabob; and Doc, who’d ditched me after rocketing me to the moon and back.
Jeff took a six-pack of Diet Coke out of the grocery bag and offered me a can. “Your preference, right?”
It was still cold from the store. “Thanks.”
“You should wear jeans and a T-shirt more often.” He winked at me, cracking open a can for himself. “We need to get this house sold and my divorce finalized. A single girl like you won’t last long around these parts.”
I looked away, gulping down some cool soda to keep from having to respond to his comment. While I was happy Jeff was on the road to recovery after having his heart tromped by a herd of rhinos—especially since his daughter and mine seemed to be attached at the hip these days—I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be the focus of his rebound. Although his being easier on the eyes made the idea a bit more palatable.
He opened the fridge and I noticed a total lack of beer. Had he trimmed that along with his hair? I eyed him from head to toe as he put away the groceries. He seemed thinner in his clean white T-shirt and faded Levis. “Did you lose weight?”
He nodded. “I stopped drinking.”
“Because of Kelly?”
“Partly.” He folded the grocery bag and stuffed it under the sink. “With Donna gone, I don’t need to escape anymore.”
Who was this guy? Nobody turned a life corner this fast, did he? He must be catching Dr. Phil reruns late at
A couple of hours later, Jeff showed up with his daughter, Kelly, in tow. He skidded to a stop just inside the front door. “Violet Parker, what are you doing to my kitchen floor?”
I didn’t raise my head. “Your grout is dirty.”
“Is that my toothbrush?”
“I’ll buy you a new pack of them.”
“You’re early.” Something thunked on the counter.
Sitting back on my heels, I swiped my sweaty brow with my forearm and glanced up at him, only to do a double-take. “Wow. You look ...” different ! “Nice.”
Jeff rubbed his hand over his jaw. “I need a shave.”
I gaped at him. When I’d first met Jeff Wymonds more than a month ago, I’d pegged him for the one who’d been kidnapping little girls around town, especially after I’d caught him tossing girls’ clothing in a Dumpster. I’d come within a phone call of turning him into the cops.
Smelling of beer, sporting a scraggly beard and hair, and wearing a stained T-shirt, Jeff had looked one notch above roadkill. Then I learned his wife was dumping him for another woman and taking their baby son with her, leaving him to care for their troubled daughter and pick up the pieces alone. On top of that, she wanted the house—or at least her half of the money for it—so Jeff was on the verge of being homeless, too. Given all that, his lack of hygiene and fondness for alcohol made a little more sense.
But this man, mostly clean-shaven and with freshly trimmed dark blond hair, looked nothing like the monster who’d leered at me through a screen door on our first meeting. Not even remotely. Now I could see why Natalie had once told me Jeff “cleaned up nicely” and why she’d bebopped naked with him in his back seat during high school.
“Your hair looks good,” I said, unable to pull my eyes away, my brain stuck in a Before-and-After loop.
“It’s a little short.” He raked his fingers through his spiky groomed hair. “I stopped at the barber on the way home.”
“I like it.”
“Enough to go out to dinner with me?”
That broke my stare. I shook my head. “You know my rule.”
“Yeah, that whole you-don’t-date-your-clients crap.”
“Exactly.” Except for Wolfgang Hessler, who’d tried to turn me into a shish kabob; and Doc, who’d ditched me after rocketing me to the moon and back.
Jeff took a six-pack of Diet Coke out of the grocery bag and offered me a can. “Your preference, right?”
It was still cold from the store. “Thanks.”
“You should wear jeans and a T-shirt more often.” He winked at me, cracking open a can for himself. “We need to get this house sold and my divorce finalized. A single girl like you won’t last long around these parts.”
I looked away, gulping down some cool soda to keep from having to respond to his comment. While I was happy Jeff was on the road to recovery after having his heart tromped by a herd of rhinos—especially since his daughter and mine seemed to be attached at the hip these days—I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be the focus of his rebound. Although his being easier on the eyes made the idea a bit more palatable.
He opened the fridge and I noticed a total lack of beer. Had he trimmed that along with his hair? I eyed him from head to toe as he put away the groceries. He seemed thinner in his clean white T-shirt and faded Levis. “Did you lose weight?”
He nodded. “I stopped drinking.”
“Because of Kelly?”
“Partly.” He folded the grocery bag and stuffed it under the sink. “With Donna gone, I don’t need to escape anymore.”
Who was this guy? Nobody turned a life corner this fast, did he? He must be catching Dr. Phil reruns late at
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