HOT & BOTHERED MM

by ISENBERG JANE

• ISBN13: 9780380818884
• ISBN10: 0380818884
• Format: Paperback
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications

Summary

The Beat Goes OnThings are scarier since that black day in September that shook Manhattan and the world. But across the river in Hoboken, New Jersey, community college professor Bel Barrett intends to live without fear, despite her honey Sol's newborn wish that they retire and escape to somewhere remote.So Bel turns her attentions to home renovation, civic matters, and to an increasingly bitter battle for scholarship money, a contest she and three others must ultimately decide. Then one of the other judges is found dead on the mean streets of Hoboken -- a woman who lived a strange double life as academic by day and stripper by night.Unsure whether the solution to her friend's murder lies in the hallowed halls of learning or the smoky dens of flesh and fantasy, Bel decides to investigate both. But education and titillation could prove a most volatile mix -- and a murderer may be closer than she thinks.

Excerpts

Hot and Bothered
A Bel Barrett Mystery

Chapter One

To: [e-mail]
From: [e-mail]
Re: block party rsvp
Date: 10/01/01 10:20:16

Mom,

Thanks for the invitation to the block party. It's cool that it'shappening regardless of the attack on September 11. I'mreally proud you all decided not to let the terrorists causeyou to break with neighborhood tradition. The block partyis sacred! We kids used to wait all year for that one daywhen everybody moved all the cars off our street andclosed it to traffic. Luci Aquino and I roller-skated for hourstrying not to crash into all the little kids zooming around ontheir big wheels. It was totally happening.

I remember one year when some lame oldies bandstarted playing "Earth Angel" and you and Daddy tried todance. Ohmigod, that was so mortifying I wanted to move.And remember the time Mark ate too many hot dogs andthrew up all over our stoop? And the year you had to take him to the ER because he broke his wrist skateboarding? Iwish we had parties like that out here. No, what I reallywish is that I could come back to Hoboken for the blockparty and bring Abbie J. But I have work and classes, so ... you and Sol should party for us. Say hi to all the neighborsfor me especially Luci if she comes back.

Love,
Rebecca

E-mail from my daughter never failed to dislodgewhatever people and events had been preoccupying mymind before I read it. My students at River Edge CommunityCollege in Jersey City, New Jersey, faded intoa sepia-stained blur in the background of my consciousness. They were displaced by an image of Rebecca'sblond hair and green eyes shining as brightlyas those of her daughter, Abbie J. My only grandchildappeared as a color-splashed collage of purple jellystains on a yellow shirt, grass green overalls, and herred fireman's hat. Abbie J would have loved the facepainting at the block party! As a little girl, Rebecca hadalways asked for whiskers and cat eyes. Her brotherMark had insisted on smearing camouflage colors overhis freckles himself. As I reread Rebecca's messsage,even concern about my beloved partner Sol becamemuted, displaced by the memory of his grin after hescored the winning point in the volley ball game at along-ago block party.

But before I got too lost in my memories of blockparties past, the doorbell chimed. I heard it during amomentary lull in the screech of the electric sander inthe kitchen. This sound, somewhere between thescreams of mating cats and an ambulance siren, hadbeen the background music for our daily life since the kitchen renovation began during the past summer.Picking my way carefully through the array of powertools and stacked lumber that now filled most of thedownstairs of our row house, I opened the door to ProfessorEunice Goodson -- colleague, student, neighbor,and secret stripper.

As the noise assaulted her through the open door,Eunice, a stern-looking, stocky, and bespectacledyoung woman in her late twenties with a persistent tan,stuck her fingers in her ears in the time-honored mannerof seasoned New York subway riders hearing atrain enter the station. Eunice was one of the few peopleI know who could look dignified with her fingersin her ears. Eyes bright behind her metal-framedgranny glasses, she smiled and said, "Hi, Bel. Am Iearly? Remember, I promised I'd stop for you on myway to the meeting?" Signaling for her to wait, I wentback inside, grabbed my purse and the folder next to it,stuck my head into the kitchen area, and waved goodbyeto our carpenter. In the few seconds of silence thataccompanied his mock salute, I said, "Ed, be an angeland let Virginia Woolf out of the bedroom when youleave." As soon as Ed arrived each morning, I incarceratedmy favorite feline in the bedroom, where shespent the day ensconced in a basket of unread NewYorkers.

My duty done, I joined Eunice on the stoop, pullingthe front door shut behind me. "Sorry about the din.We're renovating our kitchen," I explained. "Thanksfor rescuing me. Another two minutes in there and I'dbe stone deaf." I shook my head as if doing so wouldexorcise lingering echoes of the shrill noise. "So, Eunice,how's the apartment working out?" I asked as webegan to walk.

"Bel, I can't thank you enough for that lead. I hadhoped to room with my sister, but ... "Without finishingher sentence, Eunice said, "The place is perfect. Assoon as I get settled, I'd like you and your husband tocome over." I didn't bother interrupting Eunice to explainthat although Sol was the love of my life, he andI had not chosen to formalize our long-standing livingarrangement. "I am just so grateful," she continued.Eunice's gratitude was understandable. Affordableapartments in Hoboken were still rarer than a bag of M& Ms at a Weight Watchers' meeting. But a couple ofweeks earlier my old friend and neighbor FeliceAquino had mentioned that in the wake of the terroristattack she had a vacancy. The occupant of her basementstudio apartment was moving to south Jerseywhere his company, whose former address had been inTower 1, now planned to relocate permanently. I suggestedthat Eunice call Felice. Then I called Felice myselfand put in a good word for Eunice.

"Felice is pretty pleased too," I said. "She's so gladyou're quiet and don't have a lot of rowdy company orplay loud music. Her last tenant tried to recreate thatspecial frat house ambiance by hosting raucous partiestill all hours. She says she never hears you."

Hot and Bothered
A Bel Barrett Mystery. Copyright © by Jane Isenberg. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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Excerpted from Hot and Bothered by Jane Isenberg
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