“I’m no different than any other family”

That’s what New Jersey Phil Murphy (D) says about his decision to hare off to Italy on a 10-day vacation at his—his!—23-room villa.

“After this past 17 months, just having a few days together is something that I think all of us want to do with our family, and I’m looking forward to that.”
The governor planned to leave last Tuesday for a visit to his 23-room multimillion-dollar villa in Umbria and return to New Jersey next Thursday[.]

My objection to Murphy’s move, which he’s in the middle of, has nothing to do with his being wealthy enough to own a vast villa in an overseas tourist mecca; I aspire to become stinking rich, too. Nor do I object to Murphy taking some vacation time.

No, my objection is to Murphy’s utter cynicism. He’s not looking to hav[e] a few days together with his family; he’s been doing that right along. So have we all, especially those of us in States like New Jersey where, through government-ordered lockdowns, we’ve been on-again, off-again prisoners in our homes. Murphy is looking to escape his duties.

He’s not looking to have a vacation, either; he’s looking to escape from his State—from our nation—during a period of crisis for his State. He’s looking to duck his responsibilities.

Murphy is Governor of New Jersey. His duties don’t go on vacation; they go with him wherever he goes. Except to Italy, where even were he aware of events back in New Jersey (he likely will be), he’ll in no position to deal with them in anything remotely like a timely manner.

Even President Joe Biden (D) hasn’t left our nation for his vacation—he’s just taking a few days of isolation from his duties in Delaware.

How obliviously out of touch with the average Americans in his State and around our nation is this Progressive-Democrat.

Or, how cynically unconcerned is this Progressive-Democrat with the ordinary American family, comparing himself only with his fellow rich.

Moving

No, I’m not. That’s the name of my new Peter Hunt novel: Moving, and it’s available through Amazon’s Kindle store: https://amzn.to/3xHhhBW

A man wanted Peter Hunt to investigate his much younger wife, and Hunt doesn’t like domestic cases. On top of that, from the moment he came into Hunt’s office, the man rubbed Hunt the wrong way.
Hunt took the case, though. Go figure. When he and his friend and partner, Rachel Wellington-Smythe—Rick—plussed up his retainer and rate because the man also behaved badly toward Rick, the man didn’t bat an eyelash; he just signed and wrote out the check for the retainer. That raised red flags.

As part of investigating the wife, Hunt talked to her. “I’m here on behalf of your husband.”
“And what behalf would that be?”
“He thinks you’re being ‘unfaithful.’ That was the word he used.”
“‘Unfaithful.’ Unfaithful, he says?”
“From last night, I’d say he says right.”
“He doesn’t like to dance. He doesn’t like to go out. I do.”
“Let’s get to it. You like to do more than party.”
“We have an arrangement—I take care of his needs, I take care of mine.”

Only her needs turn out to be much broader than that.
So, it turned out, did the husband’s. Neither understood that about the other.
Then a local Ukrainian oligarch wannabe got involved. Two representatives came to Hunt’s office and encouraged him to walk away from his investigation. When he didn’t, the threat became explicit, and Rick’s apartment got…raided. When that didn’t persuade Hunt, the two reps called on Hunt at his home, and they attacked him, injuring his cat in the process.
Then another oligarch wannabe got involved. Then the husband came up dead. Then two more men—the wife’s bodyguards, it turned out—came up dead.
Then things started going downhill.

I hope you like it.