Above the Fold & Below the Belt (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 14)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “That’s not a compliment. You’re simply diabolical when you want to be.”

  “How is that not a compliment?”

  He chuckled. “I’m going to take a tour of all the downtown buildings this morning with Jake. We set it up when you were in the bathroom last night. We’re going to make sure all those fire escape ladders are working correctly so no one who doesn’t belong there can get on those roofs.”

  “Do you really think whoever it was will come back a second time?”

  “I guess that depends. Do you think he got who he was aiming for?”

  That was a very good question. “I guess we both have work to do.”

  “We do.” He leaned closer. “I’m not done exploring the galaxy yet.”

  “That’s because you’re a Jedi who believes any job worth doing should be done right.”

  “That’s a nice way to put it.”

  “I thought so.”

  I WAS COMMITTED TO MY plan of action when I entered the newspaper offices two hours later. I was only five minutes late — which was somewhat miraculous for me — and as a peace offering I wore a new Star Wars shirt that wasn’t even remotely offensive.

  I dropped my purse and notebook at my desk and booted my computer before leaning back in my chair and giving my editor a sidelong look. The Monitor’s newsroom was divided into blocks of cubicles. In the main area, where the layout people and editors worked, the cubicle walls were lower because they could be trusted to work without unnecessary conversation derailing their days. Reporter row was different. We had tall walls because we were a chatty bunch and Fish got tired of yelling, “This isn’t a talking party” at us when we forgot we were on deadline.

  Fish was intent on his computer screen, almost as if he was actually working. I was still two mugs of coffee away from properly functioning, so I figured he was putting on an act.

  As if sensing my gaze, he slowly tracked his eyes to me. He didn’t say anything, his face impassive, but I could almost feel the resignation wafting off of him. Now was the time to strike.

  I slid back into my cubicle, stood, and smoothed my Han Solo “Never Tell Me the Odds” shirt before heading toward his desk. He was back to staring at his screen, but I knew he was aware of my impending presence.

  “Hey, Avery!” My friend Erin bubbled when she caught sight of me. She was the special sections editor — basically she did the advertorial inserts that made it into the newspaper every weekend — and she was a lot of fun to gossip with. “I heard you were almost shot yesterday. That must have been terrifying.”

  “It wasn’t as bad as you’d expect,” I replied truthfully. “There are worse things in the world. Like ... did you know there are women who actually date Duncan of their own free will? That’s so much worse than being shot at.”

  I let loose the snarky tidbit at the perfect time because the man in question, Duncan Marlow — aka, the office tool — happened to be striding behind me on the way to his desk. He slowed his pace and pinned me with a harsh glare.

  “Too bad that bullet didn’t hit you in the head yesterday.”

  “Hey!” Fish’s temper, rarely on display, came out in full. “I won’t put up with any of that.” He was firm. “It’s one thing to mess with one another because ... well ... you’re easy to mess with, Duncan. It’s not okay to wish death on anyone. If you say anything like that again I’ll have you sent to Human Resources.”

  Duncan briefly narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe I wished she was dead.”

  “He’s right,” I said calmly. “He said he wished I was shot in the head. That’s not the same as dying.”

  “Enough!” Fish barked.

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. He’s a tool. Let it go.” I leaned over the railing of Fish’s cubicle and snagged an orange slice from the baggie he had on his desk. His wife always sent him to work with healthy snacks — something he hated — and it wasn’t out of the ordinary to see him munching on yogurt when the rest of us were inhaling Twix bars.

  “So, I had an idea,” I started.

  “Oh, well, good. I’m glad to see that your near-death experience didn’t result in behavior modification. I would’ve hated that.”

  His tone told me he meant the exact opposite. “I’m fine. I wasn’t all that close. In fact, I could’ve filed my own story yesterday.”

  “That’s not what James said. He insinuated you were in the thick of things, right next to the deceased when it happened.”

  “How would he even know?” I challenged, frustration bubbling up. “He was hiding inside when it occurred. I was out there.”

  “He said you were close to the guy who was shot and that some guy with long hair was serving as your bodyguard for the rest of the day. I’m assuming that’s Eliot. James was under the impression that Eliot was in charge.”

  Oh, well, now I wanted to hurt James even more than when this situation first spun out of control. “Eliot is not in charge. I’m in charge.”

  Fish cocked a dubious eyebrow. “James said that Eliot kept a firm hold on you for the duration of the afternoon and forced you to stick close to him.”

  Oh, well, crud on a cracker. My formerly badass rep had taken a hit and I didn’t even realize it. That couldn’t stand. “Eliot was upset because shots were fired. He’s a security expert,” I offered. “He is not in charge, though. We’re equally in charge.”

  Fish eyed me for a long beat. “What happened yesterday was stressful for all involved. It was right for you to take some time off. Believe it or not, that’s normal.”

  “It was my story.”

  He sighed as he ran a hand over his thinning hair. He wore enough jewelry to make 1970s Burt Reynolds jealous, and the bad lighting in the newsroom reflected off the bald spot on his head, creating an odd halo effect. “You’re the only person I know who would be angry about being forced to go home early and regroup after a shooting.”

  “I didn’t go home that early. Eliot patched up my scrapes and then we went to dinner.” I left out the lightsaber duels because I figured Fish would turn furious if I pushed him on that particular point. “I was fine. There was no need to take my story away.”

  He shifted in his chair as he ran his tongue over his teeth and regarded me. “I didn’t take it away from you. I made sure you got a co-byline even though James wanted to add your name in at the end of the story instead.”

  My lips curved down. “He was warned about that at the courthouse yesterday.”

  “Yes, well, I’m guessing he doesn’t like sharing bylines,” Fish noted. “I said something to him about it, so it won’t happen again.”

  It most definitely wouldn’t. “I know how to ensure it won’t happen again.”

  Fish was instantly suspicious. “I don’t want to hear any of your harebrained ideas.”

  “How do you know it’s harebrained? I haven’t even laid it out for you yet.”

  “No. Not happening. No way. No how. I refuse to listen.” He stopped just short of putting his hands over his ears and screeching, “La, la, la.”

  “I was almost shot yesterday,” I reminded him. “You owe me.”

  “You can’t say nothing happened in one breath and then use your narrow escape to get what you want in another.”

  “I think I can.”

  “Well ... .” He broke off and shook his head. “What’s your idea?”

  “James can handle the court proceedings.” For now, I silently added. I would be going after those eventually, too. Now was not the time to get greedy, though. “I’ll handle everything outside the court proceedings. The shooting is technically a different story now, and it ties to the protests.”

  Fish opened his mouth to argue and then snapped it shut, his mind clearly busy.

  “You know it’s true,” I prodded. “You let me cover the protesters on my own yesterday because you recognized it was a big deal. Now it’s an even a bigger deal.

  “James can’t handle both the court case and the murder investigation
,” I continued. “The sheriff’s department will hold news conferences, and probably at the same time James is in court. This situation requires two dedicated reporters.”

  Fish pursed his lips. “It does. I’m thinking I should assign someone else, though. Perhaps Marvin ... or even Duncan.”

  Over my dead body would he assign Duncan to my story. “You need a female.”

  “Why?”

  “Because half those protesters are female and they believe the patriarchal system is holding them down. That Julia woman I met yesterday mentioned protesting here due to our lack of female reporters. Do you want to become the news instead of covering it?”

  Fish was appalled. “How did she know about the female reporters?”

  That was a very good question. It was time to lie. “Apparently she’s been researching our operation for years. She said how progressive it was of you to send me to cover the protests. She knew who I was right away and was thankful that you were open-minded enough not to send a man.”

  “Oh, well ... .” Fish was caught. We both knew it. “I guess we can do things your way.”

  It took everything I had not to do a victory dance. “I think that’s probably best.”

  “Great. I’m glad you’re happy.” Fish narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Don’t think I’m not aware of what you just did here. I’m not an idiot.”

  “Of course not. You’re the best boss in the world.”

  “No need for overkill.” He shook his head. “I’ll take care of informing James because you’ll do it in an aggressive manner.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “You get out there and find out why Dan Crawford was shot. I’m guessing it was a mistake and the shooter was aiming for Savage. It’s your job to find out.”

  “That’s the plan.” I mock saluted. “Thank you for being the best boss ever.”

  His face was blank. “Do you have any idea how annoying you are?”

  “I have an inkling.”

  “Double it.”

  “Good to know.”

  7 Seven

  My first order of business was tracking down information on Dan Crawford. I knew absolutely nothing about the guy — other than he was apparently an uber-douche — and James did little to no checking on his background the previous day. That meant I had a lot of legwork in front of me.

  I stopped in Eliot’s shop because I needed a favor. Googling Crawford’s address got me nowhere because it was a common name. He had better search engines on his computer for his security business, so I was hoping he would be eager to help given the several bouts of intergalactic battles we’d played over the past twelve hours. Unfortunately for me, he wasn’t alone in the shop when I entered.

  “It was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Fawn complained, her tone whiny. “I had to hide in the bushes for an hour.”

  Eliot made sympathetic noises and turned his eyes toward the door when the overhead bell rang. He broke into a smile when he realized who was darkening his door. “Miss me already?”

  There was so much flirt emanating from him that he would’ve had hearts bulging from his eyes had he been a cartoon character.

  “Every moment without you is a personal torment,” I drawled, stepping into the shop. “I need a favor.”

  He didn’t as much as blink. “Am I going to like this favor?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Fawn cleared her throat and shot me a pointed look. “I was in the middle of a story.”

  “Yes, it sounded terrifying,” I said. “You hid in the bushes for an hour even though shots were fired for less than a minute. That sounds like a great way to spend your time.”

  She scowled. “Why do you always have to be such a jerk?”

  I shrugged. “I have a gift.” I kept my eyes on Eliot. “It’s not a difficult favor.”

  He pursed his lips. “See, the fact that you needed to make that distinction worries me. I can’t agree to do you a favor unless I know what it is.”

  “I prefer it when you blindly agree and then get irritated after the fact.”

  “I know, but we’re trying this new compromise thing and I want to stick to it.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Fine. I need you to find Dan Crawford’s address.”

  He waited for me to continue, but there was really nothing else to say. “That’s it?”

  I nodded. “Fish agreed that my plan to cover the trial and the protests separately was for the best. That means I need to track down Crawford’s family and go from there.”

  “I can manage that.”

  I beamed. “Thank you, Admiral Kane.”

  He smirked as Fawn furrowed her brow.

  “Why are you tracking down the dead guy?” she asked, confused. “What does he have to do with anything?”

  Honestly, there are times I wonder how she doesn’t fall down when she’s trying to walk. That’s how slow she is. “Because he’s dead and I need to find out why.”

  “Isn’t that a job for the police?”

  “Yes, but I’m a helpful soul.”

  Eliot snorted as he gestured for me to move closer. “It shouldn’t take long to track him down.”

  “Do you know how common the name Dan Crawford is?”

  “Still, he had ties to Savage, right? I’m betting it’s easier than you imagine.”

  “Poor Mr. Savage.” Fawn made a tsking sound. “I feel so bad for him.”

  “You feel bad for him?” My fingers itched to give her hair a good tug. “Why on earth would you feel bad for him?”

  “Because he’s being railroaded.”

  “Is that what he says on his radio show?”

  Fawn nodded solemnly. “He’s a great man and people are jealous of great men. It’s not fair that he’s a target simply for having an opinion.”

  “If I had lima beans in my stomach, this is where I would throw them up,” I muttered.

  “What do lima beans have to do with it?” Eliot asked.

  “They taste like ass.”

  “Good to know.” He pushed open the door to his office. “Come on. I’ll get you that address before this conversation devolves into a hissing contest. I know my Kitten would win, but I don’t want to have to deal with the fallout.”

  I glowered at him. “I thought you were dropping the Kitten thing.”

  “My whims come and go. You should understand that because you’re the same way.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I shuffled toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to doing whatever you were doing, Fawn. If you need something shiny to stare at, may I suggest the coins in the middle of the road. You might get hit by a car ... but those are the breaks.”

  “Avery.” Eliot was stern as he motioned for me to enter the office. He was such a killjoy sometimes.

  “I’m coming.”

  He waited until we were safely ensconced in his office, the door shut, to give me a kiss. “You need to stop baiting her.”

  “You’re the one who changed his mind about firing her,” I reminded him. “You kicked her to the curb and then brought her back on probation.”

  “I brought her back because I was worried she would sue,” he admitted, causing me to sober. “I need to document everything she does for the next few weeks before I can cut her loose without worrying about repercussions.”

  I was surprised. “I didn’t realize that. Are you really worried she’ll sue you?”

  “She seems the type, doesn’t she?”

  He wasn’t wrong. “Well ... what can I do to help?”

  His eyebrows hopped as he pressed a hand to the small of my back. “Just be you. She’ll do something stupid relatively quickly if you keep to your normal patterns. That’s what I want.”

  “Fair enough.” I watched as he sat at his desk and started typing, momentarily marveling at how lucky I’d gotten when we’d connected. He was handsome and helpful. He also didn’t give me too much grief when I dug into a story and refused to loosen my claws. That
was essentially all I could ask for, and yet he somehow always managed to be more.

  “Why are you staring at me with that goofy look on your face?” Eliot asked, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

  My smile slipped. “Maybe I was thinking that you’re a good guy and I’m happy to have you in my life. Have you ever considered that?”

  “Is that what you were thinking?”

  “I’m not telling you now.”

  He chuckled. “I’m happy you’re in my life, too. I need you to be quiet, though. You were right about there being numerous Dan Crawfords. I need to find the right one.”

  “Yes, sir.” I clicked my heels together and threw myself in the chair across from his desk. “Do you have anything to snack on?”

  “There are lima beans in the cupboard.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re a funny guy.”

  “I do my best.”

  DAN CRAWFORD LIVED IN A NONDESCRIPT two-story house in Clinton Township. It wasn’t in a rich neighborhood, but it wasn’t in a poor one either. It was basically a normal house on a normal street in a normal southeast Michigan suburb. The only thing that set his house apart were the vitriolic signs on his front lawn.

  They spouted phrases like “Feminism is just another word for man-hater” and “Women belong in the home not the government.” All I could think was that he was lucky I didn’t live in his neighborhood because I would’ve handled the sign issue a long time ago, probably with some well-placed lighter fluid and a match.

  I was halfway up the sidewalk that led to the front door when it opened. The man who stood there appeared to be in his early twenties, and the look of confusion on his face caused me to slow my pace.

  “May I help you?” he asked.

  “Um ... .”

  “I’m not in the mood for solicitors. Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

  That was insulting. I squared my shoulders. “My name is Avery Shaw. I’m a reporter with The Monitor. I was at the courthouse yesterday when shots were fired. My understanding is that this is Dan Crawford’s house.”

  The man was taken aback. “Oh, I ... yeah. I should’ve recognized you.” His voice softened. “I saw you on television. You were with some guy with long hair and he was taking care of you.”