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

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I don’t think anyone sells Tupperware anymore,” I offered. “It’s not the 1950s.”

  “Fine. Mary Kay then.”

  “Do I look like I sell cosmetics?”

  “You look like a boy masquerading as a girl.”

  Well, that was insulting. I glanced down at my outfit. “Is it my hips? I’ve been told these jeans make me look as if I have boy hips.”

  He snorted. “Women should wear skirts, young lady.”

  Oh, geez. “I don’t like skirts.” I moved closer to him, which was a mistake because he smelled of stale beer and stagnant nicotine. “I hate wearing underwear, so if I have a skirt on everyone can see all the goods. It’s something of a tradeoff.”

  His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I don’t believe that. I think I’m going to need you to prove it.”

  He was hardly the first old pervert I’d come across. I knew exactly how to handle him. “Dude, if you even try to touch me I’ll kick you so hard in the nads that you won’t be able to swallow for a week. That includes beer.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.” I took the empty chair next to him and crossed my legs. “My name is Avery Shaw. I’m a reporter with The Monitor.”

  “Reporters are men.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “Oh, let me rephrase that,” he said dryly. “Good reporters are men.”

  “Dude, you’re sitting in your driveway drinking beer before noon,” I pointed out. “You’re not a good anything.”

  “You’ve got a mouth on you.” John swigged his beer. “I hate mouthy women. I don’t know if you’re aware, but women are supposed to be the fairer sex. You may be cute, but you’re obnoxious. That cancels out the cute.”

  “You’re breaking my heart.” I tilted my head, considering. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. Usually I would open with that, but you distracted me.”

  “My loss?”

  “Your son.”

  “Oh, him.” John made a face. “Yeah. The boy had potential he never lived up to. It’s a travesty what happened to him. Do you want to know what his true weakness was?”

  “Patriarchal genes?”

  “Ha, ha. You’re funny. Wait … you’re not.” He jabbed his middle finger in the air. “What do you think about that?”

  “You flip people off like a girl,” I replied without hesitation. “Men flip each other off by bending their fingers and holding them parallel. Women flip people off by putting their thumb over the bent fingers. That’s what you just did. You’re a total chick.”

  The look he shot me was withering. “Do you think you’re funny?”

  “I have it on good authority that I’m hilarious.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Pretty much everyone.”

  “You must surround yourself with a lot of liars.”

  “And I think you like to hear yourself talk,” I shot back. “I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to talk about your son.”

  “What about him? I already told you the boy was a walking travesty.”

  “I heard he tried to walk the walk you taught him,” I said. “Word is you were the one who made him think women were put on this Earth to serve men.”

  “I didn’t put that in his head. The Bible did.”

  “Oh, geez.” I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off an oncoming headache. “Listen, you’re all kinds of nuts. I see no reason to lie because I think you already realize you’re nuts. Believe it or not, though, I’m here to talk about your son. Not everything is about you.”

  “You said I was responsible for his belief system.”

  “Fair enough,” I acknowledged. “I’ve heard from multiple people that you taught your son to be a douche.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting your wife to stay home and fulfill her role as homemaker.”

  “I agree. I have nothing against homemakers … as long as that’s what the woman wants to do. If she wants to do something else, she has that right.”

  “No.” John vehemently shook his head. “Nature gave us our roles for a reason. Men are strong. They need to be treated a certain way. Women are weak. They need to be taken care of.”

  The mere fact that he could spout that ridiculous tripe with a straight face was enough to have me looking for a lawnmower to run him over with. “How many times have you been punched in your life?” I asked out of nowhere. “Seriously, just give me a ballpark.”

  “Never. I do the punching.”

  “Is that your thing? Did you smack your wife and son around?”

  “I was a good provider.”

  He was a moron. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t provide useful information. “I’m writing an article on your son’s death,” I announced. “I was there yesterday when everything went down. I was close to him.”

  “Really?” John straightened. “You were there? Did he say anything?”

  I shook my head. “It happened really fast. I don’t think he realized that he was dying. I’m pretty sure he was gone before he could register the sound, let alone the pain.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I don’t,” I agreed. “If it’s any consolation, I think he was really happy in the minutes before it happened. He was hanging around Bart Savage and they were doing that stiff-armed man-hug thing. He was smiling.”

  “And now he’s dead.”

  “He is. Can you think of anyone who wanted to kill him?”

  John shook his head, adopting a far-off expression. “No. He was a good boy. The only people who didn’t like him were the women in his life, and I’m convinced that someone planted those women in his path to mess with him.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense.” I wasn’t about to kowtow to his moronic rationalizations. “Your son was an idiot. You helped him be an idiot. That doesn’t mean he deserved to die. I’m trying to find out who did this.”

  “You’re not a cop.” He leaned closer. “For the record, women shouldn’t be cops either.”

  “All I hear when you open your mouth is blah, blah, blah.” I arranged my hands in the shape of a mouth and flapped my fingers. “Don’t you want to say something good about your son for the article I’m going to write?”

  “He was a patriot,” John replied, serious. “He wanted what was best for this country. People didn’t give him credit for it, but I respect the hell out of him. In fact, I respected him so much I’m going to take up the cause.”

  That didn’t sound good. “And how are you going to do that?”

  “I’m joining the movement.” He took another swig of beer. “When those people descend on the courthouse again this afternoon, I’ll be with them. Heck, more than that, I’ll be leading them.”

  I had my doubts. “Do you even know Bart Savage?”

  “I listen to him on the radio. I introduced my son to his program. Trust me, I know the Barracuda better than most people know their own brothers.”

  “Well, that’s something to be proud of.” I absently scratched an invisible itch on the side of my nose. “So … you have no idea who would want to kill your son, right?”

  “You’re assuming he was the intended target. Have you considered that Bart was the target and my son merely got in the way?”

  I had considered that. There was a lot of hate going around, which meant there was more than enough to share. “Anything else you want to say about your son?”

  “Just that he had the right idea. Women were put on this Earth to serve. He was trying to save our future. I plan to honor him by bolstering the cause.”

  “Then I guess I’ll see you soon?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  That made one of us.

  9 Nine

  I decided to surprise Eliot with lunch ... and by that I mean I picked up Chinese and his favorite soda so I could ask him for another favor without feeling guilty. He was behind the counter, Fawn steadily yammering a
way, when I entered.

  “You’re back?” Fawn turned whiny when she saw me. “Why are you back?”

  I shot her a sunny smile that I knew would irritate her far more than any mean words I could muster. “I’m here to spend time with my boo,” I replied, shooting a fond look toward Eliot. “I’m going through withdrawal. My fingers itch to take hold of him. I cannot make it another second if he’s not with me.”

  Fawn frowned and Eliot lifted his eyebrows in amusement.

  “You’re laying it on a bit thick,” Eliot calmly noted.

  I lifted the takeout bag. “I brought your favorite chicken and mixed vegetables. I also brought a Faygo orange soda.”

  His eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion. “What did you do?”

  Well, that was no way to greet the woman he loved. “I didn’t do anything. However, I know what I’m not going to be doing — namely you — if you don’t change that tone.”

  Instead of backing down, Eliot folded his arms over his chest and pinned me with a serious look. “What did you do?” he repeated.

  “If I were a normal woman that tone would totally break my heart,” I informed him. “I would cry ... and carry on ... and become as annoying as Fawn.”

  “I am not annoying,” Fawn barked.

  I ignored her. “I brought lunch because I knew you’d be hungry and I don’t have a lot of time. I thought we could spend what little time I have together because that’s what couples do.”

  Still suspicious, Eliot relaxed his frame. “That’s nice of you.”

  “Don’t take the candy, Eliot,” Fawn hissed, lowering her voice. “She’s trying to make you get in her van.”

  I turned haughty. “If I had a van, Eliot would totally want to get in it. That’s not what this is, though, so mind your own business.”

  “I’m looking out for him,” Fawn argued. “In fact ... .”

  Eliot cut her off with throat clearing. “Fawn, watch the shop. You can take your lunch when I’m finished eating with Avery. We’ll be in my office.”

  The pout that overtook Fawn’s face was straight out of the movie Mean Girls. “But ... I thought you said we could order sandwiches together.”

  Eliot merely shrugged. “Plans change. Come on, Avery. I want that soda.”

  I figured as much. I was feeling pretty good about myself when I followed Eliot into his office, stopping long enough to cast a triumphant look in Fawn’s direction as she pouted at her station. “Have a lovely afternoon,” I drawled.

  “Don’t push it,” Eliot warned, grabbing my arm and giving it a tug so he could drag me inside and close the door. The second we were out of earshot, he pinned me with an accusatory look. “The cops aren’t right behind you, are they?”

  I bit back a sigh. “Not everything I do results in police interference.”

  He remained rigid for a beat and then relaxed. “You usually only bring me lunch when you’re in trouble.” He took the bag from me and inhaled the scent. “You went to our favorite place. That means you went out of your way because you were in Clinton Township.”

  “I’ve been multiple places this morning,” I countered, taking the seat across from his desk and grabbing the Diet Coke I purchased for myself from the bag. “I’ve learned some interesting things.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Eliot sat at his desk and pulled out his entree. “How did things go at Crawford’s house?”

  “I met his son. Doug is ... a relatively nice man who had a douche for a father. He seemed happy to talk about his father, but I get the feeling that it was therapy more than anything else.” I accepted the container Eliot handed me. “I think Crawford terrorized pretty much everyone in his family. They all seem relieved that he’s gone. Even his father was more about himself than Crawford.”

  “You met his father, too?”

  “And his second ex-wife.”

  “Wow!” Eliot grabbed several packets of soy sauce, thoughtful. “Wait ... how many ex-wives does he have?”

  “Three. I need you to help me track down the third, by the way. She’s local, but Doug wasn’t tight with her so he has no idea where she disappeared to after the divorce. His father was only married to her for two years.”

  “That’s not a very long marriage.”

  “Definitely not,” I agreed. “Each marriage was to a significantly younger woman and the duration was less than half the previous union. Dan the Man had problems.”

  “You’ve definitely been busy,” Eliot said. “Tell me.”

  I did. Eliot was a terrific sounding board. He understood things normal people couldn’t without huge mounds of exposition, and he was patient and waited until the end to ask questions.

  “Are you looking at any of these people as suspects?”

  That was a good question. “I don’t know,” I replied after a beat. “Technically, a lot of them could have motive. Crawford was a terrible husband. From what Jenny told me, he was also exploitive and that’s how they ended up together in the first place, although she wouldn’t come right out and call him predatory.”

  “That’s probably because she has a daughter by the man,” Eliot noted. “Even though she’s thankful that she managed to raise her daughter relatively unscathed in this situation, that’s still the girl’s father. It might be detrimental for Vanessa if it were to come out that her father was sexually inappropriate with her mother.”

  Honestly, that hadn’t even occurred to me. That’s another reason I liked bouncing ideas off Eliot. “She seemed pretty together,” I admitted. “Sometimes I get a vibe off people. Like Crawford’s father? Total douchebag. But I didn’t sense anything from her. She seemed straightforward.

  “I think she realizes she made a mistake as a young woman, and even though it’s not something she can take back it is something she can move on from,” I continued. “She mentioned being young and dumb. And she owns the errors in judgment. Even Doug had nothing but nice things to say about her.”

  “What about him?” Eliot queried. “Do you suspect him?”

  “I don’t think so. He seemed ... lost. I almost felt bad for him.”

  “Lost how?”

  “He’s the only boy,” I replied. “He has two sisters, but he was the one who was expected to carry on his father’s legacy. The thing is, his father was an idiot. His mother was strong, taught him right from wrong, and molded him into a stand-up man despite his father’s influence.

  “He told me he didn’t agree with his father’s position on things,” I continued. “His mother was a nurse who has since remarried and moved to Florida. She always wanted to be a nurse and she brought in a good income, especially given the fact that Crawford bounced around from job to job.

  “She got fed up with his attitude and divorced him. It sounds like Crawford might’ve mildly stalked her for a bit after that,” I said. “Apparently it was a relief when he moved on to Jenny because that allowed his first wife to breathe.”

  “How do you mildly stalk someone?” Eliot asked.

  “You keep up on their life without crawling in the bushes to spy on them through windows at night. Kind of like how I mildly stalk Tad.”

  “You’ve crawled through the bushes to spy on him,” Eliot countered. “Don’t you remember the incident with the rat dog?”

  “I still maintain that was an actual rat and not a rat dog, but that was different. I thought he was doing something nefarious that might require police intervention. I was protecting the public with my actions, not spying.”

  Eliot rolled his eyes. “If that’s your story.”

  “It is.” I decided to change the subject because the rat dog anecdote didn’t make me look good. “I do find Crawford’s father interesting,” I offered. “I’m not sure I believe he killed his son — there isn’t a motive there that I can see, at least right now — but he’s soulless and disgusting.”

  “Did he hit on you?”

  “A little; nothing that I couldn’t handle. He’s a terrible human being, though. I can tell why Dan e
nded up the way he did. Apparently John will be at the protest this afternoon, which I think is going to add an element of slime that we didn’t previously have.”

  “Joy.” Eliot bit into his eggroll and chewed as he regarded me. “You’re going to be careful this afternoon, right?” he asked finally.

  I nodded. “Believe it or not, I don’t want to die ... or be hurt ... or leave you. I think it’s doubtful anyone will come back and take shots two days in a row. That said, the sheriff’s department is beefing up patrols. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m still going to check on you.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Honestly, if he wandered across the street a few times it wouldn’t be the worst thing. He was a big, muscular man. If those idiots with the signs gave me too much trouble I could always dangle Eliot’s fighting skills over them as a threat. “I look forward to your participation in my investigation.”

  Eliot smirked. “You’re up to something. I don’t know what, but you are. But you’re being so agreeable I’m fine with it. Now, give me the name you need run. Let’s see if we can find who you’re looking for.”

  “Lily Paddington,” I offered. “And, yes, I asked if that was her real name. The frog jokes she must’ve lived with during high school had to have been traumatic. She’s twenty-one ... now.”

  Eliot tilted his head to the side. “Now? How long have they been divorced?”

  “Less than six months.”

  “How old was she when they got married?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Ugh.” He made a disgusted face. “I know it’s wrong to speak ill of the dead, but I’m starting to wonder if this guy had it coming.”

  “Yeah. I’ve already entertained those dark thoughts. He was definitely a douche.”

  “He was worse than that.”

  On that particular opinion, we agreed.

  CRAWFORD’S THIRD WIFE, LILY, TURNED out to be exactly what I expected.

  She was young, wore icepick heels and a tiny skirt, and sold furniture in a local store to make her way. Her boobs were on display as much as the room ensembles when I walked into the display area, and her smile was wide as she greeted me with a sweeping arm.