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

by Amanda M. Lee

  Eliot frowned. “I know I’m not a girl … .”

  “But you have such pretty hair,” I teased. “I would love to put a bow in it.”

  “Ha, ha, ha. What I was about to say is that I don’t understand how anyone can believe that women aren’t just as capable as men.”

  “You’re an enlightened individual.”

  “I like to think so.”

  “I don’t think Laura plays into this,” I admitted. “She’s too far removed from the situation. She has no reason to want him dead. He’s not a part of her life. That leaves Vanessa.” I wrote again and added her to the family tree. “All I know about her is that she’s in high school.”

  “I very much doubt a teenager was up on that roof shooting at her father,” Eliot noted. “She wouldn’t have the ability to plan it out, let alone escape.”

  “I agree. I’m going to track her down and try to talk to her, but I don’t see how she plays into this.”

  “So, what does that leave you?”

  “Jenny.”

  Eliot rolled his neck and momentarily stared at the ceiling. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine.” He heaved out a sigh. “What if I take you to the range with me tomorrow? I’m betting that Mike will be there. He goes every single day if he can swing it.”

  “Really?” I brightened considerably. “You would do that? Allow me to ruthlessly question your buddies?”

  “Not question. You can watch him for a bit. See the way he operates.”

  I pouted. “I would prefer questioning him.”

  “Which I’m not going to allow.”

  We fell silent, staring at one another. Finally, I shrugged. “I guess that’s fair. You’re helping me, after all.”

  He snickered. “Well, you did bring me lunch and dinner today.”

  “Yes, I’m an excellent cook.”

  He slid his arms around my waist and tugged until I was positioned between his legs. “I know you’ve given this a lot of thought, and I agree Jenny makes the most sense if you’re looking at it from a specific point of view, but we have no idea how many people this guy has ticked off. On top of that, we don’t know that he was the target.”

  “Did Jake mention anything to you about that?” I was understandably curious. “Did he give you any information he didn’t share with me?”

  “I don’t know what he shared with you, but I’m not going to wedge myself between the two of you.” He was firm. “You need to get your own information from Jake. I’ll help you where I can. You know that. But I will not betray his trust. That doesn’t seem like a fair position to put me in.”

  He wasn’t wrong. “I know that there’s a real possibility Crawford wasn’t the target,” I admitted. “It almost seems as if he can’t possibly be the target because he wasn’t important enough.”

  “But?” he prodded.

  “But that’s why I think it’s possible he was the target. I mean … what better time to take out an enemy? Make it look like an accident when it was really on purpose.”

  “I guess.” He pressed his lips to my cheek. “Trouble, are we done playing investigators? If so, there’s another game I want to play in the bedroom.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “What game is that?”

  “It involves pirates.”

  “Oh, do you want to play The Goonies again?”

  He chuckled. “I get to be Brand.”

  “I’m Mikey.”

  “That won’t work for the game I have planned.”

  “Then you’ll have to be one of the girls. They’re both lame, and I refuse to kowtow to my gender.”

  “Ugh.” He mock-growled. “Fine. I’ll be Andi. You’re going to owe me, though.”

  “Great. Let’s go see who can do the Truffle Shuffle better.”

  13 Thirteen

  “I can’t get you into the gun range this morning,” Eliot announced as he handed me a box of cereal the next morning. He was smooth when delivering the information, but I sensed something churning beneath his veneer of calm.

  “And why is that?” I upended the Fruity Pebbles box and dumped the sugary goodness into my bowl. “Did you change your mind about helping me?”

  “No.”

  I waited.

  “There’s a rule at the range,” he started, avoiding eye contact. “I’m trying to find a way around it.”

  That was interesting. “And what is this rule? No questioning potential murderers on the premises?”

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re basically the human version of a migraine inducer?”

  “Now is not the time for flirting.”

  “It’s not that you want to question Mike because he might be a murderer — although that is a concern that I hold.”

  “Then what is it? I’ve been to the range with you before.” I thought back to the outing. “That was kind of our first date, huh?”

  He shook his head. “That was not our first date. I couldn’t decide if you were crazy that day, so it most definitely wasn’t our first date.”

  Ugh. He’s such a drama queen when he wants to be. “Obviously it turned out fine. I’m not crazy, so that was a ridiculous concern.”

  “Who says you’re not crazy?”

  “If I’m crazy, what does that say about you?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’m crazy, too.” His grin was flirty but I had no intention of letting him distract me.

  “Eliot, why can’t I visit the range? Is this a sexist thing? A no-girls club or something?”

  He dragged a hand through his freshly-washed hair. He had a certain glow after showering. It made him even more appealing than normal — which was saying something — but I refused to fall victim to his good looks this go-around.

  “It’s not a sexist thing,” he said finally. “Girls are allowed at the range.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Girlfriends aren’t allowed at the range.”

  I was confused. “But ... I don’t get it.”

  “Girls are fine. Men find women with guns sexy.”

  “But?”

  “But girlfriends are nags and suck the fun out of life.” Eliot’s smile was rueful. “For the record, that is not my rule. I happen to think my girlfriend brings the fun wherever she goes. But I don’t make the rules.”

  Oh, well, that was just ... stupid. “I am all kinds of fun,” I protested, dumping milk into my cereal. “Look at my breakfast choice.” I held the bowl up for emphasis. “You’re eating Shredded Wheat, which tastes like shredded crap. Actually, it tastes like crap with little wispy strings of ... other crap.”

  “That was profound, darling,” Eliot drawled.

  I extended a warning finger. “Don’t ever call me darling. I don’t like it.”

  “Good to know.” Eliot pushed a spoon in my direction. “Eat your processed sugar before it gets mushy.”

  I accepted the spoon but continued to glare at him. “Do you ascribe to this ridiculous ‘girlfriends are nags’ notion?”

  “Of course not. My girlfriend is awesome.” He delivered the line in such an exaggerated manner I knew he was full of it.

  “So, basically you’re saying that I have to track this Mike Baxter by myself.” It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was something I was capable of. “Okay. Can you get me his address?”

  Eliot balked. “I don’t want you tracking him by yourself.”

  “I have to find out what’s going on between Jenny and him.”

  “You can do that at the range.”

  “You just said you couldn’t take me to the range.” My temper came out to play as I barked at him. “I’m offended — and my feelings are hurt, for that matter — but it is what it is. I don’t want to damage the fragile egos of your gun buddies, so I’m going to find another way.”

  Eliot made a face. “Your feelings aren’t hurt. You might be annoyed, but under diffe
rent circumstances you would find this funny. Honestly, I’ve argued against the rule because there are times I thought it might be nice to bring you with me.”

  “Why did you even bother inviting me last night if you knew it wasn’t possible?” I challenged.

  “I forgot about the rule. It’s been a while since I’d considered bringing you. It was only after I woke up this morning that I remembered.”

  “Yeah, well ... .” I sighed. “You can’t help me on this one. I’ll find Mike Baxter on my own. I can start at the restaurant and work my way back. It will be fine.”

  “I want you to wait.” He didn’t back down. “I’m going to figure something out.”

  He had good intentions but I was doubtful he would push people he considered friends to entertain one of my whims.

  “It’s fine.” I was already switching gears. “I’ll handle it myself. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “Then why am I terrified you’re about to do something stupid to a guy with a personal arsenal?”

  “I have no idea. I think you’re paranoid or something.”

  “That must be it.”

  “Definitely.”

  ORIGINALLY I TOLD FISH I wouldn’t be stopping at the office. That intention changed when I realized I needed direction. I had ideas about where to look, but Jenny’s restaurant was closed for another few hours. Baxter was a dead end until I could actually interact with him.

  My co-workers weren’t expecting me so I took the opportunity to creep through the conference room that separated the main hallway from the back one that led to cubicle row. I was curious if I would pick up on some good gossip.

  I wasn’t disappointed.

  “I think she was the target,” James announced to Duncan, a man who was threatening to take the number one spot on my list of professional enemies. Because Tad was my personal nemesis, I had room for more than one fight-to-the-death enemy, which was convenient because I had a lot of bad attitude to go around.

  “Of course she was the target,” Duncan insisted. “People hate her. She’s a narcissist. She probably has so many enemies they were lining up to take her out.”

  Hmm. I couldn’t help wondering who they were talking about.

  “I just can’t understand how the shooter messed up and took out that Dan Crawford guy instead of Avery,” James said. “She was standing right there. How hard is it to hit that big head of hers?”

  Oh, well, that did it. I strolled out of the conference room, hands on hips, “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  The sound of my voice had to be akin to something straight out of a nightmare, because Duncan and James both turned in my direction at the same time, their shoulders frozen.

  “Hey, Avery.” James recovered first. “We weren’t talking about you.” He was a crappy liar. “We were talking about another person named Avery who just happened to be present for a shooting.”

  I cocked a challenging eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “It is true,” James enthused. “I mean ... so true. There’s no way we would talk about you in that manner.”

  “Of course not.” I pushed past them, giving Duncan an extra shove simply because I could, and made my way to Fish’s desk. He seemed surprised to see me. “I’m trying to figure out where to look next,” I admitted before he could utter a word. “I’m frustrated. Eliot was going to take me to the gun range to talk to a guy, but there’s a ‘no girlfriends’ rule, which is complete and total crap.”

  “Are you sure it’s not just a ‘no Eliot’s girlfriend’ rule?” Fish queried, turning back to his computer screen.

  Hmm. That was an interesting question. I hadn’t even considered it. “No way,” I said finally, shaking my head. “I’m a delight. He told me that himself.”

  “Yeah.” Fish’s opinion was obvious as he offered me a pitying look. “You’re a delight. You never give him trouble. You’re easy to get along with and a joy to be around.”

  “I know.”

  “Ugh. You’re a pain and you know it. He probably thought better of allowing you close to his private sanctum.”

  “His private sanctum is the apartment above his shop,” I countered. “He used to live there and still visits when he needs to decompress.”

  “Men can have more than one private sanctum, or man cave. He probably doesn’t have a spot he can retreat to at the new house because you’re always there. He doesn’t want to give you access to the gun range because it might encourage you to visit more often ... and he’s afraid you’ll develop a taste for weapons other than your mouth.”

  Sadly, I recognized that Fish might actually have some insight into the situation. There was no way I’d admit that to him, though.

  “Please, I’m every guy’s dream girlfriend.” I mostly thought that was true. “I watch sports, play video games and hate going out to fancy clubs.”

  “There’s more to a relationship than that.”

  “Not really.” I grabbed the photo assignment log from the rack at the edge of his desk and flipped through it. “You said you’re positioning Jared down at the protests all day, right?”

  He nodded. “Why?”

  “I might want some random photos of a few buildings. A house ... and a restaurant ... and the radio station.”

  “That’s not a bad idea for filler art,” Fish admitted. “Get a photo of the radio station now because it’s going to go down in flames when the verdict is announced.”

  “Definitely,” I agreed, accepting the pen he handed me.

  “I don’t think it’s going to go down in flames,” Duncan countered, joining me at the wall of Fish’s cubicle. I purposely gave him a long glare before taking an exaggerated step away from him. Instead of reacting to me, he focused on Fish. “You’re assuming that Bart Savage is guilty because that’s what you’ve been programmed to believe, that the cops can never make a mistake. I happen to know better.”

  “The only thing you know better than anyone else is that you’re a walking dillhole,” I countered. “Perhaps you should be quiet and let the adults talk. How does that sound?”

  Duncan’s lips curved down. “You’re wearing a shirt that says, ‘If the broom fits,’” he pointed out.

  “So what?”

  “How can you be one of the adults when you’re wearing a children’s shirt?”

  “Adulthood is a state of mind,” I replied. “Last night, for example, I was an adult while playing naughty games with Eliot. All the while I wore Star Wars Underoos. Yes, they’re really a thing ... and they’re awesome. Adulthood is not an age thing. It’s not even a maturity thing. It’s a Zen thing.”

  Fish snorted. “I can’t believe you kept your face straight to say that.”

  “I know, right?” I finally gave in to my smirk. “It was hard, but I pulled it out in the end.”

  Duncan scowled. “See, this right here isn’t maturity.” He jabbed a finger at me. “You’re the least mature person I know.”

  I adopted a blank expression. “Do you know what I just heard? Blah, blah, blah.” I moved my hand as if it was a talking animal. “And blah,” I added. “I disregard everything you say because it’s you.”

  “You’re more than welcome to do that,” he said, adopting a prim tone. “The thing is, if you do, you’ll miss a very important tip about Bart Savage.”

  Oh, geez. Sometimes I swear he simply talks to hear himself talk. “And what tip is that?”

  “He’s right.”

  I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I slid a look to Fish to see if he was following.

  “Oh, he’s going somewhere with this,” Fish muttered, shaking his head. “It’s probably nowhere good, but he’s going somewhere.”

  “Yeah, Moronville,” I agreed.

  “I’m simply being honest.” Duncan folded his arms over his chest as he fixed me with a haughty look. “You think Savage is wrong.”

  “He’s definitely wrong,” I agreed. “He’s two slices of wrong bread filled with wrong sala
mi and topped with putrid Dijon mustard that is all sorts of wrong. Even the pickle on the side of his plate is wrong.”

  “Oh, that was so witty,” Duncan deadpanned. “You should be a stand-up comedienne with jokes like that.”

  If Fish wasn’t watching I would’ve found a way to punch him in the nuts. I’d probably end up in Human Resources for it, but the charges wouldn’t stick without a witness. Unfortunately, Fish made a rather compelling witness.

  “The Barracuda has done a lot of research and given this a lot of thought,” Duncan continued, seemingly oblivious to my growing rage. “Look at crime statistics, for example. They were much lower back when the nuclear family was a priority. Now look at how things are. Young men are committing crimes left and right. Why do you think that is? I, much like Savage, believe it’s because the true meaning of family is dying.”

  I definitely wanted to punch him. “Family is more than one thing,” I argued. “There is no ‘right’ way to make a family. If a woman doesn’t want a career but instead prefers to be a homemaker, I’m all for that. It’s not how I want to live, but I have nothing against those who make the choice for themselves.

  “My issue is with the people who assume a woman has to stay at home no matter her needs or desires,” I continued. “No one should be forced to do something they don’t want to do. If a woman wants to stay home and raise her family, great. If she wants to go out into the workforce and make a living, great. If she wants to make it her mission to force her oily and ridiculous co-workers to cry, double great.”

  Duncan growled when he realized I was making a pointed jab at him. “I happen to believe that all women should want to stay at home. It’s because of women joining the workforce that we have labor issues at all.”

  “Oh, I ... can’t ... even.” I raised my hand to block out his stupid, smarmy face. “Can you believe this?” I asked Fish.

  Even though he was a man’s man who grew up in a different generation, I could tell Fish was uncomfortable with Duncan’s opinion. “Duncan, I think you should head back to your desk. You have a special section to lay out, if I’m not mistaken.”