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

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Well, at least you admit that’s why you hired her.” I played with the metal ring on his ledger. “So ... do you want to hear about my day or should we continue talking about the idiot you hired to suck men in?”

  “We can talk about your day.”

  “Good, because I don’t even know where to start.” I launched into the tale, leaving nothing out. When I was finished, Eliot was flabbergasted.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” He dragged a hand through his hair and paced behind the counter, the words sinking in. “That is ... unbelievable. Who does something like that?”

  “A moron,” I answered honestly. “He thought he had it all planned out. The thing is, he missed one little detail.”

  “The other women.” He scrubbed his jaw, lost in thought. “Do you think both those other women are lying?”

  I thought about Bolton’s testimony from hours before and held my hands palms out. “I don’t know. I tend to side with the accusers in cases like this because nine times out of ten they’re telling the truth.”

  “You said that you were suspicious about this case from the start, though.”

  “Not because I didn’t believe the victims,” I countered. “I knew there was something going on with Ally Hawthorne, but I didn’t think it would turn out like this.” Frustration bubbled up. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Write your story,” Eliot replied without hesitation. “Write your story, scoop everyone and then deal with the fallout.”

  “She says she’ll deny everything if I try.”

  “You know the truth, though.”

  “I do.” I walked in a circle in front of the display case. “I can write the story. Fish will give me the go-ahead. I would be the talk of the town for breaking the news.”

  Eliot folded his arms over his chest. “But?”

  “But I can’t get those other two women out of my head,” I admitted. “I listened to Hannah Bolton’s testimony this morning. If she’s lying, she’s very good. She missed her calling and should be an actress.”

  “So ... what? Are you thinking that Savage actually is a rapist?”

  And there was the opening I was waiting for. “What if he sexually assaulted several women, thought he got away with it, and then was threatened by one of those women if he didn’t pay up?”

  “I’m following you, but I’m dying to know how you came to this assumption.”

  “Savage suggested Ally report him. It was for sexual harassment, though, not rape. She got a little confused and didn’t realize that it was rape if an individual couldn’t consent.”

  “So she was supposed to report him for sexual harassment,” Eliot mused. “That kind of makes sense. I’m guessing the cops suggested the rape charge.”

  “She’s wishy-washy,” I agreed. “She folds like freshly-dried towels.”

  “How do you know towels fold? You never fold them.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re such a funny guy.” I rolled my eyes. “I need you to follow me here. He’s a rapist. He’s been using his position to sexually exploit women for years. When Ally joins his team, he senses an opening. He decides to “date” her even though he’s not boyfriend material.

  “The thing is, they don’t tell anyone they’re dating,” I continued. “My friend Bob Sussex told me that they kept it on the down-low. They weren’t exactly secretive, but they never talked about it.”

  “I get what you’re saying,” Eliot said. “You think he groomed Ally so she would simply do what he wanted, bow to his whims.”

  “Also, she’s the type who rolls over when pressed,” I said. “That’s why she’s gone radio silent. She’s uncomfortable with the prosecutor’s office pressuring her. She does not believe those other women, though. She thinks they made up the charges.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “I think Savage is a predator.” I felt that to my very marrow. “I think he thought this whole thing out. Someone approached him for a payout. He didn’t want that to turn into a regular occurrence. He came up with the false sexual harassment claim because he thought it would head off future claims when it was proved untrue — perhaps paint him as an innocent man with a target on his back — and allow him to play the martyr. He keeps talking about people attacking him for his belief system. If his plan with Ally had held together, then he might’ve been able to continue to play that card.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’re not filing your story to expose this entire thing.”

  And here was the tipping point. “Because, if I do, public sentiment might turn against the other women. People might assume that they’re lying because Ally is. That’s not fair if they’re telling the truth.”

  “I know you want to believe them — I do, too — but we don’t know that they’re telling the truth,” he cautioned.

  “We don’t,” I agreed. “I have to go with my gut on this one. I think I would do more harm than good going early.”

  “Okay. Then what do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know.” That was the truth, and it annoyed me. “I need to ask you something.”

  Eliot merely nodded and waited.

  “Do you think Dan Crawford’s death has anything to do with Savage’s trial?”

  “I think that it would be odd if they weren’t tied together.”

  “Right?” The timing was a source of agitation. “What if they’re not, though? What if they’re two different things? What if someone from Crawford’s past wanted to kill him because he’s a jerk and simply took advantage of the situation because he was in a public setting? By shooting him in the middle of a news conference, fingers are automatically pointed at the opposition.”

  “Right.” Eliot nodded. “Obviously you’re leaning toward Crawford’s death being separate from the trial.”

  “That’s only a gut feeling. I have no proof.”

  “So ... we’ll get proof.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah. I guess. I have a headache and I haven’t even seen my mother yet. Things are only going to get worse.”

  He chuckled as he opened his arms. “Come here.”

  I knew what he was after. “I don’t want to look like a weenie.”

  He laughed harder. “Come here,” he insisted.

  Reluctantly, I moved behind the counter and stepped into his embrace. He tightened his arms around me and rested his cheek on the top of my head. “I love you,” he whispered. “I can tell this is eating you up because you don’t want to make the wrong move.”

  “Before, I would’ve gone for the scoop no matter what. I don’t want to be the one who ruins everything. There are consequences associated with this case and my actions will have ramifications.”

  “There are consequences,” he agreed, lazily drifting back and forth. “Don’t write the story yet. I’m afraid you’ll regret it if you do. We’ll sit down and go through everything from top to bottom again tomorrow. We’ll find the missing piece.”

  I was hopeful that was true. “Okay.” I closed my eyes, giving in to the sensations. I was happy floating until the bell over the door jangled to signify somebody’s entrance. I pulled away quickly, frowning when I caught sight of my cousin Mario. His face was flushed and he was wearing a shirt that read, “Women are people too.”

  “What are you doing here?” Eliot asked, his hand on my back so he could keep me relatively close. “Also, we were having a private moment. You could’ve knocked.”

  Mario is one of those people who says and does idiotic things on a regular basis but you can’t help but like him because he’s so charming. Today was no different. “You guys are always having private moments,” he complained, his lips curving. “As for knocking, this is a place of business. If you want people to knock, find a room and lock it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Eliot stroked his hand over the back of my head, offering solace as I calmed myself and focused on the moment rather than the mountain in front of me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Are you kidding me?”
Mario gestured toward the protest. “I’m picking up women.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What?”

  “You heard me.” Mario was practically giddy as he did a little dance. “I had an epiphany last night. I know the key to getting women.”

  Oh, well, this would be good. “What’s that?”

  “You tell them what they want to hear.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Look at those women.” Mario gestured toward the window. “Those are angry women. Do you know why they’re angry?”

  “They hate rapists?” Eliot suggested.

  “Oh, you’re cute.” Mario rolled his eyes. “They’re angry because they don’t feel men understand them. Underneath everything, that’s what’s at the heart of the matter.”

  “I’m pretty sure they’re upset about women being marginalized,” I corrected.

  “That’s because you’re a woman and you don’t know things,” Mario fired back. “You need me to explain things to you. Otherwise you’ll never get it.”

  He was clearly in the mood for me to kick him. “Listen here ... .”

  Eliot held up his hand to silence me. “Just tell us your big idea. We both have work to finish before dinner tonight.”

  “I’m going to hit on the women,” Mario replied simply. “They want sensitive men who listen. I’m perfect for them.”

  “You can’t even remember the things I say to you five minutes after I utter them,” I argued.

  “That’s because you say boring things. This time I’m really going to listen ... and totally get in somebody’s pants. I have a plan. It’s going to work.”

  I pictured Julia’s face if Mario hit on her and bit back a grin. “Do me a favor and don’t mention you’re my cousin. I don’t want my private and professional lives to overlap on this one.”

  I could feel Eliot’s lips curving against my scalp but he remained silent.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Mario said. “I won’t admit to being related to you. That will ruin any goodwill I manage to amass. Believe it or not, people don’t like you.”

  “I believe it.”

  Eliot kissed my cheek. “I like you.”

  “Oh, gross.” Mario made a face. “You guys are about to do it right on the floor, aren’t you? I can’t see that. I’ll be scarred for life.”

  Eliot’s smile slipped. “We’re not. Just ... go do your thing. If those women beat you up, I’m not racing to your rescue.”

  “I won’t need rescuing. I know exactly what I’m doing. Women love me.”

  I’d yet to find a woman who loved Mario. There was a reason for that. He was a lot of work … and not in a fun way like me. I found him amusing at times, but he was a total pain. “Well, good luck. Maybe you should invest in a cup just to be on the safe side.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. I’ve got this. Trust me.”

  23 Twenty-Three

  I wrote my story from Eliot’s office. Avoiding The Monitor was part of my strategy because it would’ve only compounded my guilt. I had a story – a great story that would’ve made me a superstar – but I couldn’t use it. At least not yet.

  It was almost time for us to leave for dinner when I joined Eliot in the front of the shop. He’d turned the sign and killed the front lights to dissuade shoppers, but he was standing by the front window, his face lit with mirth.

  “What’s going on?” I would welcome any form of amusement at this point.

  He slung an arm over my shoulders and pointed toward the protest. “Your cousin.”

  “Oh, geez. Do I even want to look?”

  “I suggest you do.”

  I rested my head against his shoulder and adjusted my eyes in time to see a woman – a petite brunette with an ample bottom – slap Mario so hard across the face he rocked back on his heels. My cousin, a tall and burly boy barely in his twenties, was almost knocked to his knees by a slip of a girl thanks to the force behind the blow.

  “What the … ?” My initial reaction was to step forward and rush to his rescue. He was younger than me. His mouth often got him in trouble (something I was familiar with). I rarely agreed with his opinion, especially when he was looking for attention. Still, he was family.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Eliot snagged me by the back of the neck. “He knew the stakes when he went over there. He’s fine. It’s not as if he’s being run over with a car or anything. Besides, that’s the third time he’s been slapped.”

  “Really?” I relaxed, if only marginally. “He keeps going back for more?”

  “He does. I think he’s doing the barrage attack.”

  “And that is?”

  “Approach them all to see if he can get a nibble. Basically it means no specializing. He’s gone after a blonde, brunette and a redhead now. Absolutely no one has taken him up on his offer for free bikini waxes.”

  I was horrified. “Is he really offering that?”

  He chuckled. “I went outside long enough to grab the display from the sidewalk and heard him. He was not offering bikini waxes.”

  “That’s good.”

  “He did, however, introduce himself as a gynecologist who offered a free initial visit.”

  I stilled. “What?”

  “Yeah. He’s not original.”

  “I’m so telling on him tonight.”

  “Let’s hope he makes it to dinner in one piece.” Eliot checked his watch. “Speaking of that, we should get going. I expect traffic to be busy leaving town.”

  “Okay. If one of those women takes him out, though, I’m making you tell my mother.”

  “Fair enough.”

  THE FAMILY BOOTH ALREADY bustled with activity when Eliot and I joined the party. A quick scan told me my mother appeared to be absent – although I knew she would eventually make an appearance – but Derrick and his baby mama Devon were already seated and feeding one another in a disgusting and schmaltzy manner.

  “Must you be so gross?” I complained as I slid into the far end of the booth. It was arranged in rectangular fashion, one long side with three tables spaced inside so multiple people could skim between the openings and sit.

  Devon scowled at me. Some people say pregnant women have a glow. After spending time with Carly and Devon, I thought the only thing they glowed with was toxic attitude. “Your cousin has never eaten a beet. I was letting him try one from my plate.”

  I fixed Derrick with a bland look. “So … you’re letting her beet you?”

  Eliot snorted as Devon viciously tried to kick me under the table.

  “That is not funny,” Devon argued, her face flushing. “Given what’s going on in downtown Mount Clemens right now I’d think you would be the last person to make jokes about people being used and abused.”

  “Oh, calm yourself,” I drawled. “I wasn’t making fun of people being used and abused. I was making fun of Derrick because you’re unbelievably overbearing and you’re now feeding him as if he were a child. You’re giving me fodder for weeks.”

  “Ugh. I really can’t stand you sometimes,” she grumbled.

  “I think she’s fine with that,” Grandpa announced as he eased himself into his regular seat at the opposite end of the booth. “She’s never been one who needs to be popular to prove her self-worth. Isn’t that right, kid?”

  I had no idea where he was going with this topic but I was instantly on alert. “There are some people who I prefer hating me because if they liked me that would suggest there was something wrong with me. As we all know, I’m perfect.”

  “If you’re perfect, I’m an angel,” Devon shot back.

  “Whatever floats your boat.” I grabbed the specials menu from the center of the table and scanned it. “Prime rib.”

  “That’s what I’m getting.” Eliot flicked his eyes to the door when it opened to allow Mario entrance, snorting when he caught sight of my cousin’s red cheek. “And here comes Romeo.”

  I snickered as I watched Mario stop at the register long enough to say somethi
ng to his father, who didn’t look remotely worried about whatever tale Mario spun. Uncle Tim wasn’t known for his sense of humor, and he merely shook his head when Mario reenacted something from this afternoon.

  “What happened to him?” Derrick asked, following my gaze. “What’s that on his face?”

  “My guess is a palm print,” Eliot replied.

  “What does that mean?” Grandpa asked, suddenly interested. “Did someone hit him?”

  “At least three someones,” I answered, grinning at the memory of Mario being rocked to his heels by the tiny woman. “He spent the afternoon picking up women at the protest.”

  Derrick’s eyebrows flew so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. “He picked up women at the protest?” He was incredulous. “Is he stupid?”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “Are you stupid?” Derrick barked to Mario as our younger cousin approached. “Why would you go to a protest to pick up women?”

  Instead of immediately answering, Mario scorched me with a dark look. “You just had to open your big mouth, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

  “It’s my story to tell.” Mario slipped into the booth, positioning himself closer to Derrick and Devon, and groaned as he sat. “I think I threw my back out.”

  “Picking up women at the protest?” Derrick asked.

  “Oh, let that go.” Mario haphazardly waved his hand. “You’re getting worked up over nothing. I had a theory I wanted to test.”

  “And what’s that theory?” Grandpa asked.

  “I believe the women at the protest don’t hate men,” Mario explained. “They’ve simply been disappointed by their male counterparts because romance novels have led them astray.”

  My mother, who was heading toward the table with a full plate from the salad bar, pulled up short. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, he’s going somewhere with this,” Eliot intoned. Initially he’d been uncomfortable when I dragged him to family dinners. Now he was used to the rhythm and gave as good as he got. I loved having him as backup.