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

by Amanda M. Lee

  “I don’t know.” I opted for honesty. “It makes sense in a way.”

  “The way she and Lily bonded?”

  I nodded. “My first impression of Jenny was that she was smart and capable. Lily is the exact opposite. I can see Jenny trying to help.”

  “But?”

  “But when so many coincidences come together, there’s usually a reason for it,” I supplied. “I mean, if Jenny loves her husband so much, why cheat on him?”

  “Sometimes an affair isn’t about love as much as it is lust.”

  “Yeah?” I pinned him with a look. “Do me a favor; if you fall in lust with someone else, just walk away. I would rather deal with that than betrayal.”

  His lips quirked. “Trouble, I don’t think that really applies to us. Some people are wired to cheat. They’re missing a chip in their heads that tells them it’s wrong to hurt someone in that manner.

  “Most people who cheat are dissatisfied,” he continued. “I’m not a cheater. Even if I was, I’m not dissatisfied. Believe it or not, you’re all I can handle. Taking on someone else feels ... overwhelming.”

  I laughed despite myself. “I guess it’s good I have such a big personality, huh?”

  “I think so.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I would rather you walk away.”

  “Well, it won’t be an issue for us. Push that out of your head and focus on the bigger picture.” He inclined his head toward the protesters. “That’s Dan Crawford’s father, right?”

  I followed his gaze, frowning when I caught sight of the man in question. He stood to the side of the rabble-rousers, amusement flitting across his craggy features. He looked to be having a good time, which only made me want to smack him around all the more. “That’s him.”

  “I’ll look into Crawford’s finances. I started a search the day after the shooting because I wanted to be proactive after ... well, after.”

  I squeezed his hand. I remembered his fervor after the shooting. He worked overtime to bottle his emotions and tamp down his protective urges, for which I was grateful. “If John really is the one getting everything, that would give him a motive. He seems the sort to hide behind something like this.”

  “Do you think he would kill his own son, though?”

  That was the question. “I don’t know.” I couldn’t decide if I believed John was capable of murdering his own son. “He didn’t seem all that broken up over Dan’s death the first day I met him, but he was drinking in the driveway. He could’ve been covering up his real feelings.”

  “Maybe,” Eliot agreed. “The thing is, I don’t think he’s your shooter even if he has motive.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Look at his hand, the one he’s holding his coffee with.”

  I narrowed my eyes and stared at the clutched hand, my stomach shifting a bit when I realized he was shaking. “Do you think he’s hungover, maybe going through withdrawal?”

  He shook his head. “That’s something else. This is a very specific sort of tremor. I know because my uncle had the same sort of issues when I was a teenager.”

  I slanted a look in his direction. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”

  “It’s Parkinson’s disease.” Eliot was matter-of-fact. “I would say he’s several years past his diagnosis and on medication. He shouldn’t be drinking, which would only make things worse.”

  “So he’s sick.” My mind was busy. “Does that mean he’s innocent?”

  “I think it means he’s incapable of finding his target and pulling the trigger,” Eliot replied.

  “The shooter missed a few times,” I reminded him. “Perhaps he got lucky and hit what he was aiming for after missing several times.”

  “Perhaps. I simply don’t think he’s capable of pulling that off. I first noticed the tremor when he was standing next to you at the food truck. I thought about going over and saying something to him, but I held back because I figured you wanted to handle the situation on your own.”

  “He’s not a threat to me,” I said.

  “No. I don’t think he was a threat to his son either. He might’ve talked big, but that doesn’t mean he killed him.”

  “So who does that leave?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the expert.”

  Sadly, I didn’t feel that way. “I need to think.”

  “Ah, words that strike fear in me each and every time.”

  I managed a smile and poked his side. “I’m serious. I feel as if I’m missing something. I hate that feeling.”

  “Go ahead and think.” He leaned back in his seat. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to bounce ideas off me.”

  “You’re always good for that.”

  “I am. I’m a god among mortals.”

  “And you’re humble.”

  27 Twenty-Seven

  The situation in front of the courthouse felt hot later that afternoon, as if it were a powder keg ready to blow. The members of WASP and WOMB (which, to me, sounded like the most entertaining superhero movie ever) were busy amping up their rhetoric when I ducked inside Eliot’s shop for a breather.

  He eyed me speculatively. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded without making eye contact, causing Fawn to snort.

  “Look at her face,” Fawn said. “I think she’s going to pass out.”

  “I’m not going to pass out.” I barked the words even as I contemplated how to keep from falling over.

  “Come here.” Eliot appeared at my side. I hadn’t even seen him move, so my reflexes were definitely slowed. He led me to a small living room set in the corner of the room. He kept it to conduct business, and I was grateful to sink onto the low couch because it was directly below an air conditioning vent.

  “I’m fine,” I offered, leaning my face up to the cool air. “I just ... it’s loud out there.”

  “And you don’t take noise and heat well,” he mused, pressing the back of his hand to my forehead. “I think you’ve gotten too much sun.”

  “We won’t have to worry about that in another month,” I said. “It’s Michigan. We’re about to slide into six months of darkness.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.” He got to his feet. “I’m grabbing a bottle of water. Fawn, keep an eye on her. If she tries to leave, stop her.”

  Fawn straightened her shoulders, her eyes going wide. “You want me to stop her? How?”

  “By any means necessary.”

  “Don’t tell her that,” I whined. “She’ll start pulling my hair and open-hand slapping if you’re not careful.”

  “Stay there,” Eliot ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

  Under different circumstances I would’ve disobeyed on sheer principle. But my head was pounding and I needed a few minutes to decompress.

  “Maybe you have a tumor,” Fawn offered helpfully. “That would explain quite a few things.”

  “I think it’s more likely that I’m about to transform into She-Hulk for the first time,” I drawled. “That means you should keep your distance from me because you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry ... and you tend to make me really angry.”

  “Oh, you’re so ... funny.” Fawn made a face that would’ve caused me to laugh under different circumstances and then stepped aside when Eliot returned to the room. His expression was hard to read as he pressed a cold washcloth to my forehead and opened a bottle of aspirin.

  “Here. Take this.” He pressed two tablets into my hand and cracked a bottle of water. I downed the tablets without complaint and guzzled half the water before handing back the bottle.

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “You’re welcome.” I expected Eliot to leave me to rest in solitude. Instead, he moved closer to me and rearranged my body so I could lay with my head on his lap. He tugged one of the throw pillows from under my feet and arranged it between my face and his thighs. “Why did you stay outside when you knew you were getting a headache?”

  That was a good question. “I didn’t realize
it was happening until it was already too late. I was watching Mario and Grandpa.”

  “Ah. And?”

  “And what? My family is crazy. You need look no further than them when you want explanations for my attitude.”

  He chuckled. “I don’t think they’re that bad.” He was quiet for a moment and then obviously re-thought his stance. “But if Mario tries to pick up any of the women today they’re going to do more than slap him.”

  “I know. I told him to keep his tracker active on his cell phone in case they try to run an It on him.”

  Eliot’s finger was light against my cheek. “An It?” he finally asked, confused.

  “You know, try to lure him into the sewer. The clown is optional.”

  “Ah.” He laughed. “I can see that happening.”

  “Yeah, well ... .”

  We lapsed into silence for a few minutes, the only noise coming from Fawn as she issued exaggerated sighs from the corner. I kept my eyes closed, but the occasional burning sensation made me believe she was still glaring at me.

  I honestly didn’t care. I just needed a few minutes of quiet.

  Eliot allowed that. He remained close, his fingers brushing my forehead to check if my skin still felt warm to the touch several times while I recovered. Otherwise he read a magazine and remained quiet. I was just about to drift off for what I hoped would be a twenty-minute power nap when Fawn excitedly started squawking.

  “It’s Bart!”

  At first I tried to ignore her. The headache remained even though the aspirin was starting to do its job. She wouldn’t shut up, though, so finally I had no choice but to wrench open my eyes. “Why are you making all that racket?” I complained.

  “Shh.” Eliot admonished Fawn with a dark look. “Can’t you see she’s sick?”

  “She’s been sick in the head since you started bringing her around,” Fawn said dryly, clearly unimpressed with Eliot’s attempt at shushing her. “Why should I treat her any differently today?”

  “Because ... .”

  I cut off Eliot with a shake of my head as I struggled to a sitting position. “It’s not worth it,” I said, putting on a brave face for his benefit. I’m something of a whiner when sick, so it took everything I had to ignore my inner hypochondriac and pretend everything was fine. “I feel better. In fact ... .” My eyes narrowed when I caught sight of the lectern in the courtyard. “Bart is here.”

  “I believe that’s what I said,” Fawn groused, her tone withering. “I mean ... isn’t that what I said? Do you purposely ignore me or is it a happy accident?”

  I pretended I couldn’t hear her and pushed to my feet, striding toward the door with a clear purpose.

  “Where are you going?” Eliot asked, giving chase. “You need to rest.”

  “You just like playing doctor,” I shot back. “If Fawn wasn’t around, you would’ve found a way to turn the game naughty by now.”

  “Not when you’re legitimately sick.”

  “I had a headache from the sun and heat,” I replied dully. “It’s September. I wasn’t expecting such a warm day. I’m fine.” I yanked open the door and stepped outside, Eliot still giving chase. “What is he doing here? It’s Saturday. He’s not on trial today.”

  “He’s here to get attention,” Eliot said. “His fans are here.”

  “And his enemies.”

  “Yeah, well ... .”

  Bart waved to the crowd, half the assembled people cheering and the other half jeering. He was dressed in comfortable khakis and a polo shirt — his bodyguards flanking him — and he adopted a brave expression as he tapped the microphone to test it before speaking.

  “Good morning,” he intoned, his expression grave. “I want to thank all those who have stood by me through this terrible ordeal.”

  There was something about his demeanor that set my teeth on edge and I took an involuntary step forward. Eliot caught me before I could walk into the middle of the street.

  “This has been a trying time for me,” he said, offering up the appropriate facial expressions as he graced the crowd with a benign smile. “I often wondered if I would survive what was to come. You have no idea how difficult it is to be persecuted.”

  Several women screamed that he was a rapist while the men cheered.

  “The thing is, I’ve had a very good day.” He beamed at those gathered closest to him as he gripped the sides of the lectern more tightly. “A very good day.

  “First, you should know that my voice has not been silenced despite this torment,” he continued. “I still believe as strongly as ever that my message is the correct one. That’s why people have fought so hard to silence me.”

  “Where is he going with this?” Eliot asked, moving closer to me. “He seems ... triumphant.”

  I suspected I knew exactly where he was going. “He’s putting the final part of his plan in motion,” I muttered, shaking my head. “Son of a ... !”

  “Despite the nightmare this experience has been, something good has come of it,” Savage preached, his lips curving. “I got a call this morning. As soon as I’m cleared, I will be going national.”

  A ripple went through the crowd as excitement and disgust collided.

  “That’s right.” Savage nodded. “I am going to be hosting a national program, so everyone can hear my voice and our movement can grow stronger.”

  “You have to be cleared first,” a female voice rang out. “That won’t happen.”

  “On the contrary.” Savage’s smile turned smug. “I am going to be cleared. In fact, it’s going to happen Monday. I can’t go into great detail because my attorneys want me to wait, but come Monday I will be able to unveil a vast conspiracy that painted me as a sacrificial lamb.

  “This conspiracy is so insidious that it will turn your stomachs and make you question everything you know,” he continued. “When the truth comes out, even my enemies will be disgusted. When the truth comes out, I will be vindicated and my enemies will have a lot of explaining to do.”

  I pulled away from Eliot and swiveled, my mind racing. I no longer had a headache.

  “Where are you going?” Eliot asked.

  “Where do you think? He’s talking about Ally. I have to get ahead of this.”

  He didn’t argue with my assessment. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  I shook my head. “Stay here. Watch to make sure nothing happens ... and that Grandpa and Mario don’t get in trouble. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Ally isn’t a threat to me. I am worried she’s a threat to herself, though.”

  “Still, be careful.” He gave me a soft kiss. “I think you’re finally getting that movement you were hoping for.”

  “Yeah, but at what cost?”

  He didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t blame him.

  IT TOOK ME FOUR KNOCKS before Ally finally answered the door. One look at her red-rimmed and puffy eyes told me exactly what I needed to know.

  “He cut you loose, didn’t he?”

  “How did you know?” Her voice was scratchy from crying. “Were you spying on me again? This is getting out of hand.”

  I shook my head. “I was downtown at the protest. He showed up to make a statement.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “About us?”

  “Not exactly.” I related the tale for her, leaving nothing out. When I was finished, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She wasn’t without blame in this situation, but Savage used her in a way she didn’t envision and it would be a hard lesson. “I think you should let me in so we can talk.”

  “About what?” Fresh tears clogged her throat. “It’s over. He’s ruined me.”

  “Not necessarily. I have a way out of this for you.”

  “You do?”

  “You have to let me in to hear it.”

  She chewed her bottom lip, her mind clearly busy. Finally, she pushed open the door and nodded. She didn’t have many options. I was her only hope and she knew it. “Okay.
I’m ready to listen.”

  I waited until we were settled in her small living room to lay things out. “You have to break the news first,” I instructed. “You have to tell your story. He plans to go public Monday. That means we need to get your side of things in tomorrow’s newspaper. Sunday is the highest circulation day. It will make a splash.”

  “But ... people will know what I did when that happens.”

  “You can’t stop that.” I was matter-of-fact. Coddling her now was a benefit to no one. “It’s coming out. All you can control is how you tell your story.”

  She ran her tongue over her teeth. “I’m going to lose my job either way. I’m going to be the laughingstock of the county.”

  “Perhaps.” I wasn’t convinced that was true. “You need to explain that you were complicit from the beginning. The thing is, Savage was, too. He came up with the idea. You need to make that clear so he can’t get ahead of you.

  “Then you have to be open and honest about your relationship with him,” I continued. “People need to realize that he emotionally manipulated you. You also need to separate yourself from the other women. Your story is not their story.”

  “You think they’re telling the truth about him?” She almost looked afraid to hear the answer.

  “I do.” I’d done a lot of thinking about this and I was fairly certain I knew exactly how things had gone down. “I think he’s been attacking women for some time, using his position to manipulate them. If they kowtowed and slept with him of their own free will, great. If they didn’t, he went ahead anyway.

  “Most women are afraid to accuse someone of rape,” I said. “They blame themselves for causing it. They think they did something, wore something that made it happen. They believe the men who accosted them when they say it was their fault. It’s a vicious cycle.”

  “But ... why get involved with me if he had access to all these other women?” Ally asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No? I’m guessing you were in awe of him. You probably did whatever was necessary around the office to make his life easier. Odds are, Savage saw you as age appropriate and malleable. He knew he could bend you to his way of thinking ... and it worked.”