Bylines & Skylines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 9)

by Amanda M. Lee

  Mario narrowed his eyes. “What is that?”

  “This is a list of all the workers associated with the convention,” I replied. “We’re going to run them through Eliot’s computer. He has a search engine on there and it does full background checks. We’re going to run all of these people.”

  Mario licked his lips. “Video games sound more fun.”

  “They do, don’t they? We’re not having fun, though. A woman was murdered. We have to find the murderer. If Eliot thinks he can lock me up in this house and stifle my creativity, well, he has another thing coming.”

  “The way you said that was almost chilling,” Mario said, gulping. “How do you even know what to look for on Eliot’s computer?”

  “I’ve seen him use it before.”

  “How do you know he didn’t take it with him?”

  “Because he has two computers and he took the lighter one to the convention center,” I replied. “The one here is bigger.”

  “Well, they do say bigger is better,” Mario said, puffing out his chest. “That’s what I tell all the women I meet at the bar.”

  “Yeah? How has that been working out for you?”

  “Not great.”

  “I didn’t think so,” I said. “Eliot’s computer is in the closet in my bedroom. Get it.”

  Mario balked at the order. “Where did you even get that list? Does Eliot know you have it?”

  “I got it from the folder he left on the counter while he was in the shower,” I answered, seeing no reason to lie. Eliot would find out what I did eventually. I wasn’t going to hide it from him. In fact, I was fairly proud of my ingenuity. He thought he outsmarted me. It turns out, I outsmarted him. “We’re going through every name on this list.”

  “How many names?”

  “More than two hundred.”

  Mario made a face. “No way. I’m not doing that.”

  “You’re doing it,” I said. “If you don’t, I’m calling your father and telling him that you’ve been stealing chicken strips from his shed to fund your food truck with Grandpa.”

  Mario and his father had been locked in a battle of wills for months. My uncle wanted Mario to be more responsible and take classes that didn’t revolve around interpretive dance at the community college. Mario only wanted to have fun. That’s where my grandfather came in. He didn’t believe anyone should be held to anyone else’s rules. He was part of the reason I was such a rampant pain in the ass.

  “How did you know that?” Mario asked, horrified. “Did Grandpa tell? That was supposed to be our secret. Who told on us?”

  “You just did,” I replied. “I was playing a hunch. Now get the computer. We have a lot of work to do before dinner.”

  “But … .”

  “Do it,” I ordered. “Your dad isn’t going to be happy if he hears you’ve been stealing from him.”

  “We only did it once and it was an emergency,” Mario protested. “We had to feed a group of Girl Scouts and we ran out of chicken strips. Those little pains can be brutal if you’re not careful. I had to buy ten boxes of cookies just to shut them up.”

  “Get the computer.”

  Mario blew out a sigh, resigned. “Fine.”

  “Oh, and what’s the status of those cookies?”

  Mario paused in the archway that led to the bedroom. “What do you mean?”

  “Where are the cookies?”

  “They’re in the trunk of my car.”

  “Get me a box of Thin Mints and Samoas,” I ordered. “We’re going to need fuel on today’s quest.”

  “You suck,” Mario groused. “You know that, right? You’re just as bad as the Girl Scouts.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Mario switched tactics. “Eliot isn’t going to like this. He told me to keep you quiet and happy.”

  “This will do both,” I said. “If you fight me on this, I’m going to be loud and unhappy. We all know what happens when I’m unhappy.”

  “Yeah, you drag the rest of us down with you.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” I said. “Get the computer … and don’t forget my cookies.”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Mario complained as he disappeared into the bedroom. “No amount of money is worth this abuse.”

  “I bet you’ll think twice about working against me next time, huh?”

  “Next time I won’t even answer the phone.”

  “Even better.”

  18

  Eighteen

  “How was your day?”

  I was purposely quiet when Eliot returned to the house. I managed to shower and change into shorts and a T-shirt – I opted for one of my least offensive Star Wars shirts (which isn’t saying much in my mother’s world) – and I met Eliot on the front porch when he pulled into the driveway.

  Mario accepted his payment from Eliot and refused to answer questions with anything other than vague responses. Then he scurried toward his car and disappeared. I could tell Eliot was suspicious, but instead of questioning me he lifted me into his truck and got me settled.

  We were already on the freeway when he asked again. “How was your day, Avery?”

  “I’m great.”

  “Uh-huh.” Eliot signaled to change lanes, watching the traffic in the rearview mirror a moment before setting his cruise control and really focusing on me. “Are you really great?”

  “I am awesome.”

  “You’ve said five words since I picked you up, Trouble,” Eliot pointed out. “If you want to argue, now’s the time.”

  “Why would I possibly want to argue?” I purposely kept my tone clipped and cool. While I didn’t fault him for the reasoning behind his actions, I wasn’t going to let it slide. He’s not my boss. I’m the boss of the world. There’s a difference.

  “Avery, I know you’re upset, but I stand by what I did,” Eliot said. “You were incapable of protecting yourself today. There were too many people at that convention for me to watch you. I did what I had to do.”

  “Well … good for you.”

  “Dammit!” Eliot exploded. I always wore him down in situations like this. I have a gift when it comes to unhinging people. I can’t explain it. “Yell at me, Avery. Kick … or pout … or do something. The silent treatment isn’t going to work on me.”

  It was already working on him. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to say that … you’re angry.”

  “Fine. I’m angry.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you told me to say it,” I replied. I knew what he was really getting at. He wanted to have a Dr. Phil moment in which I saw the light and acknowledged my anger and the fact that he was trying to take care of me at the same time. Then we would hug and flirt and all would be right with the world.

  I had no intention of playing that game.

  “Avery, we cannot go into a family dinner fighting like this,” Eliot warned. “Your mother is like the shark from Jaws. She’ll smell blood in the water.”

  I didn’t want to smile, but I couldn’t help myself. He said things like that now because he’d spent so much time with me. “She is like a shark,” I agreed. “You’re going to be the chum tonight.”

  “Oh, you’re such a pain,” Eliot complained. “Will you please yell at me and get it over with? I’m telling your mother we’re moving in together whether you like it or not. We can either present a united front or you can let her eat me alive. Which do you prefer?”

  That wasn’t even remotely fair. “I didn’t do this, Eliot. For once – I swear, it might be the first time – I didn’t do anything to warrant being punished.”

  “And I didn’t punish you,” Eliot shot back. “Believe it or not, I did what I did because I love you. I can’t just sit back and watch you hurt yourself. It’s not in me.”

  “I understand that, Eliot,” I said, lowering my voice. “I honestly do. My problem isn’t with you demanding I take it easy or trying to do right by m
e. My problem is with you going behind my back and plotting with my boss. I am not a child.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eliot said. “I shouldn’t have done that. I knew it was wrong when I did it but I needed to make sure you wouldn’t risk going to work today. I need you safe. Sue me.”

  “See, you make it impossible to argue when you say things like that,” I said. “You make it seem as if I’m the one being unreasonable. I’m not being unreasonable in this instance. You’re the one who did wrong.”

  “Avery, I know I did wrong and I’m honestly sorry,” Eliot said. “I regretted it the second I did it. I thought I was out-maneuvering you but I was really overstepping my bounds. That wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. It’s too late to take it back, though.”

  “No, out-maneuvering me was bringing Mario in as a babysitter instead of Lexie,” I said. “I almost respect that move. It was … ingenious.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not done,” I said. “Your problem is that you’ve got a bit of control freak in you. It rears its ugly head at weird times. You’re generally the even-tempered one and I’m the jackass who has to manipulate the world. I’m used to it, though, so the water is never choppy when I do it.

  “When you do it the boat rocks as if we’re stuck in that storm from that movie that killed George Clooney and Mark Wahlberg,” I continued. “You offset the balance of the world when you do it. That’s not good.”

  “Did you just explain something to me?”

  “When you whip out your control freak you hide it under the guise of taking care of me so it seems as if I’m unreasonable,” I replied. “I can’t always be the unreasonable one. I own it when I earn it. You’re the one who earned it this time, and you’re turning it around on me. That’s not fair.”

  Eliot sighed heavily as he stared out the truck windshield and considered my words. “You’re right,” he said after a few beats. “What I did to you today wasn’t fair. I was afraid if I didn’t do it, though, you’d put up a fight and get your way because you always manage to wear me down. I knew that wasn’t best for you.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “No. It’s all I have by way of an explanation.”

  “Well, you can’t do it again,” I said. “I might not be a mature adult, but I am an adult. You’re not the boss.”

  “Fine. I accept that. I’m sorry. Can we be done with the argument now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great.” Eliot reached across the console and collected my hand, giving it a good squeeze. I returned the gesture and let him collect himself. He broke the amiable silence first. “So, what did you do today? Did you play video games with Mario?”

  “We didn’t have time for video games. We were too busy.”

  Eliot arched a dubious eyebrow. “Busy doing what?”

  “I stole the list of convention employees from your folder on the counter and then we broke into your computer to run all of the names for potential suspects.”

  “You what?”

  “If you yell, that means I win.”

  “Son of a … you’re a piece of work.”

  And suddenly the tide shifted and the boat was no longer in danger of capsizing. I was on top again.

  “SO WE’RE in a truce, right?”

  Eliot put his hand to the small of my back as he ushered me into the family restaurant. He was used to the drill – the overt stares and passive aggressive conversational exchanges – but he seemed nervous for a change. It gave me a small thrill. What? I’m petty.

  The rest of the ride included a diatribe from him, a refusal to apologize from me and an argument that eventually fizzled out. He didn’t want to go to war and because he knew he did wrong by calling Fish, he opted to let my indiscretions slide. I was banking on that.

  “Truce,” I said, bobbing my head.

  “Great.” Eliot kissed my cheek. “You’re still a pain in the ass.”

  “You’ll learn to love me.”

  “Loving you isn’t the problem,” Eliot grumbled. “Putting up with the way your mind works is just … difficult. You’re diabolical sometimes. You could be an evil mastermind in a comic book movie.”

  “I would prefer being Wonder Woman.”

  Eliot arched an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to be the Hulk?”

  “Sometimes, but Wonder Woman has a cuter outfit. And her bracelets are to die for.”

  Eliot finally cracked a smile. “That right there is why you get away with murder. You’re a master of distraction.”

  “I’ve honed my skills over years of manipulation,” I said, grimacing when I caught sight of my mother sitting at the family table. “There she is. She’s the real diabolical mastermind.”

  Eliot followed my gaze. “This isn’t going to be as bad as you think. Trust me.”

  “I think you need to trust me. It’s going to be worse than you think.”

  “We’ll just have to agree to disagree,” Eliot said, gripping my hand and tugging me toward the table. “Let me do all of the talking.”

  Oh, this wouldn’t end well. “That seems like a splendid idea.”

  “WHAT happened to you?”

  My grandfather, thick chili laid out on a bed of onions so he could eat it with a fork in front of him, glanced up when he saw me hobble by.

  “I was hurt fighting crime,” I replied, narrowing my eyes as I stared at the long rectangular table. “I need to sit on the end.”

  “I know,” Eliot said, glancing at my grandfather. He sat in his regular spot and looked immovable. “He’s not getting up.”

  “Good deduction, long hair,” Grandpa said. “Make Derrick move.”

  “Why do I have to move?” Derrick protested, glowering in my direction. I didn’t miss the dirty look his girlfriend – a local television reporter named Devon – scorched me with. She sat on the other side of him, looking as if the last thing she wanted was to share oxygen with me.

  “Because your cousin is hurt,” Grandpa said. “Make room. It won’t kill you to move.”

  “It won’t kill you either,” Derrick challenged.

  “It might.”

  “Just move,” Eliot said, nudging Derrick with his knee. “She’s sore and in pain.”

  “She probably deserves it,” Devon sneered, earning a small headshake from Derrick as they shifted to make room for us. “What did you do? Did you fall down while suckering Sheriff Farrell into giving you exclusive information again?”

  “No. I was running from the Crystal Lake killer and barely managed to evade his knife. It’s a miracle I’m alive. One day they’ll sing songs about my bravery.”

  “I … what?” Devon furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand what that means.”

  “That’s because you’re pop culture ignorant.”

  “Avery, don’t make this worse,” Eliot said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he settled between Derrick and me. “Can we just order dinner and … I don’t know … have a pleasant evening?”

  “Doubtful,” I replied, catching my mother’s heavy stare and locking gazes with her. “Do you want to say something?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Mom replied. “I’m trying to figure out if you did that to yourself or if Eliot lost his temper.”

  “Do you really think I would do this to her?” Eliot was incensed. “What is the matter with you?”

  “I think she has a mouth that would drive a man to smack her,” Mom replied. “I only hope she wouldn’t stay with you after the fact. You’re smart enough not to do that, right?”

  “I told you.” I shot a glance in Eliot’s direction. “You didn’t want to believe me, but I told you.”

  “Yes, well, live and learn,” Eliot said. “For the record, I would never harm her. There are no circumstances that would make me touch her.”

  Derrick snorted. “Oh, too bad for you, Avery.”

  Eliot realized what he said when it was too late to take it back. “I didn’t mean that. I touch her all
the time. It’s just a nice touch.”

  “Really nice,” I intoned, bobbing my head.

  Mom’s lips turned down into a scowl. “Is that appropriate dinner conversation?”

  “I don’t touch her all of the time,” Eliot said, hoping to correct his course. “I mean … I touch her in a nice way all of the time. I would never touch her in a bad way.”

  “Just a naughty way,” Derrick interjected.

  “I wouldn’t talk, baby daddy,” I shot back, wrinkling my nose when Devon frowned. “How is that going, by the way?”

  “We’re very excited for our bundle of joy,” Devon replied, pressing her hand to her flat stomach. “We’re looking for a new house to share together.”

  “How … neat.”

  Derrick cleared his throat. “Speaking of houses … .”

  I cut him off. “How fat do you think you’re going to get, Devon? Is it going to be a tiny baby bump, or do you think you’ll look like you ate a small tiger?”

  She frowned. “I’m following a healthy diet. No refined sugar. No white bread. No excessive carbs.”

  “So … no fun?”

  “Avery, you’re pushing this situation to a point where we’re going to lose control of it,” Eliot whispered. “You know that, right?”

  “Did you just meet me? I always do that.”

  “Okay. Whatever. Carry on.” Eliot stared at his menu and scratched his cheek. “This place really needs a liquor license.”

  “Yes,” I deadpanned. “This situation would be so much better with drunken people involved.”

  “What about you?” Devon challenged. “Where were you today? I didn’t see you at the convention center.”

  I darted a dark look in Eliot’s direction before tilting my head to the side. “I was … under the weather.”

  “Because someone beat you up?” Mom asked.

  “I wasn’t technically beaten up,” I clarified. “I … was tackled to the pavement.”

  “By Eliot?”

  “No, Mom. I was in the parking lot of the convention center and some guy tackled me.”

  “What did you do?” Mom asked.

  “Why does everyone always assume I did something? Sometimes I’m the innocent party.”