Erin stifled back a giggle as she caught the disbelief in my eyes.
Duncan was nonplussed. "It's the truth. I'm a road warrior."
"Brown fighter? Isn't that really like a constipated turd?"
Duncan grabbed the proof from me and stalked back to his desk. I could hear him mumbling something about the spawn of Satan.
After catching up on some mindless chatter with Erin, I found out that one of our co-workers apparently tried to screw one of the ad-reps in a very uncomfortable position -- and I don't mean in the back of a Volvo. I returned to my desk to file my story.
Since the meeting had gone so long, my story was longer than usual and it was after 5 p.m. before I finally left the office. I had completely dried off by the time I got to my car, but the only thing I was looking forward to was a long hot bath and a few hours playing Star Wars Lego on my Wii.
Instead, I heated up a can of soup, turned on the television and fell asleep while watching Chelsea Handler bash Beyonce. Apparently, the Force was not with me today. I blamed it on being Monday.
Fifteen
I got to sleep in on Tuesday morning since I was covering a night meeting in Roseville. It was a nice clear day and I opted to be productive. I was going to mow the lawn, go to the gym and clean the house. Ultimately, I mowed the lawn and came in to have my breakfast while watching the women of The View. When it was over, I thanked the Force that my name wasn't Sherri Shepherd and debated what to do with the afternoon.
As always, laziness made my decision and I decided to take a book and lounge at Metro Beach. I showered, changed into comfortable cutoffs and my favorite tank top, which featured the face of the Incredible Hulk and the words "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
In an effort to dress better for work, I tossed a clean Jaws T-shirt and my yellow Converse in the back seat to change into later and headed for the beach. Once there, I did my usual routine of people watching -- there's something enjoyable about seeing a 200-pound woman roller skate in a tube top -- and then settled in a nice spot in the sun to read the new Charlaine Harris book. I love vampire smut.
I'd been happily ensconced in Bon Temps for about an hour when someone stepped into my direct sun. I had no intention of talking to anyone that day, so I pretended I didn't notice. The shadow, however, wasn't going away.
Instead, a hand reached down and grabbed the book from me. I looked up to see Eliot flipping through it. He stopped at a hot sex scene, read a few paragraphs out loud, and then raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "Have you ever thought of actually doing it instead of reading about it?"
"I do it all the time," I huffed getting to my feet. I couldn't help but notice, however, that he looked incredible in his own white tank top and green board shorts. His legs were just as muscular as his arms, I noticed. "I'm a sex machine."
I don't think he believed the lie. He handed the book back to me and took in my outfit. He seemed to like the shorts and the itty-bitty tank top. His eyes lingered on my cleavage for a good ten seconds before moving back up to my face.
"You don't have to work today?"
"I have to go to a meeting tonight. What about you?"
"I worked this morning and I'll close the shop tonight. I thought I'd enjoy the day and take my boat out fishing."
Boat? I found myself perking up. I love boats. Of course, on my lowly reporter's salary the odds of ever affording one were pretty slim. Still, if Eliot owned one, things were looking up.
Eliot seemed to notice my interest. "You want to go for a ride?"
Of course I did. "What kind of ride?" I was trying to be cute and flirty. I think it backfired. Eliot moved in closer. So close, in fact, that I couldn't breathe. "Any kind of ride you want."
I stumbled back, almost falling over the Star Wars sleeping bag I'd laid on the ground. "A boat ride sounds great." Did I mention I'm the worst flirter known to man?
Eliot was amused. Apparently my ineptitude is funny.
He led me down to the boat basin, where three vessels were docked. All were huge monstrosities. He walked down to the far boat -- the Caped Crusader I noticed, ah, a Batman fan -- and held out his hand to help me aboard. This wasn't a boat, it was a yacht. I tried not to act too impressed.
"The pawn business must be better than I thought."
"Actually, a guy pawned this and never came back to get it. Now it's mine. I thought I'd take it out for a spin."
I licked my lips nervously. Eliot seemed interested in the movement and moved closer to me. Uh-oh.
I needn't have worried. He leaned in to reach around me and, for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me, and then realized he was untying the boat. Damn, thwarted again. He seemed to notice my disappointment.
"We could stay docked and I could show you the cabin instead, if you want?"
I narrowed my eyes dangerously. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Eliot merely smiled knowingly and handed me a life jacket. I personally didn't think I needed it. He disagreed. "The water could get choppy and I'd feel better. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you."
I begrudgingly fastened the life jacket and sat down next to the pilot's chair as Eliot maneuvered us out into the channel. If you've never been on a boat in the open water it's hard to describe the feeling of the wind whipping through your hair. It's kind of a sexy feeling.
Eliot clearly liked to go fast -- that both exhilarated me and terrified me. I had a feeling he was that way in his personal life, too.
After about a half an hour, Eliot let off on the speed and stopped the boat. We had a clear view of Canada on one side and Harsen's Island in St. Clair County on the other. It was beautiful.
"So, what do you think, is it a keeper?"
I looked up at Eliot in surprise. "Is what a keeper?"
"The boat."
"I thought you said the boat was yours?"
"It is," he answered amiably. "I just wasn't sure if I was going to keep it long-term or sell it. Given the way it runs, I'm leaning towards keeping it."
I merely nodded. I know I'd keep it.
Eliot seemed relaxed as he leaned back his handsome face, which was sporting a little bit of stubble I noticed, and soaked up the rays.
Finally, he must have noticed me staring. "Yes?"
I chewed my lip. I was feeling nosy but wasn't so sure how involved in Eliot's life I truly wanted to get. Ultimately, nosiness won out.
"Why did you come to Jake's rescue yesterday?"
Eliot seemed to consider his answer before responding. "I told you. I like Jake and I wouldn't want to seem him lose his job over something as trivial as beating the snot out of that little ferret."
I agreed.
"Did you two make up?"
"We're not middle school girls," Eliot answered. "We don't make up. We have an understanding."
"What's the understanding?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"It's my job. Seriously, what's the understanding?"
Eliot looked away from me for a moment, taking in the Canadian shoreline. "We both agreed that neither one of us is going anywhere and that we both think Ludington is an asshole."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"Guys are weird," I was thinking aloud. "If you two were girls, there would have been some hair pulling involved."
"You pulled a lot of hair in your day? You seem like more of a biter to me."
That sounded sexy coming out of Eliot's mouth. Unfortunately, I didn't think getting sexy with Eliot was in my best interests.
"I'm just saying that girls typically fight it out more . . . aggressively."
"I don't think of you as a typical girl." Well, that was disconcerting. "I think of you as a nerdy guy with a vagina."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You don't think like a girl. You're all in to Star Wars and video games. You don't act like a girl. You're not looking for someone to rescue you and take care of you. Hell, you don't dress like a
normal girl. I've never seen you in heels and, quite frankly, I've only seen you in shirts a guy would wear."
I looked down at my itty-bitty tank top. What guy would wear this?
"Just because I think for myself doesn't mean I'm not a girl." I was getting a little angry.
"I didn't say you weren't a girl. I said I just didn't think of you as a typical girl. That's not a bad thing." Eliot smiled and leaned closer to me. This time I didn't imagine the kiss, it was actually happening. It was quick and sweet but oh, so hot. "Actually," he said in a husky voice. "I think it's a very good thing. I've never met a normal girl who held my interest for more than one night."
I think my face was on fire, and I had an incredible urge to strip right there. I don't know what stopped me. Oh yeah, it was Eliot.
He pulled away and merely smiled. "What time is your meeting?"
My what? Oh, yeah, my meeting. "It's at seven." I can't believe I actually managed to form words.
"We'd better get going then," Eliot said simply.
I nodded in agreement, only I didn't know what I was agreeing to.
Eliot started up the boat and headed for home. Luckily for me the engine was too loud for us to talk over and I had plenty of time with my thoughts. My very confused thoughts. In fact, I was so caught up in my own thoughts I didn't notice the swirling police lights behind us until I saw Eliot cursing out of the corner of my eye and pulling back on the throttle.
"What is it?"
"Border patrol." Eliot looked grim.
"Our border patrol?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's no problem, we'll just tell them who we are."
"We're in Canadian waters." Eliot was simple and to the point sometimes. This wasn't a good situation, we both knew that. In these times of terrorism, slipping into Canadian seas was akin to beating puppies. Crap.
The border patrol boat eased up alongside us, and the officers on board didn't look happy. Unfortunately, I don't know any border patrol cops, so I didn't have any favors to cash in to get Eliot out of this.
"What seems to be the problem officer?" My voice was sugary sweet and Eliot seemed surprised to hear it come from my usually acerbic mouth.
Officer number one, sporting a Fu Manchu mustache (what is it with cops and porn mustaches?), didn't seem to be affected by my faux niceness. "Did you know you were traveling in international waters?"
"No officer, we must have just gotten turned around." I sounded like an incredibly innocent and breathy high schooler.
Eliot appeared amused.
Fu Manchu asked for our IDs and we both handed them over. He studied them a moment and I was sure he was about to send us on our way with a warning. I was wrong.
"We're going to board and seize your vessel," he said succinctly. "It's very likely you're going to be facing some federal charges."
Well shit.
Eliot remained silent. That, however, was not in my nature.
"This is ridiculous!" There was nothing sweet and nice about me now. "We just got turned around. Don't you guys have anything better to do like, oh I don't know, catching real criminals? Or, better yet, there's a Dunkin Donuts just off shore, why not visit there?"
I knew I'd gone too far. He angrily started calling in to the radio on his collar, informing whoever was on the other end that they'd have guests tonight. When he got to the part about our names, though, the other voice seemed interested.
"Did you say Avery Shaw?"
"Yes, Avery Elizabeth Shaw," Fu Manchu responded.
Then another voice came over the radio, one Eliot and I unfortunately both recognized.
"This is Sheriff Jake Farrell." He didn't sound happy. "Ms. Shaw and Mr. Kane are both working on a case for me. They probably just got turned around. I would consider it a personal favor if you would help them get to U.S. waters."
It didn't really sound like a request, but law enforcement usually covers for one another, so I wasn't surprised when Fu Manchu reluctantly let us go and escorted us back to Harrison Township.
Fu Manchu managed a thinly veiled threat about never entering international waters again before he departed. Eliot and I nodded, like we were taking the threat seriously -- even though neither of us really was.
Eliot had remained silent through much of the past hour, so when he docked the boat I was starting to get agitated with him.
"What's with the silent treatment? We just dodged a very large and real bullet." A thank you would be nice, I thought.
Eliot's answer was simple, and laced with innuendo.
"I'm just wondering how it happens that Sheriff Farrell came to your rescue? Yet again."
There were no ifs left in the equation anymore. Everything had officially become complicated.
Sixteen
After sharing an awkward goodbye, I was more than happy to get away from a morose Eliot. Part of me felt bad for him, but an even bigger part of me felt bad for myself. How did I manage to continually get myself into ridiculous situations like this?
I got my change of clothes out of the car, and went to the public bathroom to make myself look presentable. That didn't look like it was in the cards for me, though. One look at my lobster red face and windblown hair and I knew even my best Jaws T-shirt (I have three) was not going to improve my looks today.
I shrugged into the shirt anyway and ran my hands through my tousled hair. I couldn't wait until my face started to peel. Then my mortification would be complete.
I glanced at my Swatch and realized I was running late yet again. It seems to be a perpetual state for me. It really is a little known super power.
It took me about a half an hour to get to the meeting and was surprised to see how full the room was. This didn't look good. I had a sinking feeling I had another tedious meeting in my future. Turned out, I was right.
So what had the good citizens of Roseville so up in arms? Seems the city had rezoned a parcel of land that abutted a residential area so it could house a crematorium. Personally, I think it sounded pretty cool, but, then again, I'm a horror movie fanatic. The residents seemed to think otherwise – and they were being vocal about it.
I found an open seat, flipped open my notebook and started writing. Luckily for me, the affected neighbors weren't feeling particularly practical. In fact, they seemed downright psychotic.
A little old lady, seriously, she was less than five feet tall and her purse was bigger than she was, stood up at the podium and her argument wasn't exactly rational.
"I don't want to go out and get an ice cream and have body parts fall in to it." Well, that seemed like a legitimate concern. I mean, body parts falling from smoke stacks? It happens every Christmas right?
A few minutes later, a pinched little man with greasy hair and a huge beer gut took the podium. I noticed that his pants were dipping dangerously low on his rear and he was sporting a serious case of plumber's crack, without fixing any pipes. Nice. His argument was equally rational.
"I read in the National Enquirer that people who run crematoriums are sex perverts." I read that, too. "I don't think we need any more sex perverts in the area." I agree, the thousands already living in the city were enough. "I bet these guys just want to hump dead bodies." Well, at least dead bodies couldn't shoot them down.
After about an hour of the residents screaming at the council members, the city officials buckled to pressure and agreed to rescind the zoning. Bummer, I thought a crematorium sounded fascinating. For their part, the crematorium operators were threatening a lawsuit. I laid odds, when all was said and done, the council members would end up waffling back the other way. I'd seen it before. Money talks and angry mobs move on to another complaint relatively quickly.
I greeted the mayor and city attorney, made sure I understood the legal implications, and ultimately decided I was done for the day. Before heading for home to file the story, I reached into my purse and pulled out a quick smoke. Hey, it's been a stressful day.
Unfortunately, one of the city's gadflies
recognized me and cornered me to voice his concerns about necrophilia for a good twenty minutes. By the time I finally got away from him, I realized I was pretty much alone in the parking lot.
I wasn't really worried since the fire department was just across the street and the city's police department was actually housed farther down in the parking lot. Truth be told, though, I generally don't get worried in situations like this. I actually pity the person who tries to mug me -- gun or not. I've got a lot of rage and, in a fight, the person that's the least balanced always has the upper hand. I'd lay odds that on any given day, I was crazier than any mugger.
I slowly ambled over in the direction of my car, but my nose detected the slight waft of lilacs. Yum. I darted a glance around and decided that it wouldn't harm anyone to grab a handful and take them home. With my luck, though, the cops would charge me with stealing flowers. Sometimes they just like to be jerks. I think it goes with the uniform.
Seeing none of Roseville's finest, I went over to the fence and broke off two full branches. That should be plenty. I turned and started back towards my car when I felt it. A cool sense of dread. Crap, I wasn't alone.
I turned around abruptly; expecting to find another outraged neighbor or even a creepy crematorium owner. All I saw was a lone car parked about fifty feet from my car. I guessed someone was still inside the meeting hall.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I looked harder at the car. I couldn't be sure, but even in the dark I thought I saw a hint of movement. Was someone sitting in that car watching me?
I debated my options. The smart thing to do would probably be to get on the sidewalk, avoid the roadways, and run to the police department. Problem was, that was a really long walk and I'd just smoked a cigarette.
I opted for door number two, pretending I wasn't scared and just heading towards my car. Big mistake.
As I started to move across the parking lot, all of a sudden the car's lights flared to life at the same time whoever was in it started the engine. I just happened to be right in the car's path.
Shit.
I started to run, but I already knew it was too late. The car roared into action and started barreling towards me. At the last minute, I dived to the side, landing hard on the pavement. Even if the ground was made of marshmallows I had a feeling it would hurt. This, however, was pure torture. The funny thing was, I barely noticed at the time. I jerked around to see if I could see where the car was.
Who, what, where, when, die (An Avery Shaw Mystery) Page 10