The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

“What?” Brick’s eyebrows nearly shot off his head.

  “I bet you’re right,” I agreed.

  “What’s going on down there?” Fish called from his desk.

  “Nothing,” Crumb replied hurriedly.

  Oh, screw it. If I was going down, I might as well go all the way. “Caleb is mad I tattled on him and came to confront me. Duncan just likes to fight. And Brick? I have no idea what he’s doing over here. I’m trying to write a story, though. They’re keeping me from doing my job.” I plastered an innocent smile on my face.

  “Go back to your desks,” Fish ordered. “This isn’t a coffee clutch.”

  The group reluctantly started to disperse. Marvin shot one more glance in my direction. “So you thought you would answer their charges of tattling by tattling?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Something tells me you’re going to regret it,” Marvin said.

  Something told me he was right.

  Eight

  I filed my story and escaped the office without another scene, which was a small miracle. Since Harrison Township was between The Monitor’s office in Mount Clemens and my house in Roseville, I wasn’t really going out of my way when I stopped at the Lipscomb house.

  I used the global positioning system on my phone to find the street address listed on Google and parked on the street in front of the house. Harrison Township is a small community, clinging to the eroding shore of Lake St. Clair. It didn’t surprise me to see that the house, which was relatively small, abutted a canal along the back of the property.

  I grabbed a notebook from my glove compartment and exited my Ford Focus. Everyone thinks that being a reporter is so exciting -- and it does have its moments -- but this is the bad part of the job. Approaching a family that has recently lost someone under terrible circumstances is just plain uncomfortable. It has to be done, though.

  I knocked on the front door and waited. When it opened, I saw a middle-aged woman -- probably closer to sixty than fifty -- standing on the other side of the screen door. She looked as though she had been through the emotional wringer, with dark circles under her eyes and greasy hair, often associated with the lack of daily showers, brushing her shoulders.

  “Mrs. Lipscomb?”

  “Yes.” The woman looked understandably suspicious. For all she knows I could be an Avon lady. Or worse, a determined Jehovah’s Witness. “Penny Lipscomb? The mother of Sophie Lipscomb?”

  “Yes,” the woman repeated, pushing the door wider.

  “Hi. My name is Avery Shaw.”

  Realization dawned on the woman’s face before I could finish my introduction. “You’re a reporter for The Monitor.”

  “I am,” I said. “How did you know that?”

  “You were on television a few weeks ago,” she said. “You stopped that freeway shooter.”

  “Technically that was my cousin,” I said.

  “You were there, though?”

  “I was.”

  “It was a really interesting story,” she said. “I know everyone was terrified for a few weeks when those shootings were going on. It was a relief when they caught the person responsible.”

  This was good. At least she knew who I was. “Mrs. Lipscomb, I have a hard question to ask you. I know you’re going through a trying time, but … was your daughter murdered?”

  Penny Lipscomb raised her eyebrows in surprise. “How did you find that out?”

  Does dumb luck count? “Honestly? A body was found in the Clinton River in Clinton Township yesterday. That victim hasn’t been identified yet, but it’s come to my attention that another victim was found under similar circumstances a few weeks ago in Oakland County. I’m trying to find out if that was your daughter.”

  The woman glanced over her shoulder, but she didn’t move to shut the door in my face. “It was.”

  Well, at least I had confirmation. Now came the really hard part. “Ma’am, I’m sure you understand the possible ramifications here.”

  “I do,” she nodded. “If this other girl was killed by the same person, then we have a monster living amongst us.”

  That was a creepy way to put it. Grief does weird things to people, though. “What department is handling your daughter’s case?”

  “The Oakland County Sheriff’s Department.”

  That was both good and bad. They had a public relations person, but you couldn’t always get him on the phone if they weren’t in the mood to share information. “Have they told you anything about their investigation?”

  “Just that they’re investigating.” Penny Lipscomb looked decidedly uncomfortable with my questions.

  “And they don’t have any suspects?”

  “None that they’ve made us aware of.”

  “Did your daughter have any enemies?”

  Penny’s face colored. “Of course not! She was a sweet and wonderful girl. She was giving. She went to church every Sunday. How could you even think such things about her?”

  “Ma’am, I’m not casting aspersions on your daughter,” I said evenly. “I’m trying to find out who did this to her.”

  Penny pursed her lips. “I understand you have a job to do, Ms. Shaw. I’m all for freedom of the press, and I think you serve an important function.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The police have asked us not to discuss our daughter’s case with the press, though.”

  That was so Oakland County. “If you don’t get any attention that’s going to make things difficult.”

  “I trust the police,” Penny continued. “If they tell me that we should talk to the press then we’ll talk to the press. You’ll be on the top of the list. I promise.”

  I sighed, but didn’t argue. I reached into my purse and pulled out a business card to give her. “This is probably going to blow up soon, ma’am,” I said. “At some point, other people might tie your daughter’s death to this most recent murder.”

  “I understand that.” She took the card without even glancing at it.

  “When it does blow up, I’ll be here if you need help.”

  “Thank you.”

  I started to move away from the door. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” I could hear the tears starting to clog her voice.

  I paused on the front walk to consider my options. I had confirmation that Sophie Lipscomb could possibly be another victim, but I didn’t have enough to move forward. I was stuck.

  “Excuse me.”

  I turned to find a young man -- he looked to be in his early twenties -- standing on the sidewalk behind me. His hands were shoved into his jean pockets, and he was shuffling nervously.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Avery Shaw.”

  “Yeah, I heard you talking to my mother.”

  “You’re Sophie’s brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your name is Bryan, right?” I remembered the name from the obituary. “Sophie was your older sister?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bryan was avoiding eye contact, but he clearly had something to say. So I waited.

  “What information are you looking for?” Bryan finally asked.

  “I want to know about your sister,” I replied. “I want to know what her life was like.”

  “She was a secretary for a law firm.”

  “Which one?”

  “Hanson Brothers out of Auburn Hills.”

  Another little tidbit gleaned. “Did she have a boyfriend?”

  “No,” Bryan shook his head. “She was really focused on work. She said she could get a boyfriend later -- after she worked her way up to being a partner’s secretary. She said that’s where the real job security was.”

  “How many hours a week did she work?”

  “About fifty.”

  “Did she live here still? With your parents?”

  “Yeah,” Bryan nodded. “She was saving up to buy a place of her own. My parents said that wasting money on an apartment didn’t make any sen
se.”

  I don’t care how much sense it makes, living with my mother after it was legal to drink wasn’t even a possibility in my world. “The night she disappeared, where was she supposed to be?”

  “She and her friends were going out.”

  “To a bar?”

  Bryan looked embarrassed. “No. It was some speed-dating event in Mount Clemens.”

  “You said she wasn’t interested in dating,” I reminded him.

  “She wasn’t,” Bryan said. “Her friends wanted to, though, so she agreed to go.”

  I had never heard of one of these speed-dating events occurring in Mount Clemens. Of course, I didn’t really run in those circles. “Do you happen to know the name of the event?”

  “No, just that they found it in the personal ads section of your newspaper.”

  Well, that would make things easier. “How did she get separated from her friends?”

  “I don’t know,” Bryan replied, considering. “They said she went outside to take a phone call and when she came back she said she had somewhere to go.”

  “Was it a work call?”

  “Her boss said no.”

  “And you’re sure she wasn’t seeing anyone?”

  “She would have told me. We were close.”

  “So who was on the phone? Did the police track her last phone call?”

  “Her cell phone wasn’t found with her … body.” Bryan looked as though he was about to cry.

  “What kind of phone did she have?”

  “It was an iPhone.”

  “Can’t they do that Find My Phone thing to locate it?”

  “The cops said that only works if the phone is on.”

  “They can still find out who that last call was from if they go through the phone company.” I was mainly thinking out loud now.

  “They haven’t really told us anything,” Bryan admitted. “Every time we call, they just say they’re still looking into it and as soon as they know something they’ll tell us.”

  “Oakland County isn’t known for being helpful,” I said.

  “I can’t really force the issue” Bryan said. “My parents wouldn’t like it.”

  “I understand.” I handed him a business card. “Call me any time. I’m going to start looking into this speed-dating thing tomorrow.”

  “Do you think you can find something the cops can’t?” Bryan looked impressed.

  “Let’s just say that I don’t have to follow the same rules they do,” I replied, forcing a smile onto my face for his benefit.

  “So what? You’re going to go undercover and speed date?”

  I hadn’t really considered that, but it was certainly an option. “I’m going to try to talk to the people involved first,” I said. “We’ll see where that leads.”

  “And you really don’t care if I call you?” Bryan looked hopeful.

  “No;, call me whenever you want to touch base.” Hopefully he was only looking for story information.

  “Thank you.” Bryan’s voice was filled with sincerity.

  I patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s going to get better.”

  “What?” Bryan’s green eyes were clouded with tears. He seemed surprised by the sudden human contact.

  “I know it seems like things are never going to be good again,” I said. “That’s not true. They’re never going to be the same again. You’re always going to miss her. At some point, though, you’re going to be able to smile again when you remember her. You’ll be thankful when that finally happens.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  What? I can be nice. I usually don’t choose to be, but I am capable of making others feel better.

  Nine

  “So, how was your day?”

  There are few sights that can warm my heart and stir my blood at the same time. Leia telling Han she loves him in The Empire Strikes Back, the Hulk beating the crap out of Loki in The Avengers and Eliot Kane cooking fajitas in my kitchen. Those are pretty much the three sights.

  What? I’m multi-faceted weird. Sue me.

  “It just got a whole heck of a lot better,” I said, sidling up to Eliot and rubbing my nose against his cheek.

  Eliot turned his lips to mine, pressing a quick kiss to my mouth, and then returned to his fajitas. “I figured as much. I thought a home-cooked meal might do you some good.”

  “You’re just sick of us always going out,” I said, moving far enough away from him to kick my shoes off.

  “I like going out fine,” Eliot argued. “I just don’t like going out every night, and my kitchen isn’t big enough to do an actual meal in.”

  I watched Eliot as he stared at my shoes in the middle of the floor. I’m a complete and total pig. Eliot isn’t a neat-freak, but he does believe every item should have a place and then remain in that place when not in use. The sight of my shoes left on the floor instead of being placed in the open slot on the shoe rack was obviously driving him mad.

  “I’m not complaining,” I said, smiling at him as I slipped into a spot at the kitchen table. “I like it when you cook. It makes you look sexy.”

  Eliot shifted his gaze back to me, contemplating. “Just say the word and I could put all of this in the refrigerator and we could heat it up later.”

  “Fajitas aren’t as good heated up,” I reminded him. “That can wait until after dinner.”

  Eliot’s smile dipped. “Well, if that’s the case, then that can wait until after you put your shoes away, too.”

  I knew it! “Why does that bother you so much?”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Eliot protested.

  “It obviously does.”

  “It’s just that … why can’t you just put your shoes away? It takes like ten seconds.”

  “Yes,” I replied, careful to keep my tone light. “But if they’re sitting in the middle of the floor, then I can just slip them on before I go to work tomorrow.”

  Eliot snorted. “Please. You never wear the same shoes two days in a row.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was right.

  “Tomorrow you’ll wear the Wonder Woman ones, and then tomorrow night they’ll join those Star Wars ones on the middle of the floor. It won’t be until you trip over the big pile of shoes in the kitchen that it will even occur to you to put them away.”

  I rolled my eyes but got to my feet and scooped up the shoes, muttering to myself as I shoved them into the shoe rack in the laundry room before returning to the kitchen. “Happy?”

  “I’m not unhappy,” Eliot replied, his face smug.

  “Great.”

  “And, because you were such a good girl,” Eliot continued,, (I hate it when he treats me like a child. Did I mention that?) “You can have the present I bought for you earlier.”

  I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “You bought me a present?”

  “I did.” Eliot’s eyes were filled with mirth.

  “It’s not a vacuum cleaner, is it?”

  Eliot rolled his eyes. “There’s a bag on the chair over there,” he inclined his head toward the corner of the room. “It’s in there.”

  I walked to the bag, thankful that it was too small to be some sort of cleaning torture device, and reached inside. I couldn’t help but smile when I drew out the T-shirt. I unfolded it, holding it up so I could get a better view and then read aloud. “’Jedi on the streets, Sith between the sheets.’ Where did you get this?” I asked, delighted.

  “They had them at a kiosk in the mall,” Eliot shrugged, his face coloring.

  “I can’t believe you bought this for me.”

  “Yeah, well, it was no big deal.” Eliot was suddenly shrinking in the face of my adoration.

  I took two large strides, grabbed him by the back of his head and planted a huge, wet kiss on his mouth. “This is the nicest thing you could have gotten me.”

  “Let’s not make a big deal about it,” Eliot said, although he looked pleased with my happiness. “It’s a $20 shirt. It’s not
like I bought you a car. Or the Millennium Falcon.”

  “This is better,” I said, still staring at the shirt. “Not that I wouldn’t like to own the Millennium Falcon.”

  “How is that better?” Eliot asked. He was now dishing food onto plates.

  “I can’t wear the Millennium Falcon to family dinner tomorrow night.”

  The color drained from Eliot’s face. “You’re not wearing that to dinner, are you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “You’re not telling your mom I bought it for you, are you?” He looked panicked.

  “If you don’t want me to tell her, I won’t tell her,” I promised. “Although, you do deserve a big prize for finding this.”

  “I don’t think your mother’s disdain is a big prize.”

  “She likes you,” I reminded him.

  “She keeps telling me to get a haircut.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I admonished him. “I like it long.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take your opinion into consideration,” he replied dryly. “Although I’m betting that you only like it long because your mom doesn’t like it long.”

  I thought about what he said for a second and then shrugged. “I like it long; I can’t say what other factors may play into that decision.”

  Eliot smirked. “Grab those plates and put them on the table. Put the shirt in the bag so you don’t drop food on it.”

  “I would never drop food on it!”

  “I’ve seen you eat.”

  He had a point.

  Once we were at the table enjoying our meal, he turned his full attention toward me. “So, you were about to tell me how your day went.”

  Huh. I had forgotten about my rant in all my shirt-loving glory. “Oh, yeah, my day sucked.”

  Eliot continued to eat, waiting for me to unleash whatever hell I had discovered.

  “So, I go to the stadium this morning and Caleb was there.”

  “I thought you said your editor told him not to go?”

  “He did.”

  “And he went anyway?”

  “He did.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I confronted him,” I said.

  Eliot paused, mid-chew. “You confronted him?”

  “I told him that Fish told me that he wasn’t supposed to be there.”