The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

  “She’s a television reporter,” I pointed out.

  “So? You’re a newspaper reporter.”

  “Newspaper reporters do actual work. Television reporters just stand there and claim glory.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Are you bringing her to dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah. Are you bringing Eliot?”

  “Yeah. He wouldn’t want to miss my new T-shirt debut.”

  “You know, with all this build-up the shirt could disappoint at this point,” Derrick chuckled.

  “Not this shirt.”

  Devon noticed Derrick and I with our heads bent together, whispering, and moved toward us. She always worried that my cousin was going to tip me off instead of her. He was in a tough position. She had sex with him but I had endless blackmail material.

  “Avery.” Her greeting lacked warmth -- which wasn’t unusual.

  “Devon.”

  “How are things?”

  “Busy.”

  “You got a great scoop with this one out of the gate,” she said, shifting a hard look in Derrick’s direction. “How did that happen?”

  “Just dumb luck,” I said sweetly. “Derrick got the call when he was with me and Lexie, and I just took the opportunity to take advantage of the situation.”

  Devon didn’t look convinced. “He didn’t tell you where he was going?”

  “I told you I didn’t,” Derrick protested.

  “Nope.”

  “How did you manage to follow him without him knowing?” Devon looked doubtful.

  “I didn’t.”

  “But then how … ?”

  “I made Eliot do it.”

  “Of course. Eliot. He really does seem fond of you.”

  She said it as though it was hard to believe. “I guess.”

  The three of us shifted when another reporter scooted her way through the crowd. I didn’t realize it was the Channel 7 viper, Shelly, until it was too late. “Ladies,” she greeted us coldly.

  “I’m a man,” Derrick countered. He was no fan of Shelly either.

  “Barely.”

  Devon looked incensed, but I decided to handle the situation in a more mature manner. “So, Shelly, how’s your dating life now that Jake has kicked you to the curb?”

  Shelly’s eyes darkened. “He didn’t kick me to the curb. We decided to mutually uncouple.”

  “Okay, Gwyneth Paltrow,” I laughed. “You should know, though, that the buzz around the doughnuts over there is that Jake dumped you via text message.”

  Shelly craned her neck to see who was loitering by the doughnuts. Since it was three male cameramen -- from three different networks -I didn’t feel especially guilty about my lie.

  Shelly, her tight pencil skirt limiting the length of her stride, moved toward the cameramen angrily.

  “I didn’t hear that Sheriff Farrell dumped her with a text.” Devon looked intrigued.

  “He didn’t,” Derrick laughed. “Avery just made that up.”

  “That was mean,” Devon said.

  I merely shrugged in response.

  “It was funny, though,” she conceded.

  “I’m always funny.”

  “Only in your own mind,” Derrick challenged.

  Once Jake arrived in the room, all chatter ceased. Shelly, who had been in mid-gesture with the cameramen, snapped to attention and took a few steps away to make sure she was in an optimum position to dwarf Jake’s sight line.

  Jake started by delivering a few tidbits about the nature of Ellie’s death, including the fact that she was stabbed nine times, and that she had been sexually assaulted. When he was done with the technical aspects, he turned to the personal details.

  I glanced around the room when he revealed Ellie’s name, noticing that everyone else present was scribbling it into a notebook. That meant no one else had stumbled upon the information earlier in the day and I was still ahead of the pack. When I glanced back up, I saw that Jake’s eyes were focused on me. I pretended to write in my notebook, but it was already too late. He knew I was in the lead.

  Jake wrapped up the official presentation by reading a statement from Ellie’s family -- which I dutifully wrote down -- and then opened the floor for questions. He stressed that the Parker family did not want to be contacted for quotes about their daughter.

  “They’re in deep mourning,” Jake said.

  “Sheriff Farrell,” Shelly immediately jumped into the fray, snapping her fingers to make sure everyone in the room was looking at her. “Can you tell us if you think this was a random attack?”

  “We’re not sure at this point,” Jake replied. “It took us half a day to identify the victim. The medical examiner is still sorting through the evidence. We have no idea if Ms. Parker was targeted or if she was a victim of chance.”

  “Doesn’t the number of wounds suggest overkill?” Devon asked.

  “I can’t answer that,” Jake replied. “It could be overkill. However, Dr. Riley suggests that some of the wounds were too shallow to be fatal.”

  “Like she was tortured?” The question was out of my mouth before I realized I was going to ask it.

  Jake turned to me. “That’s a possibility.”

  “You said the throat wound was the death wound,” Shelly said. “Was the victim conscious when that wound was inflicted?”

  Good question.

  “We can’t be sure at this point,” Jake answered. “That’s going to be a question for the medical examiner when he gets further into the investigation.”

  “Were you able to get a DNA sample from the sexual assault?” I asked.

  Jake fixed me with a hard glare. “Not at this time.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that aspect of the case,” Jake said, his frame and tone stiff.

  “When will you be at liberty to discuss those aspects of the case?” I pressed.

  “When I think it’s important.” Jake verbally dismissed me and turned to the rest of the group to answer their queries.

  After another ten questions from various media representatives, Jake ended the conference. I scooted around the edge of the room in an attempt to sneak out before Jake could isolate me, but I wasn’t that lucky. A hand on my shoulder stilled me at the door just as I was about to escape.

  “Ms. Shaw,” Jake was talking loud enough that the other reporters couldn’t possibly miss it. “I would like to have a discussion with you in my office before you leave.”

  Crap.

  “Are you going to give me a scoop?” I asked hopefully.

  “Not even close.”

  Double crap.

  I reluctantly followed Jake down the hall to his office. He shut the door behind us, sat behind his desk, and then let the room fill with an uncomfortable silence. He clearly wanted me to speak first.

  Instead of playing the game, I slid into one of the open chairs across from his desk and pulled my cellphone out of my purse. I texted Fish that I would be delayed getting back to the office, but didn’t offer details.

  Jake continued to watch me. It was getting creepy. I combated the feeling by emailing Marvin to see if he was still on a girl fast.

  Finally, Jake couldn’t take it anymore. “You already knew the name of the victim.”

  “That wasn’t posed as a question.”

  Jake sighed. “How did you get the name of the victim?”

  “A little birdie told me.”

  “When did you get the name of the victim?” Jake tried a different tactic.

  “Before this conference,” I replied evasively.

  “When before?”

  “Between deadline yesterday and the conference today.” There was no way I was tipping my hand.

  “So you’re going to have more tomorrow than everyone else.”

  I pursed my lips, considering. “That would be my guess.”

  “How much more?”

  “I don’t know, Jake,” I replied. “You’ll just have to wait and see. I have
no idea what the other reporters have.”

  “I’m going to hazard a guess that you’re going to lap them on this one,” Jake said. “Which, of course, makes you deliriously happy.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you have that smug look you used to get in high school when you knew some little gossipy tidbit that was going to bring your enemies to their knees.”

  “You’re so dramatic.”

  Jake shook his head. “Did you approach the family?”

  “I did not.”

  “So, what do you have?”

  “I have enough.” I didn’t mention that I had possibly tied the Oakland County victim to Ellie Parker -- or that I was aware of the speed-dating outing. I wanted him to think that the only leg up I had was Ellie Parker. I wasn’t going to run with the other stuff this early anyway.

  “Avery, I want you to be careful on this one,” Jake said, slowly enunciating his words carefully for emphasis.

  “I’m always careful.”

  “I want you to be a lot more careful than that.”

  “So you called me in here because you’re worried about me?”

  “I’m not worried about you.”

  “Then what are you?”

  “Trying to solve a crime.”

  I waved my hand airily. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  “I wish I could,” Jake sighed. “I know when you’re up to something, though. You’re definitely up to something.”

  I wrinkled my nose in his direction. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  What? It’s not exactly a lie. He could be thinking practically anything at this point.

  Twelve

  “So what did you find out?”

  Eliot and I were in his truck on our way to family dinner. My family has owned a restaurant in rural Oakland County for decades. It’s a throwback to the 1950s, including vinyl booths, a sit-down counter and uniformed waitresses. Every Friday, unless you have a really good excuse (PMS is not one of them, trust me) all of my family members are expected to show up for some proper bonding time.

  It’s both annoying and entertaining.

  I gave Eliot a rundown on my day and waited for him to pat me on the back. I wasn’t disappointed. “You found out all of that in one day?”

  “I didn’t find out the part about both of the victims placing personal ads in the paper until after I had already filed the story,” I pointed out. When Evelyn brought me the information, I was practically giddy with excitement. I had reminded her to keep this information secret, stressing the importance of it, but I wasn’t sure whether she was capable of keeping it under wraps. I guess I’d find out tomorrow.

  “So you’re not including that yet?”

  “I’m not including anything about Sophie Lipscomb.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have enough information yet,” I replied. “When I contacted the public relations moron in Oakland this afternoon about her case, he gave me some vague answer about it being the weekend and said I should call back Monday.”

  “So you don’t want to put that information out there because you don’t want the TV people to know about it yet.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, what happens now?”

  “Now? Now I try to find out whether Ellie Parker went speed dating.”

  “And how are you going to do that?”

  “Ask the speed dating organizers.”

  “You think it’s going to be that simple?” Eliot asked.

  “I think that’s the next step in the equation.”

  Eliot was quiet for a second. “Didn’t Sophie Lipscomb’s brother say she wasn’t dating right now?”

  “She might not have told him the truth about that,” I replied.

  “Why would she lie?”

  “She probably didn’t look at it as a lie,” I explained. “She might have been embarrassed.”

  “Why would she be embarrassed?”

  “I read some of those ads,” I said. “I totally get why someone would be embarrassed.”

  “They were that bad?”

  “They need to come up with a new word for bad.”

  When we got to the restaurant, Eliot waited in front of the truck while I changed my shirt, pulling the new masterpiece over my head and giving myself a cursory glance in the visor mirror before joining him.

  Eliot tried to dissuade me from wearing the shirt one more time. “You’re going to completely drive your mother batshit crazy.”

  “That’s why I’m wearing it.”

  “What if your grandfather doesn’t like it?”

  “My grandfather won’t even get it,” I replied. “He calls Star Wars the duck in the desert movie.”

  “Duck in the desert?”

  “He thinks R2D2 was a duck. So, trust me, he has no idea what a Sith is.”

  “He still knows what sheets are.”

  “He won’t notice unless someone else points it out.”

  Eliot shifted uncomfortably. “Have you met your family? Someone is going to point it out.”

  I laced my fingers through Eliot’s reassuringly and tugged him toward the restaurant. “It’s going to be fine.”

  “It’s not going to be fine,” he complained.

  “It’s going to be fun,” I tried again.

  “For you, maybe,” Eliot said. “It’s going to be another meal consisting of me staring at my plate and trying to avoid those death lasers that shoot out of your mother’s eyes whenever you do something stupid.”

  “Man up!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re an ex-Special Forces dynamo,” I said. “You’ve taken down killers with your bare hands. My mom is little more than five feet tall. I think you can take her.”

  “I’m not afraid of your mother.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Let’s just go,” Eliot grumbled.

  Derrick and Devon were already seated, along with my cousin, Mario, and my grandfather. The rest of the family was milling about, greeting guests and looking over the specials menu -- with one notable exception: My mother was nowhere in sight.

  “Where is my mom?”

  “Maybe she couldn’t make it?” Eliot suggested hopefully.

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed. “If she was having a heart attack she’d still make it -- and then she would veto my outfit as she was loaded into the ambulance.”

  “Just find a spot and sit down,” Eliot ordered.

  I considered my options, ultimately deciding to slide in at the middle table and join Mario rather than being crammed into the corner with Derrick and Devon. Once we were seated, Eliot busied himself by looking at the menu. I had no idea what he was seeking. The menu hadn’t changed in fifty years. I think he just wanted something to do with his hands.

  Derrick was laughing within seconds. “I can’t believe you wore that.”

  I smiled at him. “I told you.”

  Devon read my shirt but she didn’t look nearly as amused as Derrick. “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s from Star Wars,” Derrick explained.

  “Oh, I’ve never seen it.”

  If I hadn’t hated her before … nope, I pretty much hated her before. Her only saving grace was that she was an ally in my war with Shelly.

  “Where did you get that?” Derrick asked.

  I felt Eliot shift in the booth beside me. “I found it at a kiosk in the mall,” I lied smoothly.

  “No you didn’t,” Derrick shot back. “Eliot got it for you.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because you’re transparent when you lie -- Jake knows you were lying this afternoon, by the way -- and Eliot looks like he wishes a hole would open up and swallow him up before your mom gets here.”

  “I thought it would be a nice gift,” Eliot said. “I didn’t think she’d wear it to family dinner.”

  “You’re not very smart then,” Derrick laughed. “If she had se
en that shirt herself she would have bought it in every color they offered.”

  Eliot grimaced. Devon was thoughtful.

  “What did Sheriff Farrell want with you this afternoon? He didn’t look happy when he pulled you into his office after the conference,” she said.

  “Jake pulled you into his office? Alone?” Eliot turned to me, searching my face.

  Now I was uncomfortable. “He just wanted to see if I knew something I shouldn’t know.”

  “Did you?” Devon narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait until tomorrow -- like everyone else -- to find out.”

  Devon pulled her phone from her pocket and started pressing buttons. I wasn’t sure what she was doing, but it wasn’t exactly a big concern at the moment.

  “You left that little tidbit out of the information package when you were recounting your day,” Eliot pointed out.

  “It wasn’t important.”

  “Somebody’s in trouble,” Derrick sang out.

  I kicked him under the table viciously. “Shut up.”

  “What’s going on?” Mario asked, turning his attention from the end of the table and fixating on the four of us.

  “Nothing.”

  “Avery told a lie,” Derrick offered.

  “She’s a reporter. She doesn’t know how to do anything else,” Mario said.

  “Thanks, Mario.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What’s going on down there?” I jerked my head in my grandfather’s direction. He was dramatically recounting some encounter with the local police department, but I couldn’t quite follow the conversation and calm Eliot at the same time.

  “Oh, the city is trying to force grandpa into putting in a designated handicapped parking spot.”

  “Why is that a problem?”

  “Because he doesn’t want to.”

  “Oh.”

  “What else did Jake want?” Eliot asked.

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Your mom is here,” Mario interjected. “She’s going to hate that shirt. Well done.”

  “How is your interpretive dance class?” Mario was in college and he had started selecting classes he knew would irritate his father. What? It’s a family trait.

  “Pretty good,” Mario said. “It’s full of women.”

  “No men?”

  “There’re some gay guys,” Mario said. “They love me, though. It’s all good.”