The Preditorial Page

by Lee, Amanda M.

  I glanced to the front of the restaurant and plastered a wide smile on my face as my mother cut a swath through customers in an attempt to navigate toward the family table. Finally.

  “Avery, I’m glad you could make it,” she greeted me. It took a second, but when she finally read my T-shirt my payoff was complete. “What the … ?” She stepped closer to the table and bent down so she could look me in the eye. “Who told you that it was okay to wear a pornographic shirt to family dinner?”

  Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner.

  “It’s not pornographic.”

  “Holy crap!” Devon was on her feet. “Where did you get this story? How did you get her friends? How did you even know where she worked?”

  “How do you even know all that? The issue doesn’t hit until tomorrow.”

  “It’s on the paper’s website.” Devon looked nonplussed.

  Crap. Digital first. “I’m just good at my job.”

  “Did you tip her off?” Devon turned on Derrick venomously.

  “Thanks,” Derrick grumbled, his face tight with unexpressed emotion.

  “Go take that shirt off!” My mom was beside herself.

  “The city is trying to force me to do something against my will,” my grandfather announced loudly. “That’s un-American. They can’t just come on to my property and put a handicapped sign on a parking spot. It’s against the Constitution.”

  “I don’t think that’s one of the amendments in the Constitution,” Mario offered.

  “You’re not funny, young man,” my grandfather chastised him.

  “Did Jake make a move on you?” Eliot asked.

  Cripes.

  “Where did you even get that shirt?” My mom wasn’t letting it go.

  “I found it at the mall.”

  “Eliot bought it for her,” Derrick interjected.

  “You ass.” I turned on him furiously. “You’re just saying that because Devon is mad at you.”

  “There’s no way you could have gotten that information from anyone else,” Devon said, her lower lip quivering. “Either Derrick told you or Sheriff Farrell is giving you special treatment.”

  “He wishes,” Eliot growled.

  My mom swung on Eliot. “Why would you buy that shirt for her?”

  “I thought she would like it.”

  “It’s inappropriate.”

  “I didn’t tip Avery off,” Derrick practically exploded.

  “I’m going to yank that sign down if they try to put it up in my parking lot. I’m not kidding.” My grandfather was basking in the attention -- and the murmured agreement -- from the restaurant denizens.

  “I think you’re trying to kill me,” my mom said. “That’s your goal in life, isn’t it? You want to break your poor mother’s heart.”

  “You’re going to have to be more precise,” I said. “Do I want to kill you or break your heart?”

  “I don’t think they’re mutually exclusive.”

  “I’m going to need some time to consider it then.”

  Mario laughed. “Good one.”

  “I never trusted Farrell,” Eliot muttered. “I knew he was up to something.”

  “You’re going to have to decide,” Devon announced, pushing her way through the crowd and away from the family booth. “Either you tip Avery off when she doesn’t deserve it or you sleep with me. You can’t have both.”

  “Tough decision there, Derrick.”

  Derrick sneered at me. “Shut up, Avery. Devon, wait.” He was on his feet and chasing her out the door without a backward glance.

  “She left because she’s offended by that shirt,” my mom sniffed.

  “I’m going to have a talk with Farrell,” Eliot announced. “This has to be settled.”

  “I’m going to need a truck if I want to pull the sign out,” my grandfather said, thinking out loud. “Hey, long hair! You have a truck, right?”

  Eliot glanced at my grandfather. “Yeah. I have a truck.”

  “When the city tries to put that sign in, I’m going to need your truck to rip it down.”

  “Sure. Whatever.”

  “How am I going to live down the shame of having a daughter that wears a pornographic shirt to family dinner?” My mom was covering her eyes as though she was an actress in a 950s soap opera.

  I glanced over at Eliot wearily. “The shirt probably wasn’t a good idea.”

  “At least you had your fun.”

  Fun? Medieval torture? What’s the difference, right?

  Thirteen

  “What are you doing today?”

  I rolled over and fixed Eliot with a sleepy smile. “I’m going to run over to the Parker house.”

  “I thought Jake told you they didn’t want to talk?” Eliot didn’t look thrilled to use the J-word, but he had calmed down relatively quickly after we left the restaurant the previous evening. When I had explained what happened, he decided that Jake might not need an ass kicking after all.

  “He did,” I replied. “That doesn’t mean I’m not approaching them.”

  “What if they slam the door in your face?”

  “They probably will.”

  “You’re still going, though?”

  “The rest of the media circus is going to be parked outside their house today. I have to give it a shot.”

  “What time are you going?”

  I glanced at the bedside clock and sighed. “Right after I shower.”

  “Why so early?”

  “The news crews will show up around eleven or so,” I explained. “I want to be the first one there.”

  “How do you know they’ll be there at eleven?”

  “Because they want to go live at noon.”

  “Ah.”

  I started to climb out of bed but Eliot pulled me back down, pressing me to his chest. “Do you have time for a little morning bonding?”

  “I thought you were mad at me?”

  “I’m over that.”

  “I will probably have some time for afternoon bonding later,” I offered.

  Eliot sighed. “I have to work a shift at the shop tonight.”

  “I thought you didn’t work weekends.”

  “Karen needed the weekend off. Her sister is getting married.”

  “How late will you be at work?”

  “Until ten.”

  “I’ll just come over and spend the night at your place when I’m done. How does that sound?”

  “Are you going to bond with me this evening?”

  I smiled despite myself. “The odds are good.”

  Eliot gave me a quick kiss and then let me up. “Go and invade someone’s privacy.”

  AN HOUR later, I was parked in front of the Parker house, trying to collect myself. I hate this part of the job.

  When I got to the front door I didn’t give myself time to think. I knocked quickly and then waited. I was expecting a harsh welcome -- and an even harsher dismissal. Imagine my surprise when a teary-eyed woman answered the door and didn’t immediately ask me my business.

  “Um, hi.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Mrs. Parker?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Avery Shaw. I’m a reporter with The Monitor.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “Well,” I hedged. “I was hoping to ask you some questions about your daughter.”

  The woman stared at me.

  “I know that you probably don’t want to talk, but the more information we can get out there about your daughter the more interest it will drum up in the community.”

  “I understand that,” the woman said. “I’m Nancy Parker, by the way.”

  I shook her proffered hand nervously. I couldn’t quite get a feel for what was going on here.

  “There was already a reporter here from The Monitor, though. He left about a half hour ago.”

  What? “Do you mind me asking who it was you talked to?”

  “It was a very nice man, a little older than you. I
think his name was Caleb Crumb.”

  I’m going to kill him. And a little older than me? Just how old do I look? I need to stay out of the sun. The man was from a different era, for crying out loud. Wait. Focus. “Did you let him interview you?”

  “I did.”

  “Were you happy with the interview?” That sounded weird, even to my own ears.

  “He was very pleasant,” Nancy Parker said. “He asked very thoughtful questions about my daughter. He said he was going to do a nice piece on her life and all she offered to the community.”

  That didn’t sound terrible.

  “We even gave him pictures. He was a little odd.” That was putting it mildly. “But he was very nice.”

  “Odd how?”

  “He was just really, really interested in Ellie and her life, whether she went to church and whether it was a Catholic church. He was a little intense.”

  “That’s good,” I said hurriedly. “I guess I didn’t realize he was the Saturday reporter this week.” We have a rotating shift on weekends. “I thought this would be my responsibility. I’m really sorry to have bothered you.”

  “It’s no bother,” she said. “I just want to make sure that what’s written about her is nice.”

  “I understand.”

  “I read the story you wrote yesterday.”

  Uh-oh.

  “I thought it was beautiful,” she continued. “I loved the nice things her co-workers said. She was such a good girl.”

  “I’m glad.” Since Mrs. Parker didn’t seem angry at my intrusion, I decided to go for broke. “Mrs. Parker, can I ask you one question?”

  “Sure.”

  “This might sound weird but … did your daughter go to any speed-dating events in Mount Clemens in recent weeks?”

  “She did,” Nancy Parker acknowledged. “She was really excited. She went with a whole group of friends.”

  “Do you know when?”

  “It was about a week ago,” she said.

  Jackpot.

  “Is that important?” Nancy Parker looked concerned.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just have to do some research. It’s probably nothing.” Or maybe everything.

  Unfortunately for me, I didn’t think asking her to keep that little tidbit to herself when the media circus arrived in an hour would make me look very good. Instead, I extended my hand and clasped hers warmly. “I’m really sorry about your loss. I want you to know I’m not going to give up on this story until it’s solved. I’m not going to give up on your daughter.”

  “Thank you. I believe you. You have a really good reputation in this county.”

  “I wish you could tell my mom that.”

  Nancy Parker smiled at me kindly. “Mothers are pre-dispositioned to harp on their daughters. It’s genetic,” she said, her voice cracking. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “I won’t.” I paused for a second. “Your daughter was really lucky to have you.”

  “No. I was really lucky to have her.”

  I may be jaded, but my heart cracked just a little. I had to find who was doing this, if only to give Mrs. Parker and Mrs. Lipscomb a bit of solace. It was the least I could do. Ruining the life of the perpetrator was an added bonus.

  Fourteen

  I had a plan.

  When I got to my car, I pulled my cellphone out of my purse and punched in a familiar number.

  “What are you doing up this early?” Carly asked when she answered.

  Carly was my best friend. She had been since we met in college. She’d gotten married a few weeks ago, and had returned from her honeymoon with a glowing tan and something akin to a sex haze floating around her. She’d been focused on her husband Kyle ever since. Not that I was bitter -- or jealous.

  “How is married life?”

  My question was met with a stony silence. Uh-oh.

  “Carly?”

  “I heard the question.”

  “Is Kyle standing there or something?”

  “Hold on a second.” I listened as Carly pulled the phone from her ear. She didn’t cover up the mouthpiece, though, so I could hear everything that was going on in the background. “Do you have to eavesdrop?”

  I couldn’t hear Kyle’s response -- just muttered complaints -- but I’m guessing it wasn’t pretty.

  “It’s not my mother, you idiot,” she argued. “It’s Avery.”

  More silence.

  “Oh, she is not going to get me into any trouble. Go and work on your stupid art project in the basement.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah. Whatever.”

  Carly was back. “Sorry about that. Kyle is driving me crazy.”

  So much for wedded bliss. “What’s going on?”

  “He makes noise when he chews.”

  I tried to stifle my laugh. “You’re just noticing this?”

  “No, I noticed it before,” Carly said. “It’s just irritating me now.”

  “So, living together is more of an adjustment than you realized?”

  “We should have lived together before we got married,” Carly complained bitterly. “I blame my mother for that. All that cow and giving the milk away for free crap. Then I would have known.”

  “Known what?”

  “It’s more than just the way he eats,” Carly hissed. “It’s so much more.”

  “Like?”

  “Like he mixes his colors and whites when he does his laundry.”

  Someone call the police. “And?”

  “And he Skypes with his mother every day.”

  “Well that’s … nice.”

  “It’s annoying,” Carly countered. “He such a mama’s boy.”

  “Well, she does live in a different city.” Wait a second, I hate Kyle’s mom. How could I be taking her side?

  “Every day! Every day! One hour every day!”

  “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “Of course I have,” Carly said. “I approached him like an adult and told him that I thought Skyping her every day was a little bit of overkill.”

  That sounded unlikely. “What did you really say?”

  Carly sighed. “I told him that whenever he talked to his mom he acts like a big baby when he’s done and it’s not very attractive.”

  “Ah. I bet that went over well.”

  “He said that he had to talk to his mother because she treated him nicely and I was mean to him. Apparently she helps his self-esteem while I tear him down.”

  I could see that. “He knew you were mean when he met you.”

  “That’s what I said!”

  I waited a beat.

  “Although,” Carly mused, “I might have denied being mean.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Carly sighed. “He was just so accusatory.”

  “I get that.” I actually did.

  “I got my back up and then he got his back up. Now we’re being really snippy with each another.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I think we need a night away from each other,” Carly admitted. “We’re spending too much time together.”

  And there was my opening. “That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

  “Really? You want to have a girls’ night?” The hopeful tone of her voice was a good sign.

  “Yes,” I lied. It was probably better not to tell her what I had in mind until the last second. It wasn’t going to be pretty either way.

  “I’m in!”

  “I’M SO not in!”

  “You already agreed to a girls’ night,” I reminded her, meeting her gaze in my bathroom mirror expectantly.

  Carly arrived at my house an hour ago. I’d plied her with Skinny Girl drinks and waited to spring my idea on her until the last second.

  “I’m married.”

  “I’m not asking you to cheat on Kyle,” I reminded her.

  “You’re asking me to go to speed dating.”

  “As my wingman.”

  “Are we suddenl
y in a Top Gun movie? And speed dating is so ‘90s.”

  “It’s for work.” I tried another tactic.

  “Not my work,” Carly countered.

  “It’s harmless,” I said. “You just have to sit through two hours of boring guys and free drinks and then we’re done.”

  “It still feels like cheating.”

  “Just don’t tell Kyle.”

  “Of course I’m not going to tell Kyle. I’m not stupid.”

  “Then what’s your problem?” She was starting to bug me.

  “You’re trying to make me go to speed dating.”

  “And?”

  “And you’re trying to find a killer,” Carly added triumphantly.

  She had a point. “You’re not the killer’s type,” I explained.

  “What’s the killer’s type.”

  “Blondes with blue eyes in their twenties.”

  Carly’s eyes widened. “So you’re the killer’s type?”

  I was kind of hoping she wouldn’t figure that out. “Maybe.”

  “What will Eliot say?”

  “We’re not telling him either,” I replied firmly.

  “Oh, I don’t know. That’s lying. He’s going to be pissed.”

  “Not if he doesn’t know.”

  “If it’s not a big deal, why not tell him?” Carly asked.

  Because he would freak out. “Because he gets jealous really easily.”

  “Only of Jake,” Carly scoffed.

  Dammit. Why did I tell her everything? “He won’t understand.”

  “Because it’s dangerous.”

  “It’s not dangerous,” I argued. “It’s a fishing expedition. The only way it would be dangerous is if I left with someone I didn’t know.”

  Carly placed her hands on her hips defiantly. “And you have no intention of doing that, right?”

  “Why don’t you get a different shirt from my closet? That one isn’t really right for a dating event.”

  Carly narrowed her eyes. “Right?”

  “I’m not leaving with anyone,” I promised. “I told Eliot I would be at his place by ten.”

  “Well,” Carly pondered. “I guess it could be all right. It might be cool to be in the center of one of your media extravaganzas.”

  “See.” She really is a good friend.

  “The second I think you’re getting in over your head, though, I’m calling Eliot,” she added.