“Depth of their despair? Now who’s being dramatic?” Jake sighed.
“Don’t talk down to me like I’m a child!”
“Then don’t act like a child,” Eliot yelled back, ignoring the other guests at the restaurant who had turned in our direction when they heard raised voices. “We are trying to look out for you. Let us.”
I got to my feet angrily, making sure to grab my video game bag before taking two steps back so I was out of arm’s reach of both of them. “I don’t need another parent. I don’t need someone else -- two someone elses, for that matter -- to tell me that everything I do is wrong. I need you to support me or shut up.”
Eliot opened his mouth to argue but I lifted my finger to my lips to silence him. “I’m going to do what I want, when I want.”
“What else is new?” Jake grumbled. “Nothing has changed in all the years I’ve known you. At some point you need to become a grownup.”
“I am a grownup and this grownup wants the two of you to find something else to worry about.”
“Avery, don’t make this a thing,” Eliot said, his voice low.
“I’m done talking about this. When the two of you realize that you’re not the boss of me, you’ll know where to find me. But I don’t want to see you -- either of you --until you’re ready to acknowledge that.”
“So you’re essentially going to spend the next twenty-four hours playing a video game and hating men?” Jake asked.
Exactly.
Twenty
Usually when I’m pissed off I like to drive until I’ve cooled down. Since I had a new video game, though -- and a different way to work out my aggression -- I went straight home.
It had been a few days since I’d been here, the past few nights being spent at Eliot’s apartment, so I was surprised to find a package on my front porch. I didn’t remember ordering anything recently -- those Vans Star Wars shoes I ordered six weeks ago were still backordered and I was only slightly bitter about it. Besides, whatever it was, the package was too big to contain shoes.
When I got closer to the porch, I realized that it was a vase with covered flowers. Well, that was quick. Eliot must have realized that he was going to tick me off so he had sent flowers as a preemptive gesture.
I carried the flowers into the house before unwrapping them. Despite my anger, I couldn’t help but be impressed when I saw that there were two dozen long-stemmed red roses waiting for me.
He must be really sorry.
I reached for the card, expecting to find some cute little joke wrapped around a big apology. Instead, I read:
I had a great time the other night. I think we really connected. Let’s do it again.
Love, Me
“Who the heck is ‘me?’”
Since there was no one in the house to answer, the question hung there. There was no way Eliot would send flowers and not sign his name. It wasn’t in his wheelhouse. I realized pretty quickly that this had to be some sort of gift from one of the speed-dating guys.
For a second -- just a second -- I worried that they were from a killer. I pulled out my phone with every intention of calling Eliot, but stopped myself. That would just validate his and Jake’s theory, and no one wanted that.
Instead, I shoved the card in my purse -- it couldn’t hurt to show it to Derrick tomorrow -- and put the flowers on my dining room table. Hey, just because they might be from a crazy person I couldn’t take it out on the flowers. They were just too beautiful.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in Gotham heaven. Seriously, if you haven’t played a DC Lego video game you’re missing out. It was getting dark outside before the rumble of my stomach warned me that I had just lost six hours of my life.
I took a break long enough to eat, checked my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed an apology call or text from Eliot -- no, it’s not pathetic -- and then played until midnight. Finally, my eyes couldn’t take any more strain so I went to bed.
The next morning I woke early. Sometimes, when I play a video game too much, I dream about it. I wasn’t that lucky this time. No, my nightmares had been filled with an elementary school playground. The girls were playing with dolls and the boys were playing dodge ball. Since I hated dolls I had tried to join in with the boys because they were clearly having more fun. Who doesn’t like throwing a ball at someone else’s head? Unfortunately, two small children who bore a striking resemblance to Eliot and Jake refused to let me play so I wouldn’t get hurt.
“Dodge ball is for boys, not girls,” the tiny Eliot clone explained.
Yeah, I don’t need Freud to figure that one out.
Since I couldn’t get back to sleep, I showered and headed to Mount Clemens. I stopped at the local Coney for breakfast -- and no, it is not lost on me that Eliot eats breakfast here four times a week. And, no, it’s still not pathetic.
I was both relieved and disappointed when I walked into the restaurant. Eliot wasn’t there. That wasn’t going to stop me from filling my face with greasy goodness to alleviate my sorrow.
Yeah. I’m dramatic. I see it. Don’t judge me.
I ordered my usual -- two eggs over medium, hash browns, ham, whole-wheat toast and a large glass of tomato juice -- and then skimmed through today’s edition of The Monitor to distract myself.
I was so caught up in my task I didn’t notice that a figure was standing at the edge of my table staring at me until a full minute had elapsed. I finally dropped the paper enough to give the figure my full attention.
“Dr. Riley,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“Ms. Shaw,” he greeted me, a small smile playing on his lips. “May I join you?”
That wasn’t my first choice. On second thought, though, he might have some information for me.
“Sure.” I folded the paper back up and shoved it to the corner of the table. “I’d enjoy the company.” I’d enjoy it more if it had long hair and some really sexy tattoos.
Dr. Riley slid into the booth, smoothing his white button-down shirt as he did. The waitress was at his side in seconds. After he ordered one poached egg -- I could hear my grandfather screaming from memory now: “You tell him to tell me to my face he wants poached eggs!” -- and toast the waitress left us to our uncomfortable interlude.
“So, do you eat here often?”
“A couple times a week,” I said. “I love their breakfasts.”
“It’s good,” Dr. Riley agreed. “You wouldn’t think a Coney would have such great food, but this place can be deceiving.”
“Yeah.”
We lapsed into silence. I took the opportunity to look Dr. Riley over. He was younger than he looked at first glance. I put his age at late thirties -- straining to remember from the file I had pulled almost a year ago. His hair was dark and the temples were shot through with the first signs of gray. His eyes were dark and hard, although they sometimes shot mild warmth when he was smiling. His jaw was sharp and angular, and his nose was long and slightly crooked. I could see where someone -- someone who didn’t know what he did for a living -- could find him attractive.
“So, any big stories today?” Riley broke the silence.
“Are you guys having a news conference about the latest victim?”
“I don’t believe Sheriff Farrell is ready for that,” he answered. “He’s considering a full media blackout.”
Asshole. “He didn’t tell me that.”
“I think it just came up yesterday afternoon,” Riley said. “It seemed sort of sudden.”
Right after lunch, I’m sure. “He’s not going to release the name of the victim?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He can’t keep that secret after he’s notified the family,” I replied, trying to keep my irritation in check.
“I think that it’s well within the rights of the sheriff to compartmentalize information he feels is important to the sanctity of the case.”
Not in my world. “I’ll FOIA the crap out of him,” I grumbled.
“FOIA?”<
br />
“The Freedom of Information Act,” I explained. “He has to have a legitimate reason to refuse a written request.”
“Is there a timetable associated with that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Maybe that’s what he’s counting on.”
There was no maybe about it. Well, that was fine. I had other resources. Unfortunately, my best one was on my shit list right now. “You could tell me.”
Riley smiled. “I could. That doesn’t seem like a level playing field, though, does it?”
“I’m not really interested in a level playing field.”
“I’ve heard that about you,” Riley chuckled. “You have quite the reputation in this county.”
“Oh, yeah? What have you heard?”
“I’ve heard that you’re a very driven reporter,” Riley said. “You’re either loved or hated in this community.” Mostly hated. “Even those who dislike you, though, have a certain level of respect for you.”
“That’s nice to hear.” I don’t believe a word of it.
“In fact,” Riley continued. “You and your co-worker, Marvin Potts, are considered to be the best reporters in the region.”
That’s because we are. “I guess that’s flattering.”
“You’re also considered to be the most annoying reporters in the region,” Riley added.
“That’s less flattering.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I think that it means you strike fear in the hearts of your enemies.”
That was a weird thing to say.
“I like scaring people,” I admitted.
“I’m sure.”
The waitress brought our breakfasts to the table. Riley raised his eyes when he saw my plate -- thankfully, he didn’t comment on the heaping piles of food I started shoveling in my mouth. I didn’t need his judgment right now. Once the waitress was gone, the conversation stalled.
After a few moments, Riley decided to fill the silence. “So, that gentleman who accompanied you to the crime scene on Sunday, is he your boyfriend?”
“Most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
“We’re in a fight right now.”
“Is that because of your past association with Sheriff Farrell?”
It’s good to know the gossip mill in Macomb County politics is still alive and well. “No,” I said. “It’s something else.”
“Is it because you were speed dating without his knowledge?”
How could he possibly know that? “Not really.”
“But you’re still with him?” Riley’s brown eyes were a little too intense. He was making me uncomfortable.
“Yes, we’re still together.”
“And you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Does he think you’re still together?”
Okay, the creepy medical examiner was starting to get on my nerves. “I’m sure he does.”
“But you’re not one hundred percent positive?”
“Are you trying to get at something specific?” I asked.
“I thought, if you were so inclined, perhaps I could take you out to dinner some time this week. It would be a restaurant of your choosing, of course.”
“Umm, well, that’s a really nice invitation,” I said. “I don’t think Eliot would like it much, though.”
“I could ask him,” Riley suggested. “If he’s open to the possibility, then would you go?”
This just kept getting weirder. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. “He’s really protective.”
“But he’s not here now,” Riley pointed out.
“He’s at work,” I lied. I really had no idea where he was.
“Oh, well, it was just a thought.”
“I’m flattered,” I said. “I’m just involved.”
“Maybe some other time?” Riley asked hopefully.
Not in this lifetime. Even if I wasn’t weirded out by the way he was acting, there was no way I would ever date a guy who touched dead bodies for a living. “Sure. Maybe if Eliot and I decide to break up.”
“Well then, that’s something to look forward to.”
Check please!
Twenty-One
An incredibly uncomfortable fifteen minutes later, I said my goodbyes to Dr. Riley and made my way to The Monitor. If that was his idea of flirting, he needed to take a class or something.
When I got to the office, Fish greeted me with a news release and a steely stare. “The sheriff’s department says that they’re not holding a news conference today and, when they’re ready to release any further information, they’ll send another release out.”
“I heard.”
“Do you have anything to do with this?”
“Why would you ask that?” I was going for innocent, but Fish knew me too well.
“Because you usually have something to do with it when Farrell goes off the rails,” he said.
“That’s an ugly thing to say.”
“Am I wrong?”
Probably not. “He’s being particularly tight-lipped on this one,” I said.
“So, what your plan?”
“I’m going to bury the sheriff’s department in FOIA requests,” I replied.
“That’s just going to tick him off,” Fish pointed out.
“Well, I have to get my fun somewhere.”
Fish handed me another piece of paper. “Well, you can get your fun at the county commission this afternoon.”
Crap. “I would rather not.”
“I know.”
“I hate going to the county commission. Can’t someone else go? What about Bill?” Bill Crowder was our county political reporter. The county commission was his regular beat.
“He has to stay here,” Fish countered. “The governor is coming in for a meeting with the editorial board.”
“So?”
“So? So Bill has a prior engagement. And, from where I’m sitting, you don’t have anything to do but see how red you can make Sheriff Farrell’s face.”
I wracked my brain for an acceptable excuse to avoid going to the county commission, but couldn’t come up with anything. “Fine. What’s going on at the county commission today?” It must be something big for them to break from their usual evening meetings.
“Appointments.”
“Appointments? Like committee appointments?”
Fish nodded, the gold necklace around his neck glinting under the overhead lights.
“Why are we even covering that?”
“Because it’s news.”
“Barely.”
“Because the budget committee is trying to cut funding to the sheriff’s department and prosecutor’s office and it will probably come up.” Fish’s eyes gleamed as he waited for my reaction.
“So, wait, Jake is going to be at the county commission meeting this afternoon?”
“That’s the rumor,” Fish nodded.
“I’m on it.” He can run, but he can’t hide.
“That’s what I thought.” Fish turned his attention back to his computer while I sauntered back to my desk, visions of high-profile theatrics dancing in my head.
THE COUNTY building is located in downtown Mount Clemens, the county seat of Macomb County. The city isn’t very big, and there are two county municipal complexes within its borders. The first is a strip on Mount Clemens’ main drag. The second is on the northeast corner of the city, where the sheriff’s department and water department are housed.
I ate lunch at the hot dog stand across from the circuit court building. I was hoping to run into the county prosecutor before the meeting. Since the sheriff’s department is in constant contact with the prosecutor’s office when a case is breaking, I thought he might have some useful tidbits for me.
When he didn’t appear, I walked the two blocks to the county building. After passing through security, I rode the elevator to the top floor and headed into the commissioners’ meeting room. I was surprised to see so many people pre
sent for a Tuesday afternoon meeting, but whenever county finances are on the agenda people like to complain in droves.
I ignored the designated media section and settled in the back of the room where I could keep an eye on both entry (and exit) points. I wasn’t surprised when Jake entered the room exactly thirty seconds before the meeting began. His eyes fell on me as he scanned the room, but he didn’t show even a glimmer of recognition. It was as though I was a stranger.
When the commission president, Clara Black, gaveled the meeting to order I realized I was going to have to wait the whole thing out before I could confront Jake. Great.
Here’s the thing about government meetings: They’re boring. Everyone thinks being a reporter is all excitement and glamour. That might be what television shows, but it’s pretty far from the truth. Most days are filled with endless hours of slogging through crap to find an interesting nugget.
The meeting opened with public comments, which are always a mixture of entertainment and tedium. Sure, the guy who shows up at every meeting to accuse Black of misappropriating funds is funny. On the other hand, the woman delivering the five-minute speech because she wants to have a street named after Ronald Reagan could have shortened her presentation to thirty seconds and still yammered on too long.
By the time the commission finally started in on its agenda, I already had three new story ideas -- and a headache.
Most of the time, board appointments are pretty standard. Macomb County was in the midst of switching to a county executive form of government, though. He’d already been elected. When he took office, on the first of the year, half of these commissioners were going to lose their jobs. They were all jockeying for the best position for re-election -- thanks to a special election in December -- which meant they wanted power positions on the best committees to shore up their final run.
Like every form of county government, you have certain political factions fighting for control. The big positions in Macomb County -- sheriff, prosecutor, treasurer and clerk -- usually go Democrat. There are large pockets in the county, though, that are Republican strongholds. Those are mostly in the northern (and richer) communities. The southern communities -- those closer to Detroit and more ethnically diverse -- vote Democrat.
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