Oracles & Obituaries Read online

  Oracles & Obituaries

  An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 15

  Amanda M. Lee

  WinchesterShaw Publications

  Copyright © 2019 by Amanda M. Lee

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-One

  22. Twenty-Two

  23. Twenty-Three

  24. Twenty-Four

  25. Twenty-Five

  26. Twenty-Six

  27. Twenty-Seven

  28. Twenty-Eight

  29. Twenty-Nine

  30. Thirty

  Mailing List

  About the Author

  Books by Amanda M. Lee

  Prologue

  Thirteen years ago

  Halloween is my favorite time of the year.

  It’s not the appeal of being somebody else. I’m Avery Shaw. Why would I ever want to be someone else? Once you reach the pinnacle, there’s nothing else to strive for.

  No, my favorite thing about Halloween is the blood, gore and ambiance. I like scary movies, turning leaves and pumpkin-flavored ... well ... everything. My favorite thing to do when the days start getting shorter, the nights colder, is curl up with a blanket and a Jason Voorhees movie. He is my favorite of the slasher killers. He’s got style and panache, and I’m not just saying that because he once killed an annoying girl by wrapping her in a sleeping bag and beating her against a tree, something I’ve often wished I had the upper-body strength to carry out.

  In truth, I’m not picky about slasher killers. I love them all. Michael, Freddy, Chucky and Pinhead. They’re all worth a late-night viewing. Even beyond them, the holiday holds other appeal. I’m not a festival person in general, but Halloween festivals are the best. Who doesn’t love hot chocolate and doughnuts?

  I’m not generally into group outings — when you’re as cool and antisocial as I am, who needs them? But I make an exception for Halloween. There’s nothing better than a good haunted house, the gorier the better. That’s what I was doing tonight. A haunted house. My cousins Derrick and Lexie were with me, as was my boyfriend Jake Farrell. We’d been together well over a year by this point, and friends way before that. We were tight, which was something I wasn’t sure would ever be possible. I don’t easily bond with people. They, however, think they’ve bonded with me. It’s a weird phenomenon.

  Jake is different. He doesn’t try to change me, although it’s obvious my antics wear on him from time to time. He seems perfectly happy sitting back, watching me fight with anyone who dares to annoy me. He only steps in if I pick a fight with someone much bigger than me, usually a guy who can’t stop himself from trying to strangle me. My grandfather says I have a special gift. I can derange a grown man in thirty seconds flat. That means I can derange an immature one in five seconds flat.

  I was in the mood for some deranging tonight, though I had no idea who my victim would be. I needed to scour the grounds at our Halloween festival to find someone worthy of the full Avery Shaw treatment.

  “What are you thinking?” Jake asked, sliding his arm around my shoulder and grinning as he glanced around the festival. His dark hair was longer on top these days. He was growing it out. I tried to get him to grow it all out — I had a thing for guys with long hair — but he was far too worried about looking neat to ever do something like that. It was fine. He was attractive regardless, almost criminally so, but he looked even better than normal tonight.

  We didn’t wear costumes. Jake and Derrick declared we were too old. We were teenagers, after all. I was fine going without a costume. My reasons were different, though. If I dressed like the Hulk — which was my costume of choice this year — I would be too easily recognizable if witnesses were giving a description to the cops. It’s not every day you see a blonde female dressed in Hulk green. Everyone would know it was me. Not that I planned on doing anything illegal, mind you. Of course, I never plan. Sometimes it simply happens.

  “I’m thinking that I want a doughnut,” I replied after a beat. “They have fresh ones at the restaurant booth.” I gestured toward the awning where my aunt and grandfather tirelessly worked, an overhead banner proudly displaying the family restaurant logo. They seemed to be having a good time. Even my grandfather, who is notoriously difficult (people say I got my personality from him), smiled as he chatted up the customers.

  The town we live in is smaller than dirt. We’re talking one stoplight and six bars. That’s normal for this part of Michigan, but it’s also rinky-dink. The nearest cinema is thirty minutes away. The nearest mall is the same. The only other location of note in town is the bowling alley, and I’ve only noted it because when it’s league night that means most of the cops are there — other than the round cop (Lexie gave him that name, not me) and he usually spends his time napping behind the library — so I planned covert operations around the weekly league nights. Again, I don’t set out to do evil. Sometimes evil happens to me and I simply can’t avoid it.

  “Doughnuts sound good.” Jake was the agreeable sort. “Then I’m assuming you want to hit the haunted house.”

  “I definitely do.”

  “I don’t want to go to the haunted house,” Lexie announced from behind us. She was fairly small, with a chest that would make most strippers jealous. We’d used her awesome cleavage — seriously, it deserved a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame — to get us out of trouble more times than I could count. “I don’t like them. Jared Torkelson is supposed to be working it this year and he’s a pervert.”

  Jake, always on the lookout for someone in need, slid his eyes to her. “Has he touched you?” Jake’s father was the county sheriff. That meant he was largely a good boy and often begged off when he thought I might find the sort of trouble that would garner his father’s attention. I do my best to refrain from calling him a chicken, but sometimes my mouth gets ahead of me. Sometimes. Like, once a day, tops.

  Lexie let loose an unladylike snort. “Of course not. He’s afraid of our family. He would never.”

  “Your grandfather is terrifying,” Jake agreed.

  “Oh, not Grandpa. I mean ... I’m certain he doesn’t want to take Grandpa on. He’s more frightened of Avery. He heard she caused a scene at the community pool this year — yelled at Edgar Morgenstern to take his hand out of his pants, like, fifty times, and then got in a fight with his mother when she claimed he had psychological problems that forced him to touch himself in public. He’s afraid she’ll call out his attention to detail and he doesn’t want that.”

  Jake’s smile was wide when he turned it on me. “You yelled at Edgar to take his hand out of his pants?”

  I was not in the mood for this conversation. “Everyone knew what he was doing.”

  “He is a little off.”

  “Off doesn’t mean there are no consequences. His mother claimed he couldn’t stop himself. It was an unconscious habit. Even if that was true — which I seriously doubt — there’s no reas
on he should’ve been moving his hand while it was in his pants. She had no explanation for that.”

  Amusement lit Jake’s handsome features. “Did you make him cry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  “What do you think?”

  “That’s my girl.” He squeezed me tighter and grinned. “As for the haunted house, I’ll go with you. The only thing that bothers me about them is when they use real chainsaws.”

  “They take the moving parts off,” I reminded him. “It’s not as if we’ll get hurt. If you don’t want to go, it’s fine. I’ll go by myself.”

  “No way. I’m going with you.”

  “Because you can’t bear to be away from me?” I was mostly teasing, but I honestly wanted to hear the answer.

  “Two reasons: The first is that haunted houses make you want to stick close to me. You press yourself all over me and I get a little thrill from it.”

  I glared at him. “Lovely.”

  “The second is that you tend to argue with people if they get your favorite movies wrong. I don’t want you picking a fight with a guy if he has a chainsaw because Leatherface would hold it differently or some other ridiculous thing you get in your head at any given moment. I don’t care if it’s working correctly or not.”

  I was fairly certain there was an insult buried in there. “I don’t get in fights about movies.”

  “Really? Do you remember when we went to the most recent Halloween and some guy declared that it was the best movie in the franchise? What did you do?”

  Oh, well, of course he would bring that up. “That movie was an abomination.”

  “It was. I would never argue that fact. What did you do?”

  I looked to my cousins for help and found we were suddenly alone. Derrick had seen something pretty he wanted to hit on — she looked like the cheerleading sort, and he was a big fan of those skirts — and Lexie was already drinking hot chocolate and had a fresh doughnut clamped in her hand as she talked to her mother. Apparently I was on my own.

  “That movie had Tyra Banks in it,” I pressed.

  “I noticed.”

  “She couldn’t act as if she was in pain if I actually set her on fire. She’s incapable of acting.”

  Jake snickered. “She looked good running around.”

  Of course he would think that. “Listen, that guy was an idiot. Even so, I did that like one time. It’s not as if it’s a regular occurrence.”

  “Do you remember when we saw Gothika?”

  Oh, geez. Now he was just trolling me. “The story makes no sense. How do you just forget you killed your husband?”

  Jake chuckled at my animation. He was obviously enjoying himself. “Remember when the woman in the theater said it was worthy of an Oscar?”

  I couldn’t continue with this conversation for another second. “Let’s get doughnuts.” I desperately wanted to shove something in his mouth to shut him up.

  “Sure.” He acquiesced easily, which was his way. “Doughnuts sound ... .” He trailed off, his eyes moving toward a booth at the edge of the festival. “Do you know what we should do first?”

  I didn’t like the gleam in his eye. “Eat our weight in sugar.” That was always the top option for me.

  “We can do that.” He pointed toward the booth. “But we should do that first.”

  I made a face as I turned, frowning when I saw what he gestured toward. “You want to get your palm read?” The idea made me squeamish. “Why would you possibly want to do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Jake shrugged, obviously uncomfortable when I didn’t immediately jump at the idea. “I thought you would think it sounded fun.”

  Honestly, I could see that. I liked all things paranormal and wicked. Palm readers and fortune tellers were the exceptions. For some reason, they made me nervous. “Let’s just go with the doughnuts.”

  Jake’s gaze was probing as he studied my face. “I was only going to do it for you. I wasn’t all that keen on it. Why don’t you want to? We went to one during the summer at that festival in Grand Blanc. You didn’t put up a fight then.”

  That was true. That was also the reason I’d sworn off palm readers. “I didn’t like that woman.”

  Jake pursed his lips as he regarded me. After a few seconds, an amused smile swept over his features. “Wait a second ... are you against fortune tellers suddenly because that one we went to this summer said we weren’t going to end up together?”

  That was a shallow comment. “No.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” He poked my side, obviously amused. “That’s hilarious. You know she was just trying to get under your skin, right? She could tell you would be easily swayed by her words because you always react before you think.”

  That was probably true. That also wasn’t the only thing she said. I remembered being uneasy for three straight days after that interaction. I didn’t want to go through it again. “Let’s just have some doughnuts. Then we’ll go in the haunted house and I’ll rub myself all over you.” I delivered the last line when we were close enough to the restaurant booth for my grandfather to hear.

  “Oh, I’ve never been so proud,” he intoned, mock clutching at his heart. “The pride I have in being a grandfather at this moment, well, it brings a tear to my eye.” He swiped at an invisible droplet. “You are the pride and joy of this family, Avery Shaw.”

  I shot him a disdainful look. “You’ve got mustard on the corner of your mouth.”

  He frowned, and I didn’t miss the furtive way he grabbed for a napkin. He didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of wiping away the remnants of his after-dinner snack — probably a bed of onions and mustard with chili on top — but his gaze was dark. “Don’t you have some hell-raising you should be doing ... elsewhere?”

  “Nope. I’m going to do it in the haunted house. I’m a big fan of multi-tasking.”

  He rolled his eyes as my aunt immediately handed me my favorite doughnut — cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles — and made an exaggerated face. “Yup. The pride and joy.”

  “You’re being a grouch tonight,” I complained as I nodded in thanks to my aunt. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Maybe I just don’t want to have to front your bail before bed. Have you ever considered that?”

  “I’ve only called you twice to pick me up from the police station. And I was released on my own recognizance both times. You’ve never fronted my bail.”

  “The night is young.”

  He wasn’t wrong. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m feeling festive this evening. Perhaps I’m mellowing in my old age.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, and I’m suddenly going to start playing pinochle and eating healthy.”

  He had a point. “We’re just hanging around here for the night. That means we’ll have tons of time to spend with you.”

  Grandpa pinned Jake with a serious look. “I thought it was your job to keep her distracted.”

  “I do my best. Besides, I tried to get her to visit the fortune teller, but she’s having none of it. I think she’s afraid.”

  I hated that word. I mean ... absolutely hated it. “I’m not afraid of anything,” I countered. “I simply think fortune tellers are a bunch of hooey.”

  Jake was clearly dubious. “And this has nothing to do with that one we visited who said we wouldn’t end up together but would be in each other’s lives forever?”

  I hated how smug he looked. “I’m not afraid.”

  Grandpa’s eyes were shrewd when they snagged with mine. Slowly, deliberately, a feral smile spread across his face. “Well, well, well.”

  I cringed. He was going to say something stupid, I just knew it.

  “As I live and breathe, you are afraid,” he pronounced, causing Jake to choke on a laugh. “I never thought I would see the day when Avery Shaw was afraid of something as innocuous as a fortune teller. It’s ... unbelievable.”

  I wanted to shake him, batter him around like a piñata. Of cou
rse, if I did that, instead of candy chili would spill out, and no one wanted to see that.

  “I’m not afraid of anything.” I mostly meant it. Mostly. “Now, to prove myself, it’s time for the haunted house.” I prodded Jake with my elbow. “If you want me to rub myself against you, we should get going. We’ll want to get as much bang for our ten bucks as possible.”

  Grandpa’s smile slipped. “Classy.”

  “I learned it all from you.”

  1 One

  Present day

  Sweating is stupid.

  No, seriously. There is nothing worse than standing in the middle of the great outdoors, the sun beating down on you, and sweating. Sweat is only fun if earned during nocturnal activities. You know, toilet-papering your neighbors’ houses and spying on people you know are lying so you can get a story on the front page of the newspaper. Oh, you thought I was going somewhere else. That’s okay, too. Sweating during the middle of a news conference that the sheriff insisted had to be held outside for some ungodly reason is something else entirely. It’s inhumane.

  “We’ll be starting soon,” my cousin Derrick announced as he stood next to the temporary lectern resting in the middle of the sheriff department’s parking lot. He smiled indulgently at the Channel 4 reporter — Devon Lange, his fiancée — and winked at her. The showing was absolutely disgusting.

  “Hey, if you’re done fornicating with the power of your mind, come over here,” I ordered, earning a glare for my efforts.

  As a sheriff’s deputy — one of the chief investigators now, thanks to his hard work and butt-kissing prowess — Derrick was used to being treated with respect. As a reporter who has known him since he picked his boogers and ate them — I don’t care what he says, he did that until he was eight and he knows it — I respect very few people. Given his association with a television reporter, an ongoing relationship that resulted in an unnecessary pregnancy, he wasn’t on my list of people I respect.