Above the Fold & Below the Belt (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 14) Read online

  Above the Fold & Below the Belt

  An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 14

  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

  11 years ago

  “I hate men!”

  I made the announcement with enough zest that I expected my grandfather to jump out of his seat, salute and immediately join the movement I was about to kick off.

  Instead, he sat in his underwear — tighty-whities, if you must know — and continued reading his newspaper as if he hadn’t heard me. I have a voice that carries (some say like an opera singer, others a cat in heat) and I knew that wasn’t a possibility, so I glared until he finally lifted his eyes to me.

  Here’s the thing about my grandfather: He’s his own person. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks about him. He does only what he wants to do ... and that includes sitting around in his underwear no matter who might enter the house without knocking. He’s loyal and will wage war for his family, but he’s not the type to go out of his way to fight the good fight unless there’s something in it for him.

  I get that from him, which doesn’t make the family happy most days.

  “What are you complaining about now?” Grandpa whined as he shook his newspaper for emphasis. “I’m busy.”

  I rolled my eyes. I knew him better than most and recognized the newspaper shtick as an act. “You had the television turned to The Young and the Restless until you heard me pull up in the driveway. You’re not fooling anybody.”

  Grandpa narrowed his eyes. “I was not. I don’t watch soap operas. That is just ... so ridiculous.”

  “If you don’t watch soap operas, how did you know I was even talking about a soap opera?” I shot back.

  Immediately recognizing his error, Grandpa shifted tactics and sighed. “If you tell anyone I’ll make it so you have to work at the restaurant this weekend instead of going out with your little boyfriend, Avery.”

  That’s me, by the way. Avery Shaw. I have a reputation for making people the world over cry when I don’t get my way. Sometimes it’s out of frustration. Other times it’s out of fear. I’ve often been called a bully, which I don’t like because that’s not how I roll. I don’t go after those weaker than me. I go after those who pretend to be strong and try to subjugate me. There’s a difference.

  Oh, and I never lose. That’s another reason people want to cry when they’re around me. My mother claims it’s because I give her migraines, but I’m pretty sure she’s exaggerating. That goes back to my voice sounding like an opera singer’s. My mother is always exaggerating, which is why I often seek out my grandfather when I’m in a mood.

  He doesn’t always agree with me. Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t want that anyway. He pushes back when necessary. He also jumps in with both feet when I have an idea other people might consider wacky. My grandfather has never met a bad idea he didn’t want to embrace.

  I also get that from him.

  “I can’t work this weekend.” I was firm. There was no way I would allow him to bulldoze me into picking up extra shifts. I hated working at the family restaurant — serving people and pretending to be polite is not one of my strengths — and I had other plans with my boyfriend Jake. Grandpa knew that, which is why he whipped out that particular threat. Only certain people understand how to motivate me, and he’s at the front of that short line.

  “I can make you work,” Grandpa threatened.

  “You and what army?” I opted against backing down though it was a risk. “I’m a month away from going to college. I’ll quit now if you keep pushing me.”

  Grandpa arched a challenging eyebrow. “Are you threatening me?”

  His tone made me nervous, something I’d never admit to. “No. I’m making you a promise. As in, I promise to quit and leave you in the lurch if you don’t stop threatening to screw up my weekend with Jake. I have only a limited amount of time left, for crying out loud.”

  Grandpa’s expression softened, though only marginally. “Is that your problem? You’re leaving for college and suddenly you’re feeling sentimental? No offense, kid, but that’s normal. You’ll be fine. It’s not as if you and Jake won’t see each other. He’ll visit, you’ll visit, blah, blah, blah.” Grandpa moved his eyes back to his newspaper. “I’m sure you’ll be able to make out at different schools if you arrange your schedules properly.”

  His lack of interest in my social life was grating. I had other things to focus on, though. “Don’t you care that I’m having issues?”

  He slowly tracked his eyes back to me. “Am I supposed to care about whatever it is that has turned you into a blathering mess?”

  I extended a warning finger. “Hey! I never blather.”

  “You blather all the time.”

  “I do not.”

  “You do so.”

  “I do not.”

  He made a growling sound in the back of his throat. “You do so ... and knock it off. I’m trying to relax before I have to go back to the restaurant for the dinner rush. I have only so much time to relax and I don’t want to spend it listening to you blather.”

  That did it. He was purposely trying to make my head implode. There could be no other explanation. “Do you want me to set that newspaper on fire?” I threatened.

  “I believe we’ve both been urged to refrain from setting fires since that little brushfire incident you talked me into last fall turned out to be big enough for the fire department to show up.”

  My eyes went wide. It was rich that he would dare blame that on me. “You set the fire!”

  Grandpa slapped his newspaper on his knees. “You’re the one who gave me the idea.”

  “For a little fire. I didn’t tell you that setting a huge one was a good idea. I also didn’t tell you adding lighter fluid was the way to get the wet leaves to burn.”

  “You’re the one who bought the lighter fluid!” he exploded.

  “Only because you told me to.”

  He shifted his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something under his breath that I couldn’t quite make out. It sounded a lot like “kill me now” but I wasn’t sure. “What do you want, Avery?” He changed tactics quickly. “What is it that you want me to say ... or do ... or tell you to say or do?”

&
nbsp; I narrowed my eyes, suddenly suspicious. “What’s with the change of heart?”

  “I want you to shut up,” he replied without hesitation. “The only way to ensure that is to either distract you with a new task or listen and pretend I care about this one. Listening seems to be the easiest route this go-around because it doesn’t require pants.”

  He would change his mind on that one ... and fast. “Fair enough.” I shot him a bright smile that I knew came off more Pennywise the Clown than Doris Day. “So ... you know your buddy Roger Adler?”

  Grandpa furrowed his brow, the newspaper completely forgotten. “First off, I wouldn’t call Roger my friend. You know I don’t like him.”

  “Because he beats you at golf?”

  “One time,” Grandpa snapped, his cheeks flushing red. “He beat me one time ... and I’m convinced he cheated.”

  “I’m still not sure how you cheat at golf, but I’ll take your word for it,” I said dryly. “Anyway ... .”

  “He’s a big, fat cheat,” Grandpa continued, frustration evident as he glared. “I mean ... a total cheat. He’s the sort of cheat that gives cheaters a bad name.”

  “Hey!” I snapped my fingers in his face to get his attention. I was barely an adult, but my lack of respect for elders made me seem older than my eighteen years ... or at least more annoying than a normal adult. “Focus on me. I don’t care about your crazy golf issues. Melt down about them on your own time.”

  Grandpa’s expression turned derogatory. “Either start talking or get out. I’ve had it up to here with you.” He lifted his hand to his chin. “If you say one more thing I don’t give a rat’s ass about it’s going to be up to here.” His hand moved a couple inches above his head. “Capisce?”

  “Oh, I love it when you talk German to me.”

  “That’s Italian.”

  “Whatever.” I made a face that caused Grandpa to roll his eyes. “Anyway, we’re talking about me. I don’t ever want to talk about golf, for the record, so that’s how you can tell when the conversation has started drifting.”

  “Kid, you’re going to make some man very miserable one day. I hope you know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes and planted my hands on my hips. “So, I was at the gas station, and I was wearing a bathing suit under my pool cover-up and a pair of shorts.”

  Disinterest flitted over Grandpa’s features. “Is there a reason you think I care about your fashion commentary?”

  I ignored the question. “Your little buddy was there and he actually pulled out the necklines of my cover-up and looked down my shirt.”

  For the first time since I’d entered the house and interrupted his underwear extravaganza, Grandpa appeared intrigued by the conversation. “He looked down your shirt?”

  I bobbed my head. “Then he said that I was turning into a pretty girl and that he was going to compliment you on it next time he saw you.”

  “That disgusting pervert!” Grandpa swore viciously under his breath. “Okay, I know how we’re going to handle this. You go downstairs and get one of the guns from the cabinet. I hid the key in the bar area.”

  I knew where the gun case key was. I’d stumbled across it numerous times while pilfering whiskey. “Yeah, I don’t think a gun is necessary,” I said.

  “Oh, no.” Grandpa shook his head, grave. “He’s a disgusting piece of filth and he deserves to be shot. You can come with me and kick him in the nuts for good measure when we take him down. Maybe you should grab some golf balls while we’re at it and we’ll shove them down his throat.”

  This conversation was taking a turn I didn’t expect. “I don’t want him dead.”

  “Well, I do.”

  “I’m just annoyed,” I continued. “As if you would be responsible for my good looks. I’m responsible for those. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Grandpa stopped trying to climb out of his chair. The way he was positioned, his legs spread unnaturally, I could see a little more than necessary — seriously, why can’t he wear full shorts? — so I averted my gaze. “Wait ... are you saying you’re angry because he said he was going to compliment me on your good looks?”

  I nodded without hesitation. “I’m responsible for my good looks. You’re only responsible for your underwear situation ... and skid marks are not a fashion statement.”

  Grandpa openly glared. “Those aren’t skid marks. I was eating Doritos.”

  “That doesn’t sound better.”

  Grandpa held up one finger to silence me. “I’m going to kill Roger for sexually harassing you. Why do you want to kill him?”

  “Because he talked to me as if I wasn’t a complete person,” I answered honestly, annoyance coming out to play. “I may be a girl, but I’m still a person ... and he’s a douche nozzle. I think we should pay him back.”

  “Why do you think I told you to get the gun?”

  “We can’t shoot him.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I’m totally capable of shooting him. I’m obviously annoyed by something different, though. You’re a kid. He shouldn’t be talking to you that way.”

  “I’m an adult and I can take care of myself.” I was blasé. “Besides, everyone knows he’s a creepy lurker. The last time he came into the restaurant I rubbed his hamburger bun in my sweaty armpit to pay him back for being a pervert.”

  “That’s gross.” Grandpa jabbed a finger in my face. “Don’t ever get caught doing that. We could get in trouble with the health department.”

  Now it was my turn to roll my eyes. “I won’t ever get caught.”

  “Fair enough.” He returned to his sitting position and reclaimed his discarded newspaper. “What do you want me to do about the sexist stuff? That’s really not my area of expertise.”

  “Because you’re a sexist.”

  “Reformed,” Grandpa barked. “I’m a reformed sexist.” He looked around the house to make sure no one was listening before continuing. “Personally, I happen to think that sexism is okay as long as you’re not trying to hold someone back when you’re being sexist.”

  I wanted to flick him. Somehow I managed to refrain, but it was difficult. “Sexism is never okay. I’m just as capable of doing anything a man can do.”

  Grandpa snorted. “Can you pee standing up?”

  As if that was somehow the benchmark of machismo. “Sure. It would be messy, but doable. Can you change a tampon in an airplane bathroom?”

  The disgusted look that washed over Grandpa’s face was worth the conversation derailment. “Kid, I think we’re done talking for the day. If you don’t want me to shoot Roger for being a pervert, I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “He was being sexist,” I complained. “You had nothing to do with my good looks.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed. “You’re fair, like your grandmother. You look more like her side of the family. You got your looks from them and your mouth from me ... and I don’t want to take credit for the mouth.”

  “That’s neither here nor there.” He obviously didn’t understand why I was so upset. “I still want to punch him in the nuts for thinking that you were somehow in charge of anything that has to do with me. I’m an adult. I’m in charge of everything now.”

  I expected him to agree. Instead, he snickered. “Avery, you’re going to take over the world. I’m slightly worried it’s going to be in a dictator way, but I’m prepared for that should it happen. You don’t need anyone else’s approval to be a loud mouth.”

  “This isn’t about being a loud mouth.”

  “That’s exactly what it’s about. Trust me. I know.”

  “But ... .”

  “No.” Grandpa shook his head and the expression on his face told me I was dismissed. “You’re going to learn that there are differences between men and women. You don’t want to admit it ... or understand it ... but they’re there all the same. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be for everyone.”

  He’d suddenly developed a crack habit
if he thought I would accept that. “The world is going to change, and in my lifetime. This sexism crap won’t be allowed in a few years. It’ll be as antiquated as milk bottles by the time I’m done.”

  “Great.” Grandpa shook his newspaper to emphasize the conversation was over. “I look forward to you changing the world.”

  That made two of us. I was definitely going to change the world ... and I was going to take him along for the ride whether he liked it or not.

  1 One

  Present Day

  “I really wish you wouldn’t eat so many onions.”

  Eliot Kane, my boyfriend and roommate (although he hates it when I refer to him in that manner), used his napkin to wipe the chili from the corner of my mouth and shook his head.

  We were having lunch at our favorite Coney restaurant, which happened to be less than a block from his pawnshop and just around the corner from the newspaper building I worked out of.

  He said it was romantic to touch base throughout the day, although I had my suspicions regarding his interest. I thought it was a great way to make him pay for a meal so I could buy candy in the afternoon if I felt the need for a sugar rush.

  “I think you’re checking up on me,” I countered, readjusting my Coney hotdog and meeting his steady gaze. In truth, he’s ridiculously attractive ... like criminally so. He makes women go weak in the knees when he talks to them. I’m over that. Mostly. I rarely go weak in the knees anymore unless he allows me to pick the weekend movie. For example, when we went to see The Meg and he purchased three different containers of candy and popcorn I totally went weak in the knees, and I’m not even a little embarrassed to admit it.