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

  “Why would I be checking up on you?” Eliot didn’t shy from the conversation. He was used to me going off the rails. “You haven’t been poking your nose into anything dangerous, right?”

  And here we go. He was trying to sniff out why I’d been quiet of late. I was trying to sniff that out, too. I didn’t even realize I was being quiet until my boss mentioned it had been three weeks since I’d been threatened with incarceration in the county jail. That was very unlike me.

  “I haven’t,” I confirmed stiffly. “I’ve been a good little girl.”

  Eliot lifted an eyebrow. “You sound sad about that.”

  “I’m not sad.” That was true. I rarely got sad. The only time true sadness overtook me was when PMS and old episodes of Little House on the Prairie collided. It was a phenomenon I couldn’t explain. “I’m simply ... bored.” That seemed a safe word.

  “Bored, huh?” Eliot pushed his chili fries around his plate as he regarded me. “If you’re bored, you could help me decide on art to hang in the upstairs guest room.”

  That sounded like a thrilling adventure. “I’m good.”

  “No, you’re bored.” He leaned back in his seat and pinned me with a serious expression. “You need constant entertainment to make sure you don’t stay bored, right? As your lover, I think the task of keeping you from finding trouble to fill the boredom void falls under my purview.”

  I made a disgusted face. “Did you just refer to yourself as my lover?”

  He turned sheepish. “I heard it the second I said it. There’s no need to comment on it.”

  “No, no, no.” I waved my hand, amusement taking over. “Let’s talk about that. I’m sure that will chase away the boredom.”

  He sighed, annoyance evident. “I dug my own hole on this one. I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “I agree.” I flashed a smile for his benefit. “So, Lover, how did you sleep last night?”

  Eliot narrowed his eyes. “Yup. I’m going to regret using that word.”

  I took pity on him. “Why did you use it?”

  “Because calling myself your boyfriend is so high school. We’re kind of old for that, don’t you think?”

  I shrugged. He got hung up on the oddest of things sometimes, and I never understood it. “I bought Star Wars Underoos last week. Official ones. For adults. I don’t think I can comment on what I’m too old to do.”

  “Fair enough.” He smirked as he shook his head. “Sadly, I find those Underoos sexy. What does that say about me?”

  “That we’re well suited.”

  “True point.” He shoveled a forkful of chili fries into his mouth and watched, thoughtful, as I polished off my Coney. He didn’t speak again for a few minutes. “You haven’t found trouble, right?”

  I knew what he was getting at. We’d come to an agreement of sorts, in which I was allowed to find as much trouble as I wanted so long as I didn’t purposely leave him out of the loop to the detriment of my safety. He got antsy about my potential death, even though I could take care of myself. The thing is, it had been a quiet few weeks. We hadn’t enjoyed a stretch like this — one in which no one threatened to throw me in jail or kill me — since we’d started dating. I understood his suspicious nature.

  “There’s been nothing,” I supplied, wrinkling my nose. “Absolutely nothing. This morning, Fish gave me a human-interest piece on a little girl who makes hats for shelter dogs and told me it was for the front page this weekend.”

  I was morose, which made Eliot grin. “I think a story about hats for dogs sounds nice.”

  “Yeah, but ... that’s for features reporters.” I said the word “features” in the same tone I would’ve reserved for the Kardashians. “I don’t want to be a features reporter.”

  “Ah. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He wiped off his hands and extended his legs under the table, resting the soles of his shoes against mine and grinning. It was early fall, which meant I had to switch from flip-flops to Converse, but my outfit reflected my mood. It included a Star Wars shirt I’d worn at least thirty times and jeans that were starting to get ragged at the edges. My outfit, much like my mind, was drifting.

  “You’re dying for a big story,” Eliot surmised. “It’s been a while since you’ve been on the front page.”

  “That is not true!” Annoyance flashed hot in the pit of my stomach. “I’ve been on the front page plenty of times. They just weren’t very interesting stories. It’s not my fault. Apparently crime is taking a vacation.”

  Instead of sympathizing with me, Eliot chuckled. “Oh, my poor ... Avery.”

  “You were going to say ‘lover,’ weren’t you?”

  “No. I was going to say ‘baby,’ but that didn’t seem to fit either. The only regular nickname I have for you is Trouble. I wish I could come up with something else. I don’t want to get into a nickname rut.”

  Geez. This would be another example of him worrying about things I couldn’t possibly be bothered with. “You could call me Goddess Divine.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  “How about Queen, since I’m the queen of your heart?”

  His lips quirked but he shook his head. “How about Kitten? You have claws.”

  “A lion has claws, too. You can call me Lion.”

  “It doesn’t have the same ring to it. How about Cookie?”

  “I’ll kill you if you try.”

  “I guess we’ll just stick with Trouble, huh?”

  “It’s probably best,” I agreed, my eyes flicking to the large Main Street window of the diner. There, across the street, I couldn’t help noticing that the courtyard in front of the courthouse was rapidly filling with people. “What do you think is going on over there?”

  Eliot followed my gaze. “You’re the reporter. Any big cases starting today?”

  That was a good question. I wasn’t the court reporter. Oh, I handled spillover cases from time to time, but the courts were a dedicated beat. Our court reporter was a nice enough guy, but the boring sort, so I rarely talked to him. “I don’t know. Fish mentioned something at the assignment meeting this morning. I ... .” I trailed off as I tried to remember.

  Eliot tilted his head to the side as he read one of the signs a woman carried while crossing the street. “My clothing does not dictate my worth,” he read out loud. “What do you think that means?”

  That’s when things slipped into place for me. “Bart Savage,” I replied automatically, my mind busy. “His trial starts today ... although I’m fairly positive it’s just motions. They haven’t even seated a jury yet. He won’t see any real time in the court for a few days.”

  “Who’s Bart Savage?”

  “You know. He’s that shock jock on the radio, the one who thinks the ills of the world have been caused by women leaving the kitchen and joining the workforce.”

  “Ah.” Eliot nodded as his smile faded. “I know who you’re talking about. A lot of guys at the gun range think he’s a god. They’ve been talking about him a lot lately.”

  I was instantly suspicious. “You don’t agree with them, do you?”

  Eliot rolled his eyes so hard I was surprised he didn’t tip over. “Really? You think I’m dating you and believe women should be barefoot, pregnant and waiting with dinner when men get home from work? Yeah, that sounds just like me, doesn’t it?”

  I turned sheepish. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just ... you brought it up.”

  Eliot snorted as he grabbed my hand on top of the table and gave it a squeeze. “I happen to like my women mouthy, opinionated and self-sufficient. Of course, I wouldn’t mind if my woman occasionally asked for help before bullets and death were issues, but nobody’s perfect, right?”

  He was obviously trying to bait me. “I don’t know. I happen to think I’m perfect. I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

  “I guess so.” He pursed his lips and held my gaze before turning back to the crowd forming in the courtyard. “He’s up on rape charges, right?”


  I nodded, my stomach twisting. “I don’t know the specifics about the women involved because I haven’t been following the pre-trial motions. I believe all three worked for him. He promised career advancement for sexual favors, and when called on why those advancements weren’t happening he apparently decided to take the sexual favors and forego the career help.”

  “He sounds lovely.” Eliot traced his fingers between mine as he stared. “What does that sign say? I don’t think I read it correctly.”

  I knew exactly what sign he meant because I’d seen it, too. “No means yes. Yes means anal.” It took everything I had not to hop out of my seat and throw myself through the window to attack the jerk carrying the sign.

  “I thought that’s what it said.” Eliot’s pallor was paler than normal. “I can’t believe someone would actually carry that sign in public.”

  “They’re part of a group,” I explained, searching my memory of this morning’s assignment meeting. The court reporter informed my editor, Fred Fish, that there would be a lot of activity at the courthouse, but I thought he was exaggerating. For the first time, I sort of wished I’d been listening closer when he spoke. “It’s some fan group that formed to bolster Savage even before he was arrested for rape. They have a goofy name. I can’t remember it.”

  “And they’re here to support him even though he’s on trial for rape?” Eliot’s disgust was obvious. “What kind of person does that?”

  “You’ll have to ask them.” An idea began to form as I shifted on my seat. “Or I could ask them.”

  Eliot read the change in my demeanor before a new idea had fully formed in my busy brain. “Oh, geez! You’re going to get involved in this, aren’t you?”

  “Define involved.”

  “You’re going to stick that cute little nose of yours into a powder keg of a situation,” Eliot responded without hesitation. “This isn’t going to be a short trial, right?” He didn’t wait for me to answer before barreling forward. “It’s going to go on for days, which means the crowd in front of the courthouse will continue to grow. This will make national news.”

  He was absolutely right. I had no idea how I’d missed that. “Hmm.”

  “Oh, that’s only making the story look more attractive to you.” He made a dismissive hand gesture. “You’re not the court reporter. I’m sure he’s going to want to hold onto his own story. This is a big deal for him.”

  “It is,” I agreed, offering up the prettiest smile in my repertoire. “This story is so big, though, that it’ll require multiple angles. The case itself is only one angle. What’s happening outside is another angle.”

  “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  “No. It’s just ... you’re not going to be able to keep your mouth shut with those guys.” Eliot helplessly waved at a sign that read, “Dress like a slut, get treated like one.”

  “I won’t purposely provoke them,” I offered. Even I knew I didn’t mean the words, but it was a way to placate him. “I’ll just watch the two sides clash, interview people and then file a story. I won’t get involved.”

  Eliot was incredulous. “I can’t believe you just said that with a straight face.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “It is not. You might honestly intend to stay out of things — although I don’t believe that either — but you’ll find trouble before the day is out. We both know it. I don’t want you involved in this. It’s been quiet.”

  “It can’t stay quiet forever.” I felt more at peace than I had in almost two weeks as I watched the women and men converge on the courtyard. Some of them already looked to be exchanging words. “Eventually, something is going to happen ... and I think this is that something.” If I was a giddy sort of girl, I would’ve squealed at the way one of the men used his sign to smack one of the female protestor’s rear ends. She, in turn, spun around and used her sign to smack him over the head. “This is definitely going to be it!”

  Eliot watched the same exchange, resigned. “This is going to get ugly.”

  “It definitely is.” I smiled at his frown. “Why are you being so petulant? This is a big deal. Like ... a huge and awesome deal. We’re going to make national news.”

  “I think I pointed that out first,” he said dryly. “Not everyone thinks that’s as wonderful as you do.”

  “Come on. Bart Savage is a boil on the butt of humanity.” I meant that. “I don’t care if someone chooses to be a homemaker and stay home. That’s their right ... and it’s a hard job. I do care if some dude tells women they should stay home and raise children rather than do what they want to do. That’s where I draw the line.”

  “Kitten, you have, like, eight different lines and move them accordingly depending on your mood,” Eliot countered.

  “Don’t call me Kitten. That’s sexist.”

  “I’m going to keep calling you that if you don’t step away from this case,” he warned. “I’m serious. I don’t think it’s good for you to be involved. I mean ... look at that guy.”

  I couldn’t look away from the gentleman he pointed toward. He looked to be about six feet tall. He wore a wife beater tank top that was three sizes too small. He needed a 3X instead of a large so his hairy gut wouldn’t hang out. The flannel he had draped over his shoulders looked to be from the Kurt Cobain grunge years and the bald spot on top of his head reflected the sun. He also carried a sign that made me want to find a car to run him down. It featured an illustration of a famous televangelist.

  “Feminism encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians,” I read out loud, my temper boiling.

  Eliot chewed his bottom lip as he stared at the man. “You’re going to make him cry, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “As many times as I can.”

  He sighed, the sound long and drawn out. “I’ll help you.”

  “Really?” I brightened considerably. “Are you going to beat him up?”

  “No. You don’t need me for that. You would rather force him to tears on your own. You take pride in your work.”

  He wasn’t wrong. “You’re not going to fight me on this?”

  “Oh, we’re going to fight.” Eliot winked at me before flicking his eyes back to the growing crowd. “I simply know better than to try to get between you and this story. This is going to be like Christmas for you.”

  “I love that you know me well enough to see that.” I grinned at him, an expression he returned. “I need to call Fish to tell him to get an extra photographer down here and then I need to start interviewing the nuts. I don’t think they’re going to like me.”

  “No, Trouble, they’re definitely not going to like you. That’s why I’ll be spending a lot of time in my shop, where I have a clear view of what’s happening across the way.”

  If he thought that would bother me, he was sadly mistaken. “Great. How long do you think it will take you to run across the street if one of those mouth-breathers grabs me?”

  He frowned. “You’re not going to encourage that, right?”

  “No, but sometimes my mouth gets away from me. I can’t always control it.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Eliot muttered as he rubbed his forehead. “It shouldn’t take me more than fifteen seconds to get to you once I see there’s an issue. I can’t watch you twenty-four hours a day, though.”

  “I think we’re both thankful for that.” I patted his hand and beamed. “This is going to be fun, huh?”

  “I can think of a few other words to describe it.”

  I couldn’t. Fun was definitely the word of the day, and I couldn’t wait to start spreading joy and light to the gathering protesters. “Maybe I should borrow a gun from you. Just in case?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I knew you would say that.”

  2 Two

  Even though I could tell he wasn’t keen on leaving me to mess with the protestors away from his w
atchful eye, Eliot gave me a quick kiss before heading toward his pawnshop. He split his time these days performing security jobs for various customers and working behind the counter in the shop, so he was always busy. When you combine that with his duties as my protector, I often wondered how he managed to get any sleep.

  “Be good,” he admonished before releasing my hand. “I can tell by the gleam in your eye that you’re not even considering that, are you?”

  I adopted an expression of pure innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel. Hey, there’s a new nickname for me. You can call me ‘Angel.’”

  He snorted. “A nickname is supposed to fit the personality. For example, Trouble fits. If you wanted to call me Hot Stuff Kane, that would fit.”

  “I was thinking more Killjoy Kane.”

  He tweaked the end of my nose. “Ha, ha. Be good.”

  I barely managed to rein in an exaggerated eye roll. “I’ll be good. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “You treat me as if I’m new … which I’m not. If you get in trouble, call me right away. I’ll be close.”

  “I won’t get into trouble.” I meant it. I had no intention of risking myself. Seeing how far I could push the protestors without allowing them to get a swing in was another matter entirely. “It’ll be fine. Trust me.”

  I BOUGHT AN ICED TEA from the stand in front of the courthouse. It was basically a coffee cart that sold beverages and bagels to the lawyers throughout the day. Then I positioned myself in the shade and watched the two sides interact.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jolted at a familiar voice, sliding a dark look over my shoulder and frowning when I found Eliot’s clerk, Fawn – no joke, that’s her real name – standing to my right. She’d been in trouble of late given her attitude toward me, and Eliot had put her on probation. Last time I checked, that meant she sat in the corner and glowered during my infrequent visits to the shop. I was so uncomfortable with the situation that I’d taken to meeting Eliot on the sidewalk.