Bylines & Skylines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 9) Read online

  It took me a moment to regain my senses. “I still wouldn’t have liked it.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot,” Eliot said, tapping his cheek. “Lay it on me. I want more of this girl stuff before it disappears.”

  I grabbed his face and kissed him as long and hard as I could, leaving us both breathless when I pulled away. “You’re like the Jedi knight to my world.”

  “And that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  I kissed him again before fastening my seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s go home and order pizza. I want to thank you properly.”

  “I was wrong,” Eliot amended. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  Eliot’s grin was sublime. “Something tells me today is going to be a great day.”

  “Something tells me you’re right.”

  2

  Two

  I was in such a good mood when I got to the newspaper office the next morning my boss was instantly suspicious.

  “What did you do?”

  I ignored the odious look he cast in my direction. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Fred Fish is the managing editor of The Monitor, which means he’s essentially responsible for doling out assignments and reading copy. He’s been my immediate supervisor since I started at the newspaper, so he was understandably dubious. “You did something,” he argued. “You’re happy. That generally means you’ve made someone else cry. Who is it? Am I going to get a call? Please tell me I’m not going to get a call. It’s Monday. I hate getting calls on Monday.”

  On any other Monday I would agree with him. This was not a normal Monday, though. This was the best Monday ever. This was the Monday to end all Mondays. This was the Monday before all of my dreams come true. Wait … did that sound a little over the top? I can never tell.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said. “Can’t I just be in a good mood?”

  “Not generally.”

  He had a point. Still … . “I don’t appreciate you assigning attitude to me before I’ve earned it,” I castigated. “I’ll earn it before the day is out. We both know it. People are too annoying not to suck the fun out of my life – especially in this office. For right now, though, I’m happy, and you can’t ruin it.”

  “I think we need to have you called down to Human Resources for a random drug test,” Fish said, causing my work friend Erin to giggle. She sat across from Fish and often got a kick out of our interactions. “I think someone slipped pot into your morning doughnut.”

  “Eliot cooked eggs, for your information. He also made hash browns and toast. He’s a wonderful provider.”

  “I don’t know why he puts up with you,” Fish said, shaking his head. “Not only does he put up with you, but he seems to dote on you. It’s … weird.”

  I opened my mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. He had a point.

  “I think he sees something special,” said Erin, who always looks on the bright side of things. “I think he sees past Avery’s hard exterior and sees a sweet person.”

  Was that an insult? It felt like an insult. “I’m not sweet.”

  “She’s not sweet,” Fish agreed. “She’s mean. I like her mean, don’t get me wrong. That’s how she always gets her story. She’s not sweet, though.”

  “She’s not mean,” Erin argued. “She acts mean because she’s the only female news reporter and she has to be tough in a world full of men.”

  “I don’t act tough,” I clarified. “I am tough.”

  “You’re definitely tough,” Fish said. “Speaking of stories, though, I have a court case for you to cover this afternoon.”

  Ugh. I hate court cases. They take forever and it’s mostly because the judge and lawyers are screwing around behind closed doors. Justice never gets done in a timely fashion. “I don’t want to go to court.”

  “Well, you have to.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You’re going,” Fish said, shaking his head. “There’s no way out of it so don’t even bother trying to pull any of your crap. I don’t want to see talking mittens … or that pouty thing you do when you want to wear me down. I especially don’t want to see that thing where you go dead and lay on the floor and refuse to move until I give you an assignment you want. It’s not going to work today.”

  He was in a mood. I briefly wondered if he was channeling me – all that regular Monday hatred had to go somewhere, right? – and then pushed the thought out of my mind. Two Avery Shaws was more than one newsroom could handle. Heck, one Avery Shaw was more than enough on most days. “Fine. I’ll go to court.”

  Fish cocked a challenging eyebrow. “You’re definitely stoned,” he said. “Don’t let anyone know you’re smoking pot on the job. It’s an improvement where you’re concerned but it won’t be with anyone else.”

  That was definitely an insult, and yet I wasn’t in the mood to fight. Ooh, maybe the world is finally coming to an end. I hope it’s zombies instead of aliens. “Who wants to hear about my weekend?”

  “I’ll pass,” Fish said dryly.

  “I think she was talking to me,” Erin said. “I want to hear about it. You and Eliot looked at houses, right? Did you find one?”

  “No, and our new real estate agent’s name is Bunny so she’s going to have to go,” I replied. “That wasn’t the cool part of my weekend.”

  “What was the cool part of your weekend?”

  “Eliot got me passes to the Macomb County Comic Con,” I practically crowed. “I get to meet stormtroopers and hobbits. My life is complete.”

  “Yay!” Erin lightly clapped her hands. “That’s why you’re in such a good mood.”

  “I don’t get why that’s exciting,” Fish interjected. “Comic book conventions are just a bunch of grown men – and apparently Avery – dressing up in costumes and pretending they’re aliens.”

  “That’s not what comic book conventions are like,” I argued.

  Fish’s eyebrow shifted from challenging to dubious. “Are you saying no one dresses up in costumes? I’ve seen coverage of those events and everyone dresses up in costumes. Don’t deny it.”

  I couldn’t deny it. “Fine. People dress up in costumes. Not everyone pretends they’re aliens, though.”

  “Oh, well, I stand corrected.” Fish rolled his eyes. “Speaking of the convention, though, I thought you might want to cover it for us since you’re into all of that stuff.”

  Before Eliot gave me the best passes ever, I would’ve jumped at the chance. Now? Meh. “I’m good.”

  “You’re good?”

  “I want to attend the convention,” I replied. “I don’t want to cover it. That’s work. Comic book conventions shouldn’t be work.”

  “What work?” Fish challenged. “You can interview Captain Vader and call it a day. How is that work?”

  “Who is Captain Vader?”

  “The guy from that movie you like.”

  “Captain Vader doesn’t exist,” I explained.

  “I think he’s getting Captain Kirk and Darth Vader mixed up,” Erin offered helpfully. “They’re two different people, Fred.”

  “They look the same to me,” Fish argued.

  “One wears a mask and carries a lightsaber,” I protested. “He can control and choke people with his mind, which is totally a power I would love to have even though I would probably abuse it. The other sets phasers on stun while boldly going where no one has ever gone before. They are completely different.”

  “Yeah, you definitely need to be drug tested if you think that’s true,” Fish said. “I still want you to cover the convention.”

  “No.”

  “Avery!”

  “Fish!”

  We stared each other down, both refusing to break eye contact because it was a sign of weakness. Erin shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her expression almost comical as she waited for one of us to give.

  “I’ll cover the conven
tion.”

  The new voice was enough to make me cringe. I didn’t have to turn away from my boss to know who was offering, though. Duncan Marlow, aka the office tool, stood close enough that I could smell his overabundance of Old Spice – and it made me want to puke. Duncan and I were mired in something of a war. Well, to be fair, I’d already won the war. He just refused to admit it because that’s what office tools do.

  “You can’t cover a comic book convention,” I argued, refusing to blink as Fish narrowed his eyes. He was challenging my authority. That couldn’t be tolerated. “You don’t know anything about comic books.”

  “I collect comic books,” Duncan countered. “I’ll have you know that I own three Batman editions that are worth five hundred dollars each.”

  It figured he was a Batman fan. They were both brooding pains who fancied themselves more important than they really were. “Batman is a moody moron who believes money can buy superhero fame,” I said, still maintaining my stare-off with Fish. “He’s not a real superhero. Real superheroes are aliens … or bitten by radioactive spiders … or overdose on gamma radiation and turn into hulking green monsters. Batman is a guy who spends all of his time shopping for new gadgets and being all emo in a cave. Why is that supposed to be cool?”

  Duncan already had one foot in the stirrup of his high horse. “Batman is a tragic figure who lost his parents and wants to right the wrongs of the world because he has a calling to justice. He’s just like me.”

  “If you mean you’re both whiny and think you’re better than you really are, I totally agree.”

  “You take that back,” Duncan hissed, trying to nudge me with his hip. I was pretty sure the fact that I refused to look in his direction was driving him crazy. I couldn’t lose the stare-off now, though. I’d invested too much time into it. “Batman is the greatest superhero ever!”

  “I’ve always liked Superman,” Erin said. “He can fly.”

  “Superman is kind of a Mary Sue, but he’s definitely better than Batman,” I said. “The Hulk is my favorite. Wonder Woman has the cool bracelets and invisible plane, though.”

  Duncan snorted. “Wonder Woman? She’s the lamest superhero.”

  “Aquaman is the lamest superhero,” I corrected. “There’s nothing badass about hanging around underwater and riding around on giant seahorses. Plus his costume is just … ugly.”

  “Aquaman is definitely a loser,” Fish said.

  “How would you know?” I challenged. “I thought you didn’t recognize anyone hanging around with Captain Vader?”

  “I know about comic books,” Fish shot back. “Comic books are a legitimate art form. Your crap – that Star Wars and Harry Putter crap – is what ruins a good medium like a comic book convention.”

  “Potter,” Erin automatically corrected. “It’s Harry Potter.”

  “Whatever,” Fish said. “Comic book conventions should be all about comic books. These other things ruin it.”

  “If comic book conventions were so great they wouldn’t need Star Wars to save it,” I said. “People go to conventions to see the movie and television tie-ins much more than the comic books.”

  “That’s such crap,” Duncan said. “Tell her that’s crap, Fish.”

  “I can’t,” Fish said, cracking his neck as he tried to burn holes in my retinas with invisible lasers hidden behind his eyelashes.

  “You just said you liked comic books,” Duncan protested.

  “I do like comic books,” Fish said. “I don’t like you, though. I’m not agreeing with you.”

  “Even in favor of siding with Avery?” Duncan was disgusted. “That’s just … undignified.”

  “And yet I would rather side with her,” Fish said. “You might take that admission as a chance to reflect on your attitude.”

  “And your crappy cologne,” I added. Seriously, when is Fish going to blink? He hasn’t blinked in like … two minutes. He has to be a cyborg or something. Huh. I wonder if they’ll have people from the new Predator movie at the convention. That would be cool. I … wait, what were we talking about again?

  “Well, be that as it may – and my cologne is a classic, Avery – I still think I should cover the convention,” Duncan argued. “Avery doesn’t want to do it and no one else here is equipped to do it.”

  “You’re not equipped to do it and you smell like a rancid jock strap,” I said, causing Fish to snort. “That makes sense because you resemble a walking penis, though, so I have no idea where I was going with that comment.”

  “I know more about comic books than you do,” Duncan snapped, ignoring my other diatribe. “I’m the only one here equipped to cover it.”

  “A convention isn’t just about comic books, no matter what you old guys want to believe,” I said. “They have Star Wars, Star Trek, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Dr. Who, Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Friday the 13th, The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones people there, too. They’re the draw.”

  “Only in your teeny little world,” Duncan said. “No one cares about any of those things.”

  “He’s the one you need to get drug tested,” I told Fish as frustration at his refusal to break eye contact overwhelmed me. “I don’t want to cover it. I just want to be a guest.”

  “You’re covering at least some of it,” Fish said. “I’m your boss. I tell you what to do … and you’re covering it.”

  “I don’t want to do it!”

  “I don’t care what you want to do,” Fish said. “I’m putting you in charge of the coverage. You either cover it or … chat with Duncan every day about what he should be covering.” The evil smile spreading across Fish’s face was enough to give me heartburn. He’d won. We both knew it.

  I finally gave in and lowered my eyes, frustration gnawing at the pit of my stomach. “Are you trying to punish me?”

  “Not really,” Fish said. He was obviously pleased with himself as he smoothed his suit jacket. “If you really think about what I just did, I made you Duncan’s boss for the week. That should make you happy.”

  That hadn’t occurred to me. Clearly it hadn’t occurred to Duncan either, because he made a sound like a wounded animal.

  “You can’t let her be my boss,” Duncan screeched. “That’s cruel and inhumane punishment.”

  “Hmm.” As much as I didn’t want to cover the convention – or coordinate the coverage, for that matter – being Duncan’s boss for a week was too good to pass up. “I’m starting to see the benefits of this assignment.”

  “I thought you would,” Fish said. “Don’t forget, you have that court case to cover today, though. I emailed you the specifics. It shouldn’t be overly long, but we definitely need it covered.”

  “Uh-huh.” My mind was busy with possibilities. For example, I could make Duncan go to one of the messy alien wrestling events. I heard they were having female aliens wrestle in pink mud for all of the perverts. They were even wrestling guys. That would make a great first-hand piece – with photos. “I’ll email you when I decide on your first assignment, Duncan.”

  Duncan’s mouth dropped open as he swiveled in Fish’s direction. “Tell her you were joking.”

  “I wasn’t joking,” Fish said. “You wanted to be involved and she’s in charge of the coverage. It’s done.”

  “No!”

  “Yes,” Fish replied, turning back to his computer screen. “I think the day is starting to look up.”

  He wasn’t the only one who thought that. I offered Erin a half-hearted wave as I hurried toward the hallway that led to the front door.

  “Where are you going?” Fish called to my back. “The court session doesn’t start for another hour and you just got here.”

  “I have to stop at a gas station,” I replied. “I need to buy a lottery ticket. This is clearly my lucky week.”

  “And this is clearly my version of Hell,” Duncan snapped. “How did this even happen?”

  “I think it’s karma,” Fish replied, not missing a beat. “You’ve fina
lly managed to piss me off to the point where I’m unleashing Avery on you. May God have mercy on your soul.”

  “This is … unbelievable,” Duncan groused. “I’ll be taking my complaints to the front office! Just you wait. This isn’t going to happen the way you think it’s going to happen.”

  Something told me Duncan would be the one who would end up disappointed, but that was something to worry about later. For now, I needed to run to the gas station and get a full list of convention events. I was never going to get another opportunity quite as delicious as this one to torture Duncan. I couldn’t wait to see if rumors of one person giving another an aneurism just by being obnoxious were true. If anyone could do it, though, it was me. I never lack in self-confidence on that front.

  Look out world – and especially Duncan – because here I come. It’s definitely going to be a great week.

  3

  Three

  “Judge, it really wasn’t my fault. I know my probation specifically says that I can’t drink, but I honestly thought I was drinking root beer. I didn’t know there was such a thing as hard root beer. Honest.”

  Sitting in court on arraignment day is never fun, but occasionally you run across a few gems while waiting for your case to come up. Theodore Haskell was one of those cases. The Warren man – on probation for running a bogus charity and lining his own pockets instead of helping those in need – was trying to explain to Judge Chester Baumgartner why he didn’t mean to streak naked through his yard and then kick a police officer in the shins when he tried to corral the intoxicated man. Sadly for Haskell, Baumgartner had obviously heard it all before.

  “I see,” Baumgartner said, shaking his head as he studied the file in front of him. “You didn’t know they made hard root beer, huh?”

  “No, sir. I surely did not.” Haskell was a great actor. I had to give him that. I almost believed him. Of course, I was enjoying the best Monday ever so I was probably biased.

  “Where did you purchase the root beer?” Baumgartner asked.

  “I … what?” Haskell was caught off guard by the question.