On Deadline & Under Fire Read online

  “Yes, apparently I’m a miniature version of my mother,” I muttered under my breath as Eliot prodded me toward our usual spots in the booth. My mood didn’t brighten when I found Derrick and his fiancée Devin seated next to us. “It’s like the universe wants to crap on me today.”

  “Yes, well, maybe it’s karma.” Eliot slid into the booth and took the seat next to Devin before I could make a big show of pushing him into that spot. I hated sitting next to her. Not only was she pregnant — which meant all she could talk about was babies — but she was a reporter for one of the local television stations. That meant we were professional rivals of sorts, but I scooped her regularly, so I was clearly winning the rivalry.

  “I wondered if you were coming this week,” Devin offered once we’d settled and had menus in our hands. “I heard you were on vacation. That’s why you weren’t at the news conference for the apartment fire, right?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “When was the conference?”

  “The day after the fire.”

  “Oh.” That meant Devin was still behind and that I hadn’t missed anything of importance this afternoon. That was good. “Yeah, well, I’m enjoying my vacation.”

  Eliot snorted, causing me to ignore his derisive response.

  “I’ve been having a really good time,” I stressed. “I think I’m great at vacationing.”

  Derrick rolled his eyes. “The look on Eliot’s face tells me otherwise. Has she been a pain all week? You can tell me. I already know the answer, but it’s always good to get confirmation.”

  Here’s the thing about Eliot: Even though he was annoyed by my insistence on chasing a story that he didn’t believe I should care about, he was loyal to a fault. While he had no qualms about complaining to me regarding my actions, he would never open the door to Derrick. Okay, if he was agitated enough he might bring Derrick into the fray. He would never open the door to Devin, though. He knew how much her attitude chafed.

  “She’s been pretty good,” Eliot countered, smiling as the waitress delivered glasses of iced tea. “I’ll take the prime rib with mashed potatoes and corn.”

  “I want the same,” I said, collecting the menus and handing them over. “Thanks.”

  The waitress nodded before disappearing.

  “I happen to know that she hasn’t been all that good,” Derrick countered, clearly enjoying his place atop the family douche pile for the evening. “The day your mother was due to arrive, she called me for information on the fire. Did you know that?”

  “You’re such a narc,” I hissed, lashing out with my foot under the table.

  “Ow!” Devin rubbed her shin and glared. “That was me.”

  “Then tell your boyfriend to stop being a pain in the butt and you won’t accidentally get kicked,” I suggested.

  “What’s going on down there?” Mom asked, suspicious. “Are you guys fighting? Don’t make me separate you.”

  “Avery kicked me,” Devin tattled. “It hurt, too.”

  Mom’s eyes widened. “You kicked her? She’s pregnant! What would possess you to kick her?”

  That was a loaded question. The appropriate question to ask was: Under what scenario would you not kick Devin? There were very few acceptable answers. “I was aiming for Derrick,” I protested. “Devin got in the way. I think it’s because her legs are so fat now.”

  Devin’s face flushed with color. “I am not fat.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Derrick said quickly, his tone soothing. “You look great, especially given the added weight you’re carrying. I didn’t know you could be cute and chubby at the same time.”

  I barked out a laugh at the murderous look on Devin’s face.

  Derrick immediately balked, his face going white. “What did I say?” He turned to Eliot for help. “It was a compliment. I swear.”

  “I don’t think she took it as a compliment,” Eliot noted, sliding his arm over the back of the booth so I could snuggle in at his side. “I think it was the part where you called her chubby.”

  “You should’ve just called her a whale and been done with it,” I suggested.

  “You’re lucky I’m pregnant,” Devin hissed. “I would totally take you out to the parking lot and beat the crap out of you otherwise.”

  “Yes, I’m often terrified of that possibility,” I drawled. “It keeps me up at night.”

  Eliot poked me with his free hand. “Don’t turn this into a war. I’m not sure we can handle that on top of everything else.”

  He had a point. Drat. I had so much latent energy buzzing around me that I was eager to siphon some of it off. “Fine. I’ll be good.” I turned my attention to Grandpa. “How did your stop at the mall work out the other day?”

  “Good.” Grandpa still had food on his face and either didn’t notice or didn’t care. I was leaning toward the latter. He never met a napkin he didn’t want to ignore, and if people tried to subtly tell him he had food on his face he played the oblivious game better than most. “We made about three-thousand bucks in a few hours.”

  I couldn’t mask my surprise. “You made three-thousand dollars hawking hot dogs and hamburgers outside Kohl’s?”

  “Yup.”

  “But ... how?”

  “And why did they let you set up outside the mall like that?” Derrick questioned.

  “Grandpa has dirt on the mall owner and blackmailed him for the spot,” I supplied. “I thought it was fishy, too, but no one came outside to evict them while I was there.”

  “What kind of dirt?” Derrick asked. “He’s not doing anything illegal, is he?”

  “Like I would tell you,” Grandpa scoffed. “You’re a cop. I’m no snitch.”

  “It’s not being a snitch when you try to help law enforcement,” Derrick countered. “It’s being a concerned citizen.”

  “I believe that’s what you said when you called the cops on us when we started that fire behind the restaurant,” I noted. “The cops showed up, which was bad, and then it got worse when Grandpa figured out one of his own turned him in.”

  My comments had the desired effect because Grandpa’s gaze darkened.

  “Thanks for reminding him of that,” Derrick huffed.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I almost forgot about that,” Grandpa muttered. “The cops threatened to throw us both in jail over that.”

  “You were out of control,” Derrick argued. “It was windy. That fire could’ve spread to the grocery store across the way. It could’ve taken down the restaurant, too. Did you want that?”

  “We had everything under control,” Grandpa fired back.

  “We did,” I agreed. “I had the hose at the ready.”

  “Yes, because a garden hose will douse a huge lawn fire,” Derrick drawled. “I don’t know how much you know about fires, but that’s not how it works.”

  Speaking of that ... . “Did you guys figure out how the fire started at the Chesterfield Township apartment complex yet? I haven’t seen anything that cites a source for the blaze. I mean ... was it faulty electrical work? Was it an accident thanks to something one of the residents did? Was it on purpose?”

  Devin’s eyes gleamed as she shifted to stare at me. “Why do you care? You’re on vacation.”

  “Yeah, Avery,” Derrick sneered. “Why do you care?”

  “I’m just curious,” I lied. “I was there the day the fire broke out. I saw all the displaced families. I can’t help but feel for them.”

  Derrick made an exaggerated face that I was familiar with from our youth. “Yes. You often go out of your way to help displaced families after a fire. What was I thinking?”

  “We had everything under control, but you still called the cops,” Grandpa complained from the end of the table. Now that I’d brought it up, he clearly wasn’t letting it go. “I got ticketed for that. I had to go to court and everything.”

  “And he got locked up for a week after calling the judge a pencil-dicked little weasel,” I added. “You’re responsible
for that, Derrick.”

  “I’m going to throw you in jail if you don’t shut up, Avery,” Derrick shot back. “You’re being a total pain in the ass.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Sometimes I thrive on irritating family members ... and friends ... and random people on the street. My efforts tonight were doing a lot to vent that building aggression I was worried about earlier. “Oh, suck it up.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” Devin interjected, her mind clearly on another topic besides Derrick’s tattletale ways. “I think you’re so focused on that fire because you know The Monitor is falling behind on the coverage. You don’t like that. It drives you crazy.”

  “So do women with fat calves,” I noted.

  “My calves aren’t fat!”

  “And The Monitor’s coverage isn’t lacking.” I said the words, but I didn’t believe them. There was no way Duncan was keeping up with the pack. I decided to change course. “Duncan is slow. It’s not his fault he can’t stay ahead of the curve. He was told if he stayed even with you that no one would notice he couldn’t be a journalism superstar. He saw you getting away with substandard work and thought that was the norm.”

  “That did it.” Devin threw her napkin on the table. “I think you and I should go outside and talk.”

  I shifted my demeanor immediately. “Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I adopted an air of innocence that I was certain would grate. “You’re pregnant. You should be taking it easy. I mean ... you’re fragile. If we go outside you could be hurt. You’re carrying this family’s first great-grandchild, so that seems reckless. I mean ... don’t you want to keep your child safe? If not, Derrick will have to report you to the proper authorities. We all know he likes doing stuff like that, no matter if he’s supposed to be loyal to you or not.”

  Devin’s mouth dropped open as Derrick glowered at me. Neither could find the appropriate words, so I took advantage of the lull and sipped my iced tea.

  “Do you feel better?” Eliot asked after a beat.

  “Compared to what?”

  “Compared to the rage you were carrying around after I made you go to the museum.”

  “Oh, that.” I chewed my bottom lip as I considered the question. “You know, I do feel better.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Me, too.” I tapped my glass against his in solidarity. “I think your mother is starting to like me, and I rendered Devin speechless. This day isn’t a total wash.”

  “Thank the Lord for small favors.”

  “Definitely.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Try better next time. That attempt was weak.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  22 Twenty-Two

  I stopped by the pie case – because, well, how could a sugar rush not make this dinner better? – and took a breather from the nonstop jibes and jabs once I finished my prime rib. It looked as if Grandpa had anticipated my dessert needs and had baked blueberry and blackberry offerings today, which meant I was a happy camper.

  I straightened, ready to return to the table long enough to stuff my face with fruit filling, but Grandpa snagged my shirt collar from behind and dragged me through the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. I didn’t miss the look on Eliot’s face when he caught what was happening — he widened his eyes and frowned — but he didn’t rush to my rescue, so I was on my own.

  “Come with me, Missy,” Grandpa growled, pulling me through the kitchen and toward the back area in front of the freezers. It was empty, which meant we could talk in private. It was also open, so anyone who tried to approach for eavesdropping would easily be discovered.

  “I didn’t do anything.” I slapped at Grandpa’s hand and glowered. “If you’re about to accuse me of something, I demand proper representation ... and pie.”

  Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Why do you always assume I’m going to accuse you of something?”

  “Because people like to blame me for everything.”

  “Or because you’re often to blame for people’s woes and they’re simply playing the odds,”

  Grandpa countered. “As for today, I’m not blaming you for anything.”

  I was intrigued but wary. “Then why did you drag me back here?”

  “Because I had a visitor today and I’m pretty sure you don’t want your boyfriend hearing who it was in front of an audience.”

  Now I was doubly intrigued. “You had a visit from someone I know? Was it Duncan Marlow? Was he digging for information? If so, you have my permission to give him food poisoning. He has it coming.”

  “It wasn’t that idiot.” Grandpa made a face. “It was someone I wasn’t expecting.”

  “Who?”

  “Phil Keane.”

  I stilled, dumbfounded. “The speakeasy guy?”

  Grandpa tilted his head to the side. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I told him about the underground club in Mount Clemens. I’d been forced to keep the information to myself for obvious reasons, but Grandpa wouldn’t tattle to Eliot or the cops, so he was my ideal confidant.

  “Why don’t I know about this place?” Grandpa asked when I was finished.

  “How should I know? I didn’t know about it either.”

  “Yes, but I’m cool and people want to hang around with me.”

  “They want to hang around with me, too.”

  “They do not.”

  “They do, too.”

  “They do not.”

  My temper flashed. “They do! I’m not freaking making it up. I’m very popular.”

  “I’m done talking to you.” Grandpa waved a hand in my face to silence me. “We need to discuss Keane.”

  “Which is it?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you done talking to me or do we need to discuss Keane? Those two things seem to be in direct opposition to one another.”

  “Shut up or I’ll shut you up,” Grandpa groused, shaking his head. “I’m serious.”

  Grandpa was rarely serious, so I nodded and waited for him to continue.

  “How much do you know about Keane?”

  “Not much,” I admitted. “I had no idea what I was going to find at the speakeasy. He approached me. We talked for a bit; he seemed like a dirty pervert, but he told me a lot of stories.”

  “About Truman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And he just volunteered these stories?”

  Grandpa seemed dubious, which caused my antenna to perk up. “I asked him some specific details, but after a bit he started volunteering hilarious memories. I think he was trying to get into my pants.”

  “Ugh. That is so gross.”

  I shrugged. “He’s an old man. He knew better than to touch me. Why are you getting so worked up over this?”

  “Keane is not an old man,” Grandpa shot back, his annoyance on full display. “Do you think I’m simply an old man? Of course not. I’m so much more than the sum of my parts. Keane is the same way.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “He’s got his finger in the middle of eighty different pies.”

  Hmm. “And these are metaphorical pies, right? Because you make actual pies here and that could be taken a multitude of different ways.”

  “Do you always have to push things?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, stop.” Grandpa’s expression told me I was getting close to the point of no return. “You know who Keane is, right?”

  That was a good question. “I was going to run him when I got back to the house, but I was distracted by other things that day. I’m assuming he’s a former Sandusky Sanitation employee.”

  “No, he’s a former union leader.”

  Grandpa said the words in such a way that it was clear he thought that should mean something to me. “Do you want to expound on that?”

  “Ugh. And just when I convinced myself you’re my smartest grandchild.” He flicked the spot between my eyebrows and caused me to take an inadvertent step back. “Do you kno
w nothing about how mob activity in this area works?”

  The question caught me off guard. “I haven’t given it much thought,” I admitted. “From what I read, the garbage company was used as a means to embezzle money and dispose of bodies. Isn’t that the general gist of it?”

  “You’re so blond.”

  “And you’re so old.”

  “I’m in my prime.”

  “Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “What does Keane being a union leader have to do with anything?”

  “He wasn’t a union leader to start,” Grandpa clarified. “He was a worker for Barton Automotive.”

  “A garage?”

  “A chop shop.”

  “Ah.” Now we were getting somewhere. “So, he started in a chop shop and became a union leader. That seems like quite the jump.”

  “It was,” Grandpa agreed. “His position was bought and paid for.”

  “By who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  My stomach rolled at his pointed gaze. “Jay Truman.”

  “Very good.” Grandpa rapped a knuckle against my forehead. “Now, ask yourself why a former union leader would show up at my restaurant asking questions about you given what happened to a former colleague who was supposedly out of the business.”

  “You’re saying they’re all still in the business,” I mused.

  “I’m saying that people like that never get out of the business,” Grandpa clarified.

  “I don’t understand why he came to you.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I paced the small area. “How did he even tie me to you?”

  “It’s not hard for people like this to pull records.”

  “I guess.”

  “You’re not exactly known for flying under the radar.”

  “No.” I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead as I debated my next question. “What did he say to you? Did he try to warn you to get me to back off?”

  “He wasn’t that overt. He asked questions about your relationship with Jake. He wanted to know about your long-haired boyfriend, too.”

  I didn’t like this development one bit. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I don’t get too involved in your business. I don’t think he believed me.”