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Headlines & Deadlines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 7) Page 7


  “It had better be that beefed-up bodyguard of yours,” Fish said. “Otherwise I’m ordering you not to go.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do on my own time,” I argued.

  “I can, too.”

  “You can not.”

  “I can, too. Don’t push me on this, Avery.” Fish was serious.

  “Well, luckily for you, I plan to take Eliot,” I said. “He would never forgive me if I left him out of this little excursion.”

  “Oh, please,” Marvin said. “If you go to that club and don’t tell him he’s going to be dominating you – and not in a fun way – when he finds out.”

  That was an interesting thought. “I’ll let you know what I find out,” I said. “Until I get more information, we’ll go with what we have for the weekend editions. The good news is, I think we’re the only ones who know about Grisham’s … proclivities.”

  “Let’s keep it that way,” Fish said. “Oh, and Avery?”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Be careful,” he said. “These people might be freaks. I’m sure most of them are well-meaning and … normal … but you have a penchant for finding trouble.”

  “You worry too much,” I said. “How could I possibly get in trouble at a BDSM club?”

  Yeah, I can’t believe I said it out loud either.

  Eight

  I arrived at my grandparents’ restaurant with ten minutes to spare, beating Eliot and giving myself a few minutes to brainstorm. I knew he would balk at going to a BDSM club. There was no way I could pretty up that package enough to entice him. No, if I wanted him to go, I needed to bully him into it. Luckily, I was up for the challenge.

  I was almost to the front door of the restaurant when a figure stepped out of the shadows and cut off my approach. I recognized Derrick’s compact form before he uttered a word.

  “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

  “I know a handful of people who would thank me for that,” Derrick shot back.

  “Why are you hiding out here? Why aren’t you inside?”

  Derrick pointed to a red car a few parking spots down.

  “Is that car doubling as an extra in the Christine reboot?” I asked.

  “That’s Devon’s car,” Derrick said.

  “Are you afraid of it?”

  Derrick shot me a hateful look. “I can’t go in there. Now that I know she thinks I’m going to propose, I’m … terrified.”

  “You should be,” I said. “Waking up to that woman for the rest of your life is going to be horrible. She looks like the type who keeps herself in shape for the courtship but then lets herself go once she gets the ring on her finger.”

  “Can’t you be supportive for five minutes?”

  I blew out a sigh and reined in my snarkiness. “Tell her you’re not ready to get married.”

  “How am I going to explain that? She doesn’t know I know what she’s expecting.”

  “Blame it on me,” I said, nonplussed. I really didn’t see the problem here. “She shouldn’t have told me. We all know I can’t keep my mouth shut. It really is her fault.”

  “If I tell her I don’t want to get married she’s going to ask why,” Derrick said. “Then, when I explain that I’m not ready, she’s going to ask when I’m going to be ready. Then, when I tell her I don’t know, she’s going to break up with me because she doesn’t want to waste her time on a guy who doesn’t want to get married.”

  “That’s a big leap there.”

  “I can’t believe you got me dumped!”

  That was an even bigger leap. “I didn’t get you dumped,” I said. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

  “You did not,” Derrick protested. “You knew I was going to freak out. You were looking forward to it.”

  That was true. I expected a righteous meltdown resulting in a breakup. I didn’t expect Derrick’s fear that Devon would break up with him. I thought it would be the other way around. “You really like her, don’t you?”

  “Of course I like her.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you like her?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. “Is she a dynamo in the sack or something?”

  Eliot, who was rounding the corner from the side parking lot, pulled up short when he heard the question. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Derrick.”

  “Oh.” He moved up to my side and dropped a kiss on my forehead. “Continue.”

  “Derrick is afraid Devon is going to break up with him because he’s not ready to get married,” I explained. “I think he’s overreacting. What do you think?”

  “I think you should mind your own business,” Eliot said. “This is between Derrick and Devon. Your cute, little nose should be someplace else.”

  I made a face. “Excuse me?”

  “You shouldn’t have told him what she said in the first place,” Eliot said. “Now, if they do break up, it’ll be your fault. Can you live with that?”

  How did this situation turn on me? “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am on your side,” Eliot said. “I don’t happen to believe you should be in the middle of this.”

  “Thank you,” Derrick said.

  “You ambushed me,” I reminded him.

  “Because you upended my world.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” I muttered. “You act like a woman sometimes.”

  “Okay, that will be enough of that,” Eliot said, slipping his arm around my waist and steering me toward the door. “Why don’t you leave Derrick alone? There are any number of relatives in here for you to torture. I’m guessing some of them are ready to torture you right back.”

  “I’m not done, though.”

  “You’re done,” Eliot said, opening the door. He glanced at Derrick. “You might want to … I don’t know … do a few shots or something before you go inside. You look like you’re about to crap your pants.”

  Derrick furrowed his brow. “Avery has been a bad influence on you. What do you see in her?”

  “I find her cute and entertaining.”

  “That’s what people say about puppies.”

  I mock barked, causing everyone at the family booth to turn their attention to the three of us as we hovered at the open door.

  “You always know how to make an entrance,” Eliot said.

  One look at my mother’s patented frown told me she agreed with Eliot’s assessment – and not in a good way. “Have I ever told you I think the world is out to get me?”

  “Every time I force you to watch a movie with Keanu Reeves in it,” Eliot replied, pushing me forward. “Are you going to move?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Eliot made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and lifted me with one arm so he could haul me over to the family booth, which was long enough to encompass an entire wall with seating and yet still accommodate three tables so people could maneuver between them.

  “Hello,” Mom said, patting the vinyl seat next to her. “How are you?”

  I smelled a trap. Instead of sitting where she indicated I slid behind the middle table and pulled Eliot with me. “I’m great. How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful,” Mom said, her voice full of faux brightness. “I can’t tell you how wonderful I am.”

  Yup. This was definitely a trap. “That’s great,” I said, shifting my attention to my cousin Mario, who was busy glaring daggers in the direction of his father. “What’s up with you?”

  “Dad and I are playing a game,” Mario said, not bothering to look in my direction. “Whoever looks away first loses.”

  “What does the winner get?”

  “Bragging rights.”

  That didn’t sound worth it to me. “Why are you guys fighting now?” I asked. Uncle Tim and his only son were embroiled in a bitter feud the likes of which my family hadn’t seen in … oh … six weeks or so. What? We have a lot of feuds.

  “The food truck,” Mar
io said, tilting his overly large round head to the side. He reminds me of Charlie Brown sometimes.

  “I thought you guys were done with the food truck,” I said. “You haven’t had it out in weeks.”

  In an effort to undermine my uncle, who was in charge of day-to-day operations of the restaurant even though my grandfather still technically owned it, Grandpa and Mario launched their own food truck a few months back and started driving it to different venues, including sporting events. My uncle was incensed, and after making a boatload of money, they closed up shop. The money was merely a bonus. Irritating Uncle Tim was the primary goal, and once accomplished there was little reason to go overboard exerting energy.

  “Yes, but that was before we realized how much money there was to be made with a Valentine’s Day promotion,” Mario said, squinting and making a face as he tried to get his father to break. Ever stoic, Uncle Tim sat like a statue and stared Mario down without blinking.

  “Is he still alive?” Eliot asked.

  “His chest is moving,” I said. “If he keels over, then I think we have reason to worry.”

  “Your family is nuts.”

  I could live with that. I bore easily. “What kind of Valentine’s Day promotion are you guys putting on?”

  “We’re taking over the parking lot and throwing a party,” Mario replied without breaking his stare.

  “Why?”

  “Because all of the restaurants in town are already booked and there’s a significant overflow population,” Mario said. “We’re going to capitalize on it.”

  I was impressed. Mario’s greatest claim to fame thus far was failing interpretive dance because he couldn’t stop trying to lift his female classmates when the routine didn’t call for it. He claimed he couldn’t help himself because there was something about those leotards that “called” to him. “That’s actually not a bad idea,” I said. “Why is Uncle Tim angry?”

  “Because if we take over the parking lot, his customers won’t have anywhere to park.”

  Well, that made sense. “Can’t you guys move your party somewhere else?”

  “Where?”

  “I … huh. Don’t you need a permit to host a party in a parking lot?” I asked.

  “Not according to Grandpa,” Mario said. “He says that we’ll shoot any cops who try to arrest us. We’re allowed to be armed and protect our property.”

  Something told me Valentine’s Day was going to be eventful. I shifted my attention from Mario to the far end of the table where Derrick nervously perched next to Devon. If she noticed something off about his attitude she wasn’t letting on.

  “Do you know your mother is staring at you?” Eliot whispered.

  “I can feel her evil eye from here,” I said, refusing to meet her gaze. “She’s up to something.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I recognize evil when I’m in the midst of it,” I said. I tapped the specials board in the middle of the table. “Did you see they have your favorite spaghetti?”

  “I did. What are you getting?”

  “If you’re getting the garlic, I’m getting the garlic,” I said.

  Eliot smirked. “I don’t have to get the garlic if you don’t want me to.”

  “Get it. We can stink together. It will be romantic.”

  “You’re odd.”

  He had no idea how odd I was going to get when we were alone. “I … .”

  “So, Avery, I saw you on television the other night,” Mom said, her voice chilly enough to snap Mario and Uncle Tim from their staring contest.

  “I saw that, too,” Mario said. “It was hilarious.”

  “It was undignified,” Devon said. “She completely took over the news conference.”

  “At least I asked the hard questions,” I said. “You were going to let him sit there and spout endless streams of BS without calling him on any of it.”

  “I was not.”

  “You were, too.”

  “I was not. I’m very good at my job,” Devon said. “Derrick, tell her I’m very good at my job.”

  “Devon is very good at her job,” Derrick parroted.

  “Does Polly want a cracker?”

  Derrick scowled. “Don’t attack my girlfriend, who I happen to adore. I don’t like it.”

  Devon beamed while I rolled my eyes until they landed back on my mother. “Do you want to comment on my television appearance, Mom?”

  “It was … loud.”

  “I wasn’t any louder than I normally am.”

  “You chased him from the microphone,” Mom said. “It was … embarrassing.”

  This from the woman who once punished me by showing up to drop off my lunch in elementary school while wearing a terrycloth robe with lips printed all over it. “Technically he ran from the microphone and chased me. You just didn’t get to see that part on television.”

  “That’s neither here nor there,” Mom said. “Do you know how many people saw you and called me?”

  “Two?”

  “I … that’s not important,” Mom said, wrinkling her nose. “I didn’t realize I was the mother of a television star.”

  “Well, get used to it,” I said. “I’m taking Tad down.”

  “Is that your job?” Devon asked.

  “I think it’s my calling,” I replied.

  Eliot snorted, earning a derisive look from my mother.

  “Do you think that what she did was appropriate, Eliot?” Mom asked.

  “I think … Tad has it coming,” Eliot replied, fidgeting.

  I shot him a grateful look.

  “I also wish she’d choose her words and not push people until they want to physically attack her,” Eliot added. “I hate worrying about her.”

  “Get used to that,” Mom said. “She’s given me eight ulcers since giving birth.”

  “You don’t have ulcers,” I said.

  “I could have ulcers.”

  I decided to change the subject. “Where is Lexie?” If anyone would be on my side in this it would be my favorite cousin. Yes, I can call her that right now. She hasn’t been arrested or sent to rehab in months.

  “She’s working late,” Mario said. “She’s having an open house at the yoga studio. She’s coming, but she’s going to be late.”

  That was a bummer. She hated Tad more than I did. “Well, does anyone else have any exciting news?”

  “I’m thinking of growing a mustache,” Grandpa said, heaving himself into his regular spot at the end of the booth. “I think it will make me look distinguished.”

  I think it would make him look like a pimp, but I kept my opinion to myself. “That sounds fun,” I said. “Do you think it will be ready in time for your big Valentine’s Day party?”

  “There isn’t going to be a Valentine’s Day party,” Uncle Tim announced, turning his attention back to Mario so they could resume their staring contest.

  “Yes, there is,” Mario said.

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “You always know the right way to start an argument, kid,” Grandpa said, chuckling. “Some people might think you’re trying to divert attention from yourself to others. It’s not a very appealing trait.”

  That was rich coming from him. “I wasn’t doing that,” I said.

  “Tell me about your television appearance,” Grandpa said, grinning.

  “Tell me about your Valentine’s Day party,” I countered.

  “How about everyone tell me why this family has to be such a pain in my posterior all the time?” Mom snapped.

  Eliot slipped an arm around my shoulders and leaned back in the booth. “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

  “You should bulk up on the carbs now,” I said. “Mom is just getting started.”

  “Now I see where you get your tenacious attitude.”

  “Are you saying I’m like my mother?”

  Eliot shrugged.

  “That’s the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “I’ll m
ake it up to you later,” Eliot said, grinning.

  That was good. Now I had something to hold over his head.

  Nine

  “Why do I feel like I have a hangover every Saturday morning?” Eliot asked, slouched beside me on the couch, nursing a mug of coffee the next morning. “My head is pounding.”

  That wasn’t a good sign. “Alcohol leeches sugar and water from your body when you drink,” I explained. “My family leeches little portions of your soul. It has the same effect.”

  My eyes were focused on the television, a Jaws marathon on display as I debated how to approach Eliot about visiting The Black Hole. After two hours of family shenanigans the night before, even though he was usually up for playing whatever games I suggested on weekends, I had the feeling he was going to pitch a fit when I broached tonight’s activities.

  “You’re in a weird mood this morning,” Eliot said, lifting the blanket I huddled under and pulling it over so it covered both of us. “What are you thinking?”

  “What makes you think I’m thinking anything? My mind is a total blank.”

  “That would be cute if I actually believed it,” Eliot said. “I know you, though. Your mind is always working. What are you thinking right now?”

  “I’m thinking that the fourth Jaws movie is underrated and unfairly trashed,” I said. “Sure, it makes no sense that the shark followed a family from Maine to the Bahamas in a few days, but if you ignore that some of the chomping scenes are pretty good. I especially like it when the shark goes after the kids on the giant inflatable banana.”

  Eliot shifted his eyes to the television briefly. “I like Michael Caine. I can’t like this movie, though. It’s horrible.”

  I handed him the remote. “Watch whatever you want.”

  “Okay, now I know you’re up to something,” Eliot said. “You don’t surrender the remote unless you want me to do something you know I’m going to hate. Tell me what it is now so I can prepare myself.”

  “I think you’re unfairly maligning me.”

  “And you won’t make eye contact,” Eliot charged. “Spill.”

  I sucked in a steadying breath. “I didn’t get to tell you last night because of all the fun we were having with my family … but I found out an interesting tidbit from Marvin before I left work yesterday.”