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

by Amanda M. Lee

  “And you blame me for that.”

  “I blame you for raping your underlings.”

  His eyes flashed with fury. “I didn’t rape anyone! I would never force myself on a woman. That’s not who I am!”

  “Then why did they all come forward?” I asked. “I mean ... I might be able to write off one accusation as sour grapes. Three is a different story.”

  “Have you ever considered that number might be strategic?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, think about it,” he suggested, slowly pushing himself to his feet. “I may be a distasteful man in your eyes, Ms. Shaw. I may say things you don’t agree with, utter words you find hateful. I am not, however, a rapist.”

  I stared at him for a long beat. “And you think people who disagree with your politics are setting you up with phony rape charges. Is that what you’re saying?”

  He interlaced the fingers of both hands and looked around before returning his gaze to my eyes. “Yes.”

  “What about Dan Crawford? Do you think he was the target the other day? Was it you?”

  “I don’t know. All I do know is that a good friend is dead and I will always wonder if I was the intended victim. The guilt could very well eat me alive.”

  “Well, it’s better than choking on the dinner you want waiting for you when you get home from work every night, right?”

  His scowl was back. “Your attitude is ... .”

  “Awesome?”

  “I was going to say ‘unfortunate.’”

  “They’re the same thing.”

  “They’re really not.”

  And with that, our conversation was over. There was nothing else to say.

  15 Fifteen

  Bart’s words got me thinking.

  Proclaiming innocence is one thing — and I had no doubt Bart would profess “witch hunt” to his dying day — but the women who accused him were a potential fountain of information. Two of them had made statements to the media. Diane Mullen and Hannah Bolton, regular fixtures on the nightly news, had been talking to James in the hallways between court sessions, eager to spread their names and stories far and wide.

  The third woman was the mystery. She was the one I wanted to track down.

  I sat in Eliot’s office long enough to boot my computer and sift through the discovery documents the attorneys had submitted to the court before trial. Everything I needed would be inside ... including the name of the silent complainant.

  “What are you doing?” Fawn asked when she realized I was in the office without Eliot. “Does the boss know you’re going through his things?”

  I was sitting in a chair across from Eliot’s desk and touching my own things, so the question irked. “I’m not going through his things.”

  “You are so.” Fawn was matter-of-fact. “I’m going to tell him. He’s going to be mad.”

  “Please.” I rolled my eyes and continued to scroll through the documents. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Go away.”

  “You go away,” she fired back.

  “You know what?” It took everything I had not to jump out of the chair and teach her the wrestling moves I learned from WWE when I was embracing one of my odd crushes on The Rock during my misspent early twenties. I didn’t get a chance to finish uttering the curse to end all curses because Eliot picked that moment to return, a file clutched in his hand. He appeared surprised to see us both in his office.

  “Do I even want to know what’s going on here?” he asked after a beat.

  “She’s going through your things,” Fawn announced. “She snuck back here when I was busy with a customer. I was trying to explain that she’s not allowed, but she won’t listen.”

  Eliot sighed. “I see.” He fixed his eyes on me. “Are you going through my things?”

  “I am,” I confirmed, enthusiastically bobbing my head. “I stole those sexy cuffs you keep in the bottom drawer for when I’ve been naughty.”

  Fawn’s eyes filled with fire. “What?”

  Eliot merely shook his head. “She’s messing with you, Fawn. Don’t be such an easy target.” He sat at his desk. “What are you looking for, Trouble?”

  “The third woman.”

  “What third woman?”

  “The third woman who accused Savage,” I replied. “Two of them have been at the courthouse every single day. They’ve been making statements to the media, enjoying their fifteen minutes of fame. I ran into Bart outside the courthouse — he’s morose and unhappy when he doesn’t have an audience, by the way — and it got me to thinking about the third woman.”

  “He had three accusers, right?” Eliot leaned back in his chair and stretched.

  “He did, and I’m trying to remember the third accuser’s name because I want to talk to her.”

  “She’s probably hiding,” Fawn offered. “She knows that she lied and she’s embarrassed. Her conscience is getting the better of her.”

  That was a possibility. It was also a possibility that she’d been somehow hurt more than the other two and was struggling to recover. “I just want to find her.” I was firm as I continued scrolling.

  “I thought you were supposed to focus on the protest and leave the trial to James?” Eliot asked.

  I bit back the bubbling scorn that wanted to poke him in the eyes Three Stooges style. “I can multi-task.”

  “Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced. “Avery ... .”

  “Just don’t.” I jabbed a finger in his direction to silence him. “I know what I’m doing. Believe it or not, I’ve handled multiple story threads at one time before.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure you’re an expert at it. I simply thought you had a full plate with the protest and shooting.”

  “Yeah, well, Jake is being tight-lipped on the shooting so there’s not much I can do there ... especially because girlfriends aren’t allowed at the gun range. The protests are relatively calm now. I expect them to heat up this afternoon. I have an opening in my schedule. Idle hands are the Devil’s something or other, right?”

  “I like how you say things like that when you’re not playing video games,” he drawled. “When I say it to get you to stop playing video games, you give me grief.”

  “My hands aren’t idle when I’m playing video games. They’re like magical conduits.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Aha!” I crowed in triumph when I found the document I wanted. “Ally Hawthorne. She lives in Fraser.”

  “What are you going to do?” Eliot asked.

  “I’m going to knock on her door and get the scoop.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to talk?”

  “Then I will find a way to make her talk.”

  He stared for a long beat before shaking his head. “Well, you might want to limit your efforts to before lunch.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because, after lunch I’m taking you to the range like I promised.”

  I jerked up my eyes, surprised. “I thought girlfriends weren’t allowed.”

  “I managed to pull some strings. You have to behave yourself when you’re in there. You can observe. No questions. If you don’t follow the rules I’ll be banned.”

  “And that will make you sad?”

  “It will cut down on the places I have to privately vent when you make me angry.”

  That seemed reasonable. “I won’t risk your standing at the range. I promise.” I snapped my laptop shut and stood. “I’m going to leave this here because I’m going to be running around interviewing people, including – hopefully – the secretary who isn’t saying anything. Is that okay with you?”

  He nodded. “Be careful with the secretary. There might be a reason she’s laying low.”

  “Yes, like she’s a liar,” Fawn intoned.

  I ignored her. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back. We can get food and answers together. It will be a bonding exercise.”

  Eliot chuckled. “I think we’re pretty bonded. At least
, that’s the way it felt last night.”

  Fawn scowled. “Oh, you guys are ... I can’t believe I have to listen to this.”

  “You don’t have to,” Eliot pointed out. “You can go out to the showroom. That’s where I pay you to be.”

  I smirked as I grabbed my hoodie from the arm of the chair. “Wish me talkative secretaries.”

  He saluted. “May their lips be as loose as your screws when you find a story you want to sink your teeth into.”

  “You’re going to get it later for that one,” I warned.

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  ALLY HAWTHORNE LIVED IN a cute ranch house on a quiet street. It looked to be a cookie-cutter neighborhood, but there was absolutely no one out and about. That didn’t surprise me because it was a work day, but I was used to a little more hustle and bustle.

  I parked in front of Ally’s house, took a moment to stare at the front window because I was almost certain I saw movement, and then exited my Ford Focus and headed straight for the front door. If she was inside and nervous it would be best to announce my presence before she decided to grab a gun or something to protect her home.

  I knocked loudly and waited. I heard nothing from inside the house and the curtain didn’t move a second time. I knocked again and this time called out. “My name is Avery Shaw. I’m a reporter with The Monitor. I have a few questions for you regarding the Bart Savage trial.”

  I waited, craning my neck to listen for a faint response. Absolute silence.

  “You should really tell your side of the story,” I offered. “It might make you feel better to get it out there. You know, rip off the Band-Aid and start the healing process.” The words sounded hollow coming from my mouth, but I was desperate.

  “I’ll keep coming back,” I warned, switching to a different tactic. “I’m like the plague. I keep coming back despite the advancements in medical science.”

  Finally I heard the sound of a lock tumbling. I waited with some amount of trepidation as the door slowly cracked open to reveal a petrified-looking brunette. She had big brown eyes with dark circles deepening into pools beneath. Her hair — which I was sure looked lovely under normal circumstances — was oily and pulled back in a haphazard bun. She wore jogging pants, an oversized sweatshirt that hung from her frame and made me wonder if she’d lost weight, and a dour expression.

  “Hey.” I forced a smile even though I had a feeling things were not about to go my way. “I was hoping we could sit down and have a talk.”

  “I have no interest in talking to you.” Her voice was squeaky but firm.

  “I know, but ... .”

  “No interest,” she repeated, gripping the edge of the door so hard her knuckles turned white. “Why can’t you people just leave me alone?”

  “Have more reporters stopped by?” That was disheartening. I thought I was the only one smart enough to tackle this angle. Apparently I was slipping.”

  “Not in weeks ... and I want to keep it that way.”

  Something I couldn’t quite identify lurked in the depths of her sad eyes and it caused sympathy to roll through me. “Listen, I don’t want to make things more difficult for you but it’s important you tell your side of the story. If not, people will assume you have something to hide.”

  “I don’t care what other people think. Not even a little. I especially don’t care what you think.” She forcefully started closing door. “I want to be left alone. Why can’t you people see that? I don’t think I’m asking for too much. I want privacy.”

  “You’re not going to be left alone,” I argued. “You’re too important to the story. I ... .” It was too late. The door slammed in my face. “Ugh.” I rubbed my forehead, frustrated. “You’re seriously delusional if you think that’s going to dissuade me.” I waited even though I understood it was fruitless. “I’ll be back.”

  Slowly, I retreated from the front porch and headed toward my car. “That could’ve gone better,” I muttered to myself.

  ELIOT RAISED HIS EYEBROWS WHEN I trudged back into his office much sooner than expected.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I announced.

  “Fine.” He turned back to his computer. “We’ll leave for the range in an hour. Can you entertain yourself until then or do you need me to take off my shirt and flex?”

  “You’re in a very weird mood.” I huffed and grabbed my computer. “Why is that?”

  “You bring it out in me.”

  “Fair enough.”

  My stomach was growling when Eliot announced it was time for lunch. We opted for Thai because we’d been overloading on greasy coneys for days, and then we headed to the range. I’d only been there once — not long after we met — and our relationship had changed drastically since.

  “Am I undercover while I’m there?” I asked when he pulled into the parking lot. “I mean ... am I supposed to pretend to be someone other than your girlfriend?”

  “While I might find that funny, it would be a wasted effort,” Eliot replied. “Everyone knows you’re my girlfriend. They’ve seen you on television.”

  I brightened. “You have a celebrity girlfriend. You must be the hit of the range.”

  “Mostly they apologize and ask how I manage to keep from killing you.”

  “I’ve wondered that myself.”

  Eliot flashed a laminated card when we got to the front bubble. The door that led to the interior was locked — for obvious reasons — and I was curious when he passed the woman behind the bubble an extra twenty dollars.

  “Thanks, Lorna.” He smiled and winked at her as he shoved his wallet in his back pocket. “I don’t think we’ll be here long.”

  “Yes, well ... .” Lorna had one of those disapproving faces that make lemon juice drinkers jealous. The look she shot me was straight out of a horror movie ... and it almost made me laugh. “Have fun with your training.”

  “I will.” I waited until we were clear of the woman and free of potential eavesdroppers to ask the obvious question. “What training?”

  “I might have lied,” Eliot hedged as he led me toward a bank of lockers on the back wall. “I told the people involved that you needed to learn how to shoot for your safety, that I was very worried, and then I issued a sob story that would’ve made you proud. That means you actually need to fire a gun and act as if I’m training you.”

  The request wasn’t overblown, so I readily agreed. “Okay. Where do we do that?”

  “I have to get my gear from my locker and load the gun.” His eyes were busy as he scanned the aisles. “Mike is over in number two. We’re taking number three. Try not to immediately ask him weird questions because I don’t want to explain what you’re doing.”

  “I’m not a newb.”

  “You’re a newb here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I focused on Baxter while Eliot prepared ... well, whatever he needed to prepare. He was often armed and kept guns in our house, but I paid zero attention to that. When he was ready he led me to the third stall, taking a moment to wave at Mike — and greet him with a hearty handshake — before gesturing to me.

  “This is Avery.” He ran his hand over my back in a protective manner that I found intriguing. “She’s learning how to shoot at my request.”

  “That’s nice.” Baxter beamed at me, showing off two rows of shiny teeth that had to be the result of porcelain veneers. They were almost blinding. “I’ve tried to teach women how to shoot over the years and found them reluctant to the process. Good for you.”

  “She finds trouble,” Eliot explained, brandishing a handgun as he displayed it for Baxter’s perusal. “She bought this a year and a half ago and she still hasn’t learned how to use it. We’re making a concerted effort to change that.”

  I shifted my eyes to the gun in question. “Where did you find that?”

  “What do you mean?” Eliot was confused. “It was in the gun cabinet at the house. I locked it inside because that was the safest thing to do given your sugar binges
.”

  “I thought we couldn’t find that gun,” I argued. “I put it in a cookie jar before we moved and then we misplaced it when we were unpacking.”

  “You misplaced it,” he stressed. “I didn’t misplace anything.”

  “Fine. I misplaced it.” I rolled my eyes. “You obviously found it, though.”

  “I did,” he agreed, tilting his head to the side so his long hair dipped low on his right shoulder. “Do you want to know where?”

  That sounded like a trick question. “I’ll take your word that it was in a great place but you moved it anyway.”

  “It was not in a great place.” He turned stern. “You know that Monster Book of Monsters case you have on the Harry Potter shelf in the basement?”

  Something clicked in my head. “Oh, right. I forgot I put it in there. It seemed like a natural place.”

  “So natural that you forgot.”

  “Yeah, well, nobody is perfect.” I let loose a toothy grin for Baxter’s benefit. “He’s kind of a worrier.”

  “I know.” Baxter was easygoing as he returned the smile. “He talks about you a lot. It might be irritating to have him crowding you, invading your personal space, but it’s nice to be loved. He loves you.”

  Hmm. That was interesting. “You’re saying I should suck it up.”

  He nodded. “Basically, yeah.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I rolled my neck. “Do you have someone who loves you enough to invade your personal space?”

  Instead of immediately responding Baxter turned enigmatic. “Isn’t that the dream for everyone?”

  That wasn’t an answer. I was going to press him further on the issue but Eliot’s hand was firm on the back of my neck as he sent a silent warning. I was allowed in the gun range because he had pulled some strings. I was not allowed to grill other members — even a potential suspect — because it would reflect poorly on Eliot. I was here to observe, nothing more.

  Following rules blows, by the way. I hate it.

  “Well, good shooting,” I offered brightly as I stepped into the other stall with Eliot. “I know I’m looking forward to lessons on how to blow away my enemies with the pull of a trigger.”