avery shaw 08 - misprints & mistakes

by lee, amanda m

  “I forget that you smell a conspiracy around every corner,” Devon said. “What are you going to do on this one?”

  “Find answers,” I replied, casting one more look at the house before heading down the sidewalk.

  “What does that mean?” Devon called to my back.

  There was no way I was going to answer her. If she thought I was going to do her job for her she was even crazier than I initially suspected. I risked a glance at Eliot before turning toward the next block. He was fixated on his laptop but he lifted his head when he felt my eyes on him and waved before turning back to his search. For some reason knowing he was there made me feel … calmer. I wasn’t sure when that turned into a good thing, but it wasn’t something I could obsess about now.

  I slowed my pace when I hit the sidewalk on the next street over. Warren is made up of older neighborhoods. That means most of the yards are tiny and fenced, and many of those are privacy fences. The three homes with back yards that abutted the Jackson property also boasted fences, but only two of them were privacy fences. The house behind and to the east of the Jackson house had a simple chain-link metal fence.

  I glanced around to see if anyone was looking, paying particular attention to the house for movement behind the curtains. After a few minutes I decided no one was there and let myself into the back yard. Technically, I was trespassing. I hoped it wouldn’t become an issue, but if it did, Eliot was close and could bail me out without incident.

  I heard raised voices as I closed in on the back of the fence and crouched lower so I could hear without drawing attention to myself.

  “Why do you keep doing things like this?” It took me a moment to zero in on the location of the voice, but when I did I was almost positive it was the Jackson family’s yard.

  I carefully leaned to my left and frowned when I caught sight of Sandy Jackson. She stood next to a raggedy picnic table, hands on her hips, and yelled at a dejected-looking boy. He looked about eleven or twelve, so I guessed it was Danny Jr. The look of the exchange immediately set my teeth on edge.

  “I didn’t do anything,” Danny said. “I was just … sitting here.”

  “You weren’t just sitting here,” Sandy snapped. “You were ruining my flower garden. Again. If you write ‘loser’ in the mulch one more time … .”

  “I didn’t ruin anything,” Danny protested. “I was just thinking.”

  “I don’t think you’re capable of thinking,” Sandy argued. “Isn’t that why you’ve spent the past two months grounded?”

  I didn’t care how upset Sandy Jackson was., there was no reason to treat a kid that way, especially one worried about his sister. I opened my mouth to say something, and then remembered where I was. Drawing attention to my law-breaking efforts didn’t seem like a good idea.

  “I’m sorry about your stupid garden,” Danny said, hopping to his feet and brushing off the seat of his pants. “I didn’t do anything, though. You don’t need to be such a pain.”

  “Have you ever considered you’re the pain?” Sandy challenged. She didn’t in the slightest resemble the shell-shocked woman panicked about her missing stepkids I met two days earlier.

  “I hate you,” Danny said. “You’re fat, and I wish you were dead.”

  “I hate you right back,” Sandy said. “Now get inside. Your father doesn’t want to risk any of the reporters getting near you.”

  “Why not? They might be able to find Sierra,” Danny said as he allowed Sandy to direct him toward the house. “Of course, you probably don’t want Sierra to be found.”

  “Don’t say stupid things like that,” Sandy said. “I want Sierra found. The faster we find her, the faster you two can go back and live with your mother.”

  “That’s what I want,” Danny said.

  “That’s what we all want,” Sandy shot back, shoving the boy into the house.

  I scratched my neck as I considered the exchange. Sandy seemed mean in general, but it wasn’t as if the kid was a dream to be around. There was a chance the stress was getting to her. There was also a chance she was an evil beast out to pay her rival back by killing her kids. What? I watch a lot of soap operas. That type of stuff happens all the time in Salem and Port Charles.

  I turned to leave the yard, my mind busy with more questions, when a voice intruded on my thoughts.

  “Give me one good reason not to call the cops and report you for trespassing.”

  Well, crap.

  9

  I was in full schmooze mode when I turned, my best “you can trust me” smile plastered on my face. It faded before a word escaped and I realized I was taking on the fiercest foe imaginable. The woman standing in the neighboring yard was dressed in one of those zippered robes. It was pink with orange flowers, and her steel gray hair was wrapped around plastic curlers. This was the second time I’d seen curlers like that in the past few months. Before that, I thought they were extinct.

  Here’s a hard dose of truth: Women don’t like me. I can usually lie to men and get my own way. Age doesn’t matter. Men generally consider me funny enough to let my eccentricities slide. Women are another story. Young women – like teenagers – tend to like me. They think I appear cool and bohemian. Women my own age distance themselves from me because I say embarrassing things and I don’t give a crap what people think about me. Older women, though, they’re the bane of my existence. They see me as something to fear – or outright hate. And really old women? Yeah, they really hate me. For some reason they think I’m out to cast aspersions on their lifestyle. I have no idea why.

  “Why do you have curlers in your hair?” I asked. “Aren’t those things supposed to be gone now?” Okay, maybe I understand why older women don’t like me. That doesn’t mean I necessarily deserve it. Fine. I deserve it.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not your yard,” the woman said. “Not unless old Duke Dobson got himself a younger model when his wife wasn’t looking.”

  If this woman thought Duke was “old” that was probably insulting. “I’m lost,” I said, opting for the most innocuous lie I could think of on the spot.

  “Really? You looked like you knew what you were doing when you were eavesdropping on the neighbors.”

  Well, crap on toast. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was … accidentally listening.”

  “That’s eavesdropping.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree,” I said. “Don’t worry about calling the police, though. I was just leaving.”

  I started to move away but the woman stopped me. “You’re that news reporter,” she said. “The one who always gets in trouble. What’s your name?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

  “Avery Shaw!”

  Of course. Not only do older women hate me, they also apparently know me on sight. Someone must’ve sent out a flyer when I wasn’t looking. This was not going to end well. I could feel it. “Fine. You got me. I’m Avery Shaw. Are you going to call the sheriff’s department and tell them I was eavesdropping on the Jacksons?”

  The woman’s face was unreadable. “Why would I do that?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Marilyn Wix.”

  “Well, Marilyn Wix, how did you recognize me?” I asked.

  “Honey, your face has been on the nightly news more times than that councilman who took off after molesting those boys,” Marilyn replied.

  That was a disheartening – and sobering – thought. “I wanted to see if I could hear something about the missing girl,” I admitted. I figured the woman already knew what I was doing here. Maybe if I owned up she would respect me for telling the truth. If not, I could confuse her and make a break for it. “Do you know anything about the Jacksons?”

  “I do,” Marilyn said, seemingly unbothered by my admission. “I know they do trashy things and the Lord isn’t happy.”

  Oh, well, this conversat
ion couldn’t possibly be going to a good place. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t yield good information. “I understand that Daniel Jackson cheated on his wife with his high school sweetheart and ended up marrying her.”

  “The whole thing was a scandal,” Marilyn said, warming to her story. “It was the talk of the neighborhood for months.”

  “How so?”

  “Sandy was married to her first husband – his name was Hector, if you’re interested – up until about a year and a half ago,” Marilyn explained. “Their teenage daughter came home knocked up by a colored man.”

  I internally cringed. “Colored? What color was he?”

  Marilyn missed my sarcasm. “Black.”

  “Uh-huh. What does that have to do with the story?”

  “Hector said he wasn’t going to play grandpa to some mixed-race baby, so he split and Sandy was alone,” Marilyn answered. “She was depressed and put on a bunch of weight. Then all of sudden she started walking around the neighborhood and trying to lose weight. We figured it was because she was looking for a man. That’s when Daniel showed up.”

  “Did you know he was married when he first started visiting?”

  Marilyn shook her head. “They were pretty quiet those first few weeks,” she said. “There were a lot of dinners and coffees. Sandy seemed liked she was always in a good mood. Then Daniel’s truck started showing up in the driveway all night. I’m sure you know the drill. You look like you know the drill, at least.”

  “That’s possibly very flattering,” I deadpanned. “When did you find out Daniel was married?”

  “When his wife showed up and dragged Sandy out of her house by her hair,” Marilyn replied. “Sandy was in that lace underwear that don’t have a crotch and the wife was yanking for everything she was worth. Everyone thought it was a normal romance before that. Sandy told everyone she hooked up with Daniel on the computer and they reconnected. She said it was meant to be.

  “Then the wife shows up and picks a fight, the cops are called and the next thing we know Daniel is moving in with Sandy,” she continued. “Sandy didn’t really talk about the divorce much other than to make sure we knew Daniel was done with the marriage before they hooked up. She seemed adamant that we know that.”

  “How does that work if the first wife picked a fight with Sandy?”

  “You’ll have to ask her that,” Marilyn said. “Daniel moved in, and then a couple months ago they announced they were married.”

  That was interesting. “They didn’t have a big wedding?”

  Marilyn shook her head. “They kept it under the radar. Rumor is they did it at the courthouse.”

  I tilted my head to the side, considering. “If it was true love like they told everyone, why wouldn’t they want to celebrate?”

  “That’s a pretty good question,” Marilyn said. “I don’t know why, and Sandy isn’t talking. Trust me. We’ve all tried to butter her biscuit for answers. This is a gossipy neighborhood.”

  Those were my favorite kind of neighborhoods. “Tell me about the kids,” I prodded. “How often do you see them?”

  “Not often at all,” Marilyn said. “In fact, this is the first time the kids have been here since they got married. The first wife moved south, and the kids have very little contact with their father.”

  One of the great things about older women is that they know all the juicy gossip. “When you say the first wife moved south, does that mean she moved to Monroe or Florida?”

  Marilyn shrugged. “I know she’s not in Michigan, but I have no idea where she lives now,” she replied. “I know that Daniel went to court to get visitation even though the kids refuse to talk to him on the phone. The judge sided with him and said that the kids had to spend their spring break at his house. I don’t believe it went over well.”

  “I heard Sandy talking to the boy,” I said. “She wasn’t very nice to him.”

  “I’m not making excuses for Sandy, but those kids have been pretty horrible to her,” Marilyn said. “They’ve written ‘whore’ on the garage door in marker, ‘loser’ in the mulch and there was some incident with sidewalk chalk and the words ‘fat ass bitch.’ My understanding is that the mother told them they didn’t have to respect Sandy and encouraged them to do awful things to her. That’s coming from Sandy, mind you, so I’m not sure it’s true.”

  “Do you think Sandy hates the kids enough to do something to them?” I asked.

  “Before Daniel, I would’ve said Sandy was a great woman doing her best in a hard situation,” Marilyn said. “Now I don’t know. When I was growing up there was a name for a woman who went after another woman’s husband, and no matter what Sandy says, we all know she broke up Daniel’s marriage.

  “Now, Sandy may be right and Daniel was extremely unhappy,” she continued. “She still should’ve waited until he was divorced.”

  “That’s very interesting,” I said. “Do you know if the mother is back in town?”

  “If she is, she hasn’t been here,” Marilyn said. “Daniel and Sandy have been holed up in the house not talking to anyone. They’ve been screaming at each other when they think no one is listening, though.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I accidentally listened, just like you,” Marilyn said, her eyes twinkling.

  “Just for curiosity’s sake, why did you tell me all of this?” I asked. “I thought for sure you were going to call the police.”

  “I’ve seen you on television,” Marilyn said. “You’re a mouthy thing, but you always seem to find answers. I don’t care about Sandy and Daniel’s issues. I do care about that girl being found. It’s not her fault the adults in her life are screwed up.”

  “I agree,” I said. I reached into my purse and rummaged around until I came up with a business card. “I have to run. There are some things I want to check out. If you hear anything good, please give me a call.”

  Marilyn took the card. “Next time knock on my door and don’t trespass on the neighbor’s property,” she said. “It’s unseemly.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  ELIOT was still working when I hopped into his truck ten minutes later.

  “Did you find anything?”

  He lifted his chocolate eyes and scanned me for injuries, and then returned to his task. “There’s some interesting stuff here,” he said. “I’m trying to wade through it. What about you?”

  “I got tons of interesting stuff,” I said. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “What did you and Devon say to each other?” Eliot asked. “Are you at war with her again?”

  I scowled. “Who cares about Devon?”

  “Derrick does,” Eliot replied. “You care about Derrick, so you also care about her in a roundabout way. What did you say to her?”

  “I only asked whether anyone had been out of the house, and then we discussed how weird the situation was,” I replied. “She didn’t seem to think it was weird, so I left her standing in front of the house and sneaked onto the neighbor’s property around back to see if I could get a look in the Jacksons’ yard.”

  “That sounds safe,” Eliot said. “Did you find anything?”

  “It’s me. Of course I found something.”

  “I forgot how amazing you are when you have a case you can’t let go of,” Eliot said. “What did you find?”

  I told him about Sandy’s meltdown with Danny and my talk with Marilyn. When I was done, all Eliot could do was chuckle and shake his head.

  “What?”

  “It’s just that you’re unbelievable,” Eliot said. “You managed to turn something that should’ve blown up in your face into legitimate information. You constantly amaze me.”

  “That boosts my ego more if I’m naked when you tell me it,” I teased.

  “Ha, ha,” Eliot intoned, reaching over to pinch my cheek and give it a playful jiggle. “Where do you want to focus next?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “I rarely do,” Eliot
said. “That’s not going to stop me from helping you.”

  “I need to talk to the mother,” I said. “Apparently she and Sandy had actual physical altercations, and if the neighbor is to be believed, the mother instructed the kids to act up in an attempt to make Sandy kick them out of the house for good.”

  “I don’t know any father who would pick a wife over his kids,” Eliot said.

  “It sounds like Daniel already did pick his second wife over his kids,” I said. “I need to get to Sierra’s mother first. I don’t have a name, though.”

  “I guess it’s lucky you have me then.”

  I brightened at the news. “Do you have a name?”

  Eliot tapped his cheek to encourage a kiss. “You’ve got a tab to keep up with.”

  I made a disgusted sound in the back of my throat but leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “What do you have?”

  “Bridget Jackson went back to her maiden name of Dalton after the divorce, although she still goes by Jackson on some financial documents. I’m still trying to figure all of that out,” Eliot supplied, tapping his cheek again. I obediently leaned in and gave him another kiss. The smile on his face told me he was enjoying himself far too much. “She said some really horrible things about her husband in the divorce documents. You need to read that for yourself, though, because it’s quite entertaining. I only managed to get the abbreviated version, too. There’s probably other information out there if we dig.

  “After the divorce she packed the kids up and moved to Ohio to be close to her parents,” he continued. “She fought visitation on the grounds that her husband was a sexual deviant and the moral compass in his new home pointed nowhere good. The judge declined and ordered the kids here for spring break.”

  “Marilyn told me a lot of that,” I said.

  “Did Marilyn tell you that Bridget Dalton used her credit card to reserve a room at the Mount Clemens Best Western and she’s due to arrive today?” Eliot challenged.

  “No. You’ve officially earned your fee, though.” I grabbed his cheeks and smacked a loud kiss on him, causing him to smirk. “What time?”