Sandra emphatically shook her head.
“I’m not a prude,” I said. “Don’t you see my shirt?” I gestured to my Mace Windu T-shirt, pulling my coat back so they could read the words: The Force M#%F&@$R. Do you sense it?
“Is that your gang affiliation?” Tina asked.
“I … yes.” Admitting what it really was would hurt my street cred with these two.
“That don’t mean you’re not a prude, hon,” Sandra said. “What’s in this box has nothing to do with gangs.”
“What does it have to do with then?” I asked, struggling to tamp down my irritation.
“Sex,” Tina said, sipping her breakfast Popov vodka martini and fixing me with a hard look.
I looked into the box again, the hodgepodge of items throwing me for a loop. I honestly didn’t know what I was supposed to be seeing. “Can’t you just … I don’t know … sum it up for me?”
“Not sure I’m comfortable with that, hon,” Tina said. “The cops will come by and arrest me for polluting the mind of a prude.”
“I am not a prude,” I snapped, cracking my neck as I considered my options. I kept my gaze on Tina as I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and started punching buttons. “I’ll show you how happening I am,” I said. “I’ll have an expert here in ten minutes and she’ll verify I’m not a prude.”
Tina and Sandra didn’t look convinced.
When the voice answered, I didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “I need you to come and explain some funky sex gadgets to me right now.”
“I’m on my way!”
“YOU bring me to the nicest places,” Lexie said dryly as she trudged up the driveway fifteen minutes later. “Why are we here?”
“This is Adam Grisham’s rental house.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“He’s the guy whose wife was dumped in that Warren parking lot,” I said. “Don’t you read anything I write?”
“I have better things to do than read the newspaper,” Lexie said. She glanced at Tina and Sandra. “Who are these guys?”
I introduced the two women. “Tina shows possible renters the house when Adam isn’t around,” I said, ignoring the fact that Grisham had changed the locks. “She thought I should see what’s in this box, but … .”
“Your friend don’t know what she’s looking at and she’s too much of a prude for me to explain it to her, hon,” Tina supplied.
Lexie snorted. “She’s not a prude.”
“Thank you.”
“She’s just judgmental,” Lexie said. “She can’t help herself. She was born that way.”
“I am not judgmental,” I argued. “I don’t even know what this stuff is yet. I can’t possibly judge someone who uses it until I know what I’m looking at.”
“Fine,” Lexie said, blowing out an exasperated sigh and shuffling forward and rummaging through the box. “Okay … um … these are your standard love cuffs. They’re purple and have some sort of … feathers on them.”
I made a face. “Thanks. I could’ve guessed what those were.”
“You asked me to come here,” Lexie reminded me. “I dropped everything to do you a favor. You could at least be nice to me.”
“What were you doing that was such a hardship to drop?” I challenged.
“If you must know … Oxygen was running a marathon of America’s Next Top Model,” Lexie said, refusing to be embarrassed. “I like the earlier seasons.”
“There is something therapeutic about watching a grown woman fall apart because she has to get a haircut,” I agreed. “It’s too bad that show fell apart.”
“Yeah, well … oh, wow … I thought these were only for hardcore studs,” Lexie said, holding up a white ring that looked as though it was made from molded jelly.
“What is that?”
“It’s a vibrating ring,” Lexie said. “It’s for guys who … hold on a little too long.”
I considered what she was saying and made a face. “Gross.”
“And that is for when the guy you’re with is … um … tiny,” Lexie said, pointing and refusing to touch the C-shaped object.
“I don’t get it.”
“You probably don’t need it then,” Lexie said.
“You have some of your standard equipment in here, too,” Lexie said. “Those are nipple clamps, that’s a ball gag and … oh … that’s a flogger.”
“Do I even want to know?” I was starting to get grossed out.
“You’re too much of a prude to know,” Lexie replied, her gaze busy.
I decided to believe her. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to a black rope harness that looked as though it needed a horse to work properly.
“That’s so … um … do you really need to know?” Lexie shifted uncomfortably.
“Yes.”
“That’s so a dude can fasten a woman’s knees to her elbows,” Lexie explained.
“How does that get him anywhere?” I asked. I was beyond confused.
“I can tell you’re picturing it wrong,” Lexie said. “Try imaging the woman on her back and her knees being fastened to her shoulders and elbows.”
“Oh. Oh! So this is used to make sure she can’t move?” I asked, jumping from confused to disgusted.
“Pretty much,” Lexie said. “Once you’re in one of these things … good luck getting out.”
I cast a suspicious look in their direction as Sandra and Tina nodded knowingly.
“You tell her, hon,” Tina said, draining the rest of her drink.
“Did a good job educatin’ the prude,” Sandra said.
This “prude” stuff was getting old. “Why would Adam Grisham keep his freaky fetish stuff here? Why not keep it at home?”
“Maybe he didn’t want his wife to know,” Lexie suggested. “Maybe the wife didn’t want to play this particular game.”
“Bet that’s why he killed her,” Sandra posited.
It sounded preposterous and yet … . “Why not just divorce her?” I asked. I wasn’t expecting an answer. It was more like I was rolling the idea around in my head so I could figure it out myself.
“Maybe he didn’t want to give her any money in a divorce,” Lexie said.
“Men are cheap, hon,” Sandra added.
“Witnesses described a different man leaving the parking lot,” I said. “If Adam Grisham had a hand in his wife’s death, he paid someone to carry out the crime. Wouldn’t it be less expensive – and less risky – to simply divorce her?”
“You’re asking me?” Lexie was incredulous. “How should I know?”
“You know what all of this stuff is,” I said, gesturing toward the box. “How do you know what it is, by the way?”
“I’ve lived a colorful life,” Lexie said, refusing to fall prey to my baiting. “Tell me about the guy the witnesses described. Does he look like anyone you know?”
“I don’t hang around with a lot of contract killers,” I said, digging into my pocket for the folded-up sketch and handing it to Lexie. “He looks like a dirtbag.”
Lexie unfolded the paper and studied it for a moment, her eyes widening as she took in the flat features and bushy eyebrows. “I think I know who this is.”
“What?” What are the odds? “Who is it?”
“I can’t be one-hundred percent sure … although I’m pretty dang sure … but I think this is Leo Putnam,” Lexie said.
“Who is Leo Putnam?” The name meant absolutely nothing to me.
“He’s this guy I used to burn … I mean hang out with … down in Chene Park when I lived in Detroit,” Lexie said, averting her eyes.
I knew what that meant. “Did you buy pot from him or share it with him?” I asked.
“I might have bought a dime bag or two from him,” Lexie hedged. “He’s not a big dealer. He’s penny ante. He never had more than an ounce on him at one time.”
I rubbed the spot between my eyebrows, my mind busy with the possibilities. “What else do you know about this g
uy? Did he have a family? Did he have a car? Did he steal cars?”
“Just because he smoked pot doesn’t mean he was a thief,” Lexie snapped. “See … you are judgmental.”
I couldn’t argue with that point. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“It’s been almost a year,” Lexie said. “Leo is a good guy. He wouldn’t kill anyone. I know him. He doesn’t have it in him. He didn’t have a family as far as I know and he always kept to himself. He’s no killer, I’m sure of it.”
Somehow trusting Lexie’s former pot buddy wasn’t high on my to-do list. “We should go,” I said, moving toward the driveway. “Tina, you and Sandra need to keep your mouths shut about what we found for now.”
“Wait,” Sandra said. “You said I was gonna be in the newspaper.”
“You will,” I promised. “Just as soon as I know what’s going on you’re going to be on the front page of the newspaper.” What? I was going to need someone other than Lexie to explain the freaky sex stuff to The Monitor’s readers in terms they could understand. Sandra seemed the perfect patsy to me.
Fifteen
I needed help.
I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Annoyed would be the more apt description. I hated knowing that I needed someone else’s expertise to help me perform my job.
Sure, I could try to track down Leo Putnam on my own. I would probably find him … eventually. I needed Eliot to do it quickly, though. As far as I knew, I was the only one on the right track regarding Julia Grisham’s murder. I wanted it to stay that way.
Eliot was working at the sheriff’s department and that was the direction I pointed my car after leaving Grisham’s garage. I parked in front of the brick building, debating one more time whether I should annoy Eliot into helping me now or try to bribe him with sex later, and then gave in to my baser instincts. Instant gratification has always been good to me. Why change now?
I was glad to find two different deputies in the protective bubble when I walked into the lobby, but I didn’t recognize either of them. I was still debating which way to play my approach when I felt someone move to my side.
“What are you doing here?” Jake asked, his brown eyes narrowing when I turned to face him.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” I grumbled.
“It’s nice to see you, Avery,” Jake said. “What are you doing here?”
Jake knows when I’m lying. He’s heard me tell some whoppers over the years. That wasn’t going to be an option. Random deputies I could snow. Jake Farrell was another story. “I need to see Eliot. He’s here, right?”
“He is,” Jake said, furrowing his brow. “Why do you need to see him right now?”
“I … .” Crap! “I need his help for a story I’m working on,” I said.
“What story?”
“What does it matter?”
“Tell me what story you need his help with and maybe I’ll take you to him,” Jake offered.
“I need him to find someone with his fancy-schmancy computer equipment,” I said. “I’m not telling you what story it’s for.”
“Is it for Julia Grisham’s murder?”
I shrugged, refusing to answer.
“Is it for your vendetta against Tad Ludington?” Jake pressed.
I shrugged again.
Jake hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned back, running his tongue over his teeth as he regarded me. I was starting to feel uncomfortable. “Fine. I’m going to take you to him.”
Now I was suspicious. “Why?”
“Because you were nice to Cara and agreed to a spa day,” Jake replied, nonplussed. “Thank you for that, by the way. I can’t tell you how much I’m dreading the idea of you and your mouth spending an entire afternoon with my girlfriend.”
“It’s not my fault,” I protested. “She ambushed me in the parking lot. I thought you would be angrier if I said no.”
“You couldn’t come up with an excuse?”
“I tried.”
“Whatever,” Jake muttered. “Come on. I’ll take you to Eliot.”
“I thought you were ticked off at me,” I said, falling into step next to him as we headed toward the security door that led to the department’s inner sanctum.
“I’m always ticked off at you,” Jake said. “In this situation, though, I genuinely don’t know what to do.”
“Maybe you should stop dating crazy chicks,” I suggested.
“If that’s going to be the rule then I should’ve started following it in high school,” Jake shot back, his eyes twinkling. “Come on.”
Jake led me down the long hallway, not stopping until we were in the media room where most of the news conferences were held. Eliot sat at one of the tables, intent on a computer screen, and he didn’t glance up when we entered.
“I found something troublesome for you,” Jake said.
Eliot tore his gaze from the screen and frowned when he saw me. “You’re not under arrest, are you?”
I’m pretty sure that was an insult. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because I’ve met you.”
“She’s not under arrest,” Jake said. “Well … she’s not under arrest right now. I’m not going to make promises about the rest of the week.”
“What’s up?” Eliot asked. “Did you miss me so much you came to buy me lunch?”
“Absolutely,” I said, nodding my head enthusiastically. “We should eat now so you can get back to work.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the door so he would know I was anxious to get him alone.
“What is that? Did you throw your neck out doing something stupid?” Eliot didn’t move from his chair.
Jake snorted. “She wants help on a story, but she won’t tell me which one,” he said. “She’s either got a lead on bringing down Ludington or she’s up to something on the Grisham story. Both options are giving me heartburn.”
Eliot narrowed his eyes. “Is that true?”
“That Jake has heartburn? I have no idea.” Jake’s refusal to leave Eliot and me alone was starting to grate.
“What’s going on in here?” Derrick asked, popping in from the hallway, a half-eaten apple in his hand.
If I thought I was riding high on the luck rocket earlier it was quickly tumbling to Earth now. “Are you engaged yet?”
“You shut your mouth,” Derrick warned, extending a finger in my direction. “I’ll lock you up if you tell anyone what you know.”
“What do you know?” Jake asked curiously. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him lock you up.”
I considered blabbing Derrick’s secret but ultimately thought better of it. “Derrick is having a rough week.”
“Who isn’t?” Jake asked, sliding onto one of the chairs and leaning back so he could study the ceiling. “I still don’t think you and Cara going to a spa together is a good idea.”
“That’s a horrible idea,” Derrick agreed, taking the chair next to him. “Avery will be a bad influence on her. Look what she’s done to Eliot.”
I glanced at Eliot for help but he didn’t look as though he was about to jump to his feet and fight for my honor. Instead he shot me a rueful smile. “I think you’ve been a great influence on me, Trouble.”
“You all suck monkey balls,” I grumbled.
“What’s wrong with you?” Derrick asked. “You look as if someone peed in your Fruity Pebbles this morning.”
“Hah! That shows what you know,” I said. “Eliot made me an omelet.”
Jake and Derrick shifted their eyes to Eliot.
“You cooked her breakfast?” Jake asked. “Why?”
“She’s crabby if I don’t fill her with food,” Eliot replied. “She’s not going to cook, and I don’t like Fruity Pebbles.”
“I thought you were going grocery shopping,” I challenged.
“I did. Don’t you ever look in the refrigerator?”
Not really. “Don’t you two have something better to do than hover over Eliot?” I asked Jake and Derrick pointedly. “He�
�s working very hard and you’re distracting him.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with him until you tell me what story you’re working on,” Jake said. “Whatever you’ve got going is big enough for you to risk tracking Eliot down here. I’m dying to hear what it is.”
He wasn’t the only one dying. “I’m not telling you what I’m working on.”
“Then I’m not leaving,” Jake shot back.
I shifted my attention to Eliot. “I will buy you a huge lunch if you come with me right now.”
“That’s tempting,” Eliot said. “I’m in the middle of an upgrade, though, and I can’t leave until it’s done.”
“How long will that be?”
“At least a half hour.”
Crap on toast. I pursed my lips as I rubbed the back of my neck. I was stuck until Eliot could help me and I couldn’t tell Jake and Derrick what I was working on because then they would swoop in and ruin my scoop. For lack of a better tactic, I dramatically threw myself in the chair next to Jake and let loose a pathetic sigh. “This afternoon is starting to suck.”
“That’s a nice shirt,” Jake said, studying my tee with unveiled interest. “I can’t believe Fish lets you wear that out on stories.”
“I’m not going into the office today,” I said. “Fish won’t see it.”
“That explains that,” Jake said. “Where did you even get that thing?”
“I bought it for her,” Eliot answered, smirking. “I keep finding these odd Star Wars shirts and she’s the only one I know who will wear them. I keep thinking I’ll find one that even she won’t wear, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“I particularly liked the ‘Jedi on the streets, Sith in the sheets’ shirt you got her that she wore to family dinner,” Derrick said. “It was all kinds of awesome. I thought her mom’s head was going to explode.”
“The power of the Sith at work,” Jake teased.
This was starting to get old. “Don’t you two have skateboarding teens to hassle? Graffiti artists to chase?”
Headlines & Deadlines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 7) Page 12
