“Is it necessary for me to stick with you because you might get arrested otherwise? Yes.”
He was starting to irritate me. But because he was my best weapon – and most loyal asset – I had to keep my mouth shut. Believe me, it wasn’t easy.
“Tell me again what we’re doing here,” Eliot said, following me toward the media throng camped outside the Grisham residence. “Do you really expect him to come out and talk to you?”
“No.”
“Why did we have to come here then?”
“I’m curious about what’s going on,” I said. “No one made you come. You’re stuck now, though. You insisted on driving … .”
“Because you drive like an idiot.”
“… and I have no way home without you,” I finished, opting to ignore his driving rebuke.
“I don’t understand you sometimes,” Eliot said. “You know you’re not going to get anything but attitude from the other media people here and yet … huh. That’s why you wanted to come, isn’t it? You’re in the mood to fight and you’re afraid to do it with me.”
“I’m not in the mood to fight,” I said. “I’m in the mood to … argue loudly.”
“You were all geared up to fight with your mother last night and it was a bit of a letdown when she didn’t show. Admit it.”
“I will admit nothing of the sort,” I scoffed. “I … do you think she’ll ever talk to me again?”
Eliot snorted. “I think you’re a righteous pain in the ass and no matter how angry she is she won’t be able to stop talking to you forever. If you ask me – and I know you haven’t – you dodged a bullet last night. By next week she’ll have something else to be ticked off about and the arrest will get only passing mention.”
“What do you think she’ll be ticked off about next week?”
“Whatever you do this week,” Eliot said. “Is it normal for this many people to be standing around in the cold on a weekend? I know they’re reporters and that means they’re supposed to be dedicated to their jobs, but this is ridiculous.”
“The sex aspect amps up the story,” I explained, scanning the crowd to see who was representing The Monitor. I made a face when I recognized Danny Markham. He was a beat reporter without much drive. Since there was no way Grisham was going to come outside to talk, I wasn’t overly bothered by his presence. “Most readers like to pretend they like good, heartwarming stories that tug at the tear ducts but the truth is that they want to read about the sordid details of other people’s lives. It’s human nature.”
“It probably doesn’t hurt that the sex in this case is a little … freaky.”
“Probably not,” I agreed.
“Well, well, well, if I didn’t see it with my own eyes I wouldn’t believe it. Avery Shaw, as I live in breathe. I can’t believe you’re back on the job after your harrowing jail mishap.”
I kept my smile in place as I regarded Roger Woodbury. He was a Channel 7 hack with perfect hair and teeth and no work ethic. He was the type who wanted the story to come to him because he was too lazy to go looking for the story. That was true of a most television reporters, but it particularly grated me when I was dealing with him. “Roger.”
“Who is your friend? Is he your bodyguard?”
“He is,” I replied, not missing a beat. “I heard there were a few shiftless losers hanging around here and I didn’t want to catch whatever you have and become a lazy layabout.”
“Nice one, Trouble,” Eliot muttered under his breath.
“Thank you.” I faked a wide smile for Roger’s benefit. “How is the hunt for an interview with Adam Grisham going?”
“Thanks to you, it’s not going well at all,” said Sydney Port, Channel 2’s weekend distraction. She was all legs and boobs.
“How is it my fault that you guys can’t sniff out the story?”
“You didn’t sniff out the story,” Roger argued. “We all know Farrell gave it to you because he wanted to make Ludington look bad.”
That was a new one. “Jake doesn’t have to do anything to make Tad look bad,” I said. “Tad does that all by himself.”
“I happen to think he’s a great man,” Roger said.
“You would.”
“We’re sitting down for an interview this afternoon,” Roger said. “I can’t wait to hear what he has to say about your situation.”
“Me either,” I deadpanned. “Has anyone seen Grisham since the story broke?”
“No. He’s holed up in the house. We’ve seen the kids a few times, but all they do is shoot us the finger and leave. I have no idea where they’re going.”
Grisham going into hiding wasn’t a surprise. “Is his reward still on the table?”
“As far as I know,” Roger said, shrugging. “Did you come out here because you think you’re somehow going to schmooze him into an interview? Let me tell you something, honey, that’s not going to happen. I can pretty much guarantee you’re his least favorite person in the world right now.”
“I hold out hope that those terrorists in the Middle East still get top billing,” I replied. “Do you guys have people here twenty-four hours a day?”
“We’re taking shifts,” Roger said. “Everyone expects Grisham to make a statement eventually. No one wants to miss it.”
“You mean everyone doesn’t want to get scooped again,” I corrected. I tugged on Eliot’s coat. “We’re done here.”
“That’s it? You made me leave the warm house for that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to make your rub me for three hours straight when we get back,” Eliot snapped.
“It sounds like Grisham isn’t the only one into the kinky stuff,” Roger teased.
“I was talking about a massage,” Eliot shot back.
“If you say so.”
Roger really was insufferable. “Come on,” I said, pulling on Eliot’s arm. “We’re done here. I’ll buy you a hot chocolate and pay for whatever you want for lunch on the way home.”
“What if I want lobster?”
“If you can find a place that does takeout lobster I’m willing to pay for it,” I offered.
“Twenty bucks says I can find a place.”
“Done.”
“YOU lied to me.” Eliot’s hands were on his hips and the look on his face was far from affection. “You said we were going home.”
“Technically I said we were leaving and I would buy you hot chocolate and lunch on the way home,” I corrected. “That’s not a lie.”
“How is this home?” Eliot was starting to get shrill.
“I only want to see whether I can find any neighbors outside,” I said. “It will take five minutes. I didn’t tell you what I had planned because I didn’t want the other reporters to follow us.”
“The neighbors are back that way,” Eliot said, pointing toward the corner we’d rounded minutes before. “Why are we here if the people you want to talk to are back there?”
“Those are neighbors annoyed with the constant media presence on their street,” I said. “These are neighbors who haven’t had to deal with it because their property backs up to the Grisham property and isn’t immediately adjacent to it.”
Realization dawned on Eliot. “Oh … you’re smarter than you look.”
“I have my moments,” I agreed.
“This was your plan all along. You didn’t care about Grisham or fighting with the other media – although arguing with that television douche did put a little spring in your step. Are you going to knock on doors?”
“Not if I can help it,” I said, my eyes landing on a woman walking her teacup-sized dog across the street. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay here, can I?”
Eliot considered the question. “She doesn’t look dangerous. I think you can take a soccer mom if it comes to it.”
Something he said triggered a memory. “Actually, on second thought, I want you to come with me,” I said.
“That was a quick shift.”
�
��Women like you better than they like me,” I said. “She’ll be more willing to talk if you’re with me – especially if you flirt.”
“You want me to hit on another woman in front of you?” Eliot looked dubious. “Why do I think this is a trap?”
“I don’t want you to hit on her,” I clarified. “I want you to smile in a way that makes her think you’re attracted to her. Don’t really be attracted to her, though. I won’t like that.”
“I think I can keep the rules straight,” Eliot deadpanned. “Can we hurry this along? I’m dying for that lobster you promised.”
We approached the woman with wide smiles. She appeared tentative at first, but Eliot’s presence was enough to shift her demeanor. “Are you lost?” she asked.
“We’re actually looking for someone who knew Julia Grisham,” I said.
The woman’s smile faltered. “Are you with the press?”
“I’m with The Monitor,” I said. “This is my … friend. He’s here because he loves being in the thick of the action.”
“You’re Avery Shaw,” the woman said, her eyes brightening. “You’re the reporter they threw in jail because you refused to reveal your sources.”
“I am.”
“That was really cool.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Shannon Mulberry.” The woman introduced herself, shaking both of our hands but lingering with Eliot’s a moment longer than necessary. “I live right behind the Grisham house.” I was sure the smile she sent Eliot was meant to be enigmatic. I found it funny. He has a certain effect on women. Yes, I’m including myself in that observation.
“How well did you know Julia?” I asked.
“Fairly well,” Shannon said. “We were in a book club together.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “How often does the club meet?”
“Once a month.”
“What book did you read last?”
Eliot shot me a quizzical look, surprised by the question. “It was a mystery about a woman on a train.”
“Did Julia like to read?” I asked.
“She was an academic,” Shannon said. “She loved to read. I was worried about asking her to join the group because we’re more into romance than history or anything … but she was game. She loved the group.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “I … .”
“If you like history I like history, too,” Shannon said to Eliot.
Eliot pressed his lips together. “I’m more of a fishing magazine type.”
“I like that, too.”
“Awesome,” Eliot said, casting a “hurry up and finish this” look in my direction.
“When was the last time you saw Julia?” I asked, drawing Shannon’s attention back to me.
“I guess it was about three days before she died.”
“Did she seem upset?”
“She seemed … distant,” Shannon replied. “She’s been dealing with a lot.”
“Like what?” I asked, intrigued.
“Well … her job was no picnic,” Shannon said. “She worked about fifty hours a week. I think some of that was because she didn’t want to go home. Adam was difficult to live with.”
“Did you know about the sex club?” Eliot asked, stealing my thunder.
“No.” Shannon vigorously shook her head. “That really surprised me. I mean … I knew he got around … but to go to a sex club like that? Julia must have been mortified.”
“He got around?” I asked.
“I don’t want to be in the newspaper,” Shannon cautioned.
I held up my hand to placate her. “You don’t have to be. I’m only looking for answers. I think Julia deserves them.” That might have been laying it on too thick.
“Adam has a wandering eye,” Shannon said. “He’s had at least three affairs that I’ve heard about over the past five years. Julia knew about them, but she ignored them because she didn’t want to go through a divorce. She thought it would be too hard on the kids.”
“What changed?”
“Well … Adam started having an affair with someone Julia knew,” Shannon said. “It wasn’t a normal affair, either. He was making noises about wanting a divorce because he wanted to marry this other woman.”
This story kept getting better and better – well, unless you were Julia Grisham, that is. “Who was he having an affair with?”
“Julia’s co-worker,” Shannon said. “Her name is Amber Davenport and, no, I’m not sorry I’m telling you this. Julia is dead and Adam is getting the attention he deserves. Amber betrayed her friend and she’s sitting pretty without anyone knowing who she is.”
“Do you know how long this affair was going on?” I asked.
“Almost a year.”
I rolled my neck, cracking it as I tried to decide whether I had any other questions. “Did you ever see a homeless gentleman at the Grisham house?”
“Not at the house,” Shannon said. “Julia told me about helping a man with lunch a few times a week. She never told me his name. Do you think he had something to do with Julia’s death?”
“I think there’s a lot left to sort out,” I said. “Thank you so much for your time. You’ve been … invaluable.”
Twenty-Three
“What do you think?” I asked, studying the nondescript administration building on the Detroit College of Business campus from the confines of Eliot’s truck an hour later.
“I think you promised to buy me dinner and I’m going to have to cook if I want to eat,” Eliot replied, nonplussed. “Why are we here on a Saturday? No one is going to be on a college campus on a Saturday.”
“That shows what you know,” I said, pointing to the lone car in the parking lot. “Someone is clearly here.”
“How do you know that person is going to know Julia Grisham?”
“I’m playing a hunch.”
“Why can’t this hunch wait until Monday?” Eliot pressed.
“On Monday there’s going to be another news conference and I won’t have time to track this down,” I said. “Besides, if I can track down Amber Davenport today I’m going to have a huge story for tomorrow’s edition.”
“Other than Sunday being the highest circulation day for the newspaper, why else does this have to happen today?” Eliot asked.
“Because if I come up with a huge story then Tad is going to be bumped down again on the television broadcasts tomorrow,” I replied honestly. “You heard Roger. He has an interview with Tad this afternoon. Tad scheduled it to get optimum play on Sunday morning news programs.”
“And if you break the story that Grisham was having an affair you’re going to blow him out of the water,” Eliot supplied.
“I know you think it’s juvenile, but … I have to beat him.”
“I do think it’s juvenile,” Eliot said. “I also want you to beat him.” He pocketed his keys. “Come on. Let’s make Tad Ludington wish you’d never been born.”
“Oh, I crossed that threshold years ago.”
“Let’s make him wish he’d never been born, then,” Eliot suggested.
“You’re my favorite person in the world right now.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Eliot said. “Come on. If we’re going to spend the day working then I want you to come up with the story to end all stories.”
“Okay, now you’re really my favorite person in the world,” I enthused.
“Don’t press your luck, Avery. My patience is going to last only so long.”
THE LONE person in the administration building was a perky secretary with dark hair and black track pants. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she seemed intent on whatever she was working on. She’d left the front door of the building open, probably figuring no one would dare enter on a weekend, and she was lost in thought when Eliot and I approached.
I cleared my throat to get her attention, causing her to jump.
“Omigod! You’re not supposed to be in here.”
I glanced at the nameplate on her
desk. “You’re Cherish Hanson, right?”
“I … how did you know that?”
“My name is Avery Shaw,” I said. “This is Eliot Kane. We’re here to ask some questions about Julia Grisham.”
“The police have already been here,” Cherish said.
“Did you talk with them?”
“No. They didn’t seem interested in what I had to say.”
The sheriff’s department’s loss was about to be my incredible gain. I could feel it. “I’m interested.”
“Who are you?”
Finally! Someone who didn’t know who I was. Wait … is that a good thing? “I’m a reporter with The Monitor.”
“I don’t want my name in the paper,” Cherish said hurriedly. “I could get fired for that.”
“Your name doesn’t have to be in the paper,” I said. “I’m just looking for … confirmation … on a rumor I heard. You don’t have to be in the paper. I promise. I’m looking for information and I’m guessing you have some that might be helpful.”
“What makes you say that?” Cherish asked, her gaze mostly remaining on Eliot and only occasionally darting back to me. “I mean … what makes you think I have information?”
“The secretary is always the smartest one in the room,” I said. “She’s always the one with the best information.”
Cherish bit her bottom lip. “Well, that is true.”
“We won’t take much of your time,” Eliot promised.
“Okay,” Cherish said, beaming at Eliot. “What do you want to know?”
After settling in one of the chairs across from Cherish’s desk I delved right into the thick of things. “How well did you know Julia Grisham?”
“Fairly well,” Cherish said. “She was a very nice woman. She always took time out of her day to ask me how I was. Most people here think they’re better than me because they all have PhDs and I only have a GED.”
“How many days a week was she on campus?”
“She taught three days a week – Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays – but she usually stopped in to do busywork on Tuesdays and Thursdays, too.”
“Did you ever see her with a homeless man?”
Headlines & Deadlines (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 7) Page 18
