1 Who, What, Where, When, Die

by Amanda M. Lee

I listened closely. I couldn't decide if Kyle was still out by the car. Maybe he'd went inside with his mom. I was going to have to risk a peek.

  I carefully angled myself to the edge of the Dumpster and was prepared to look around the corner when I noticed a pair of Reebok clad feet step into my view. Uh-oh. I was pretty sure Kyle was the only person I knew who wore Reeboks -- they had a distinct lack of cool factor.

  "Evening ladies. Productive night, I see."

  I debated pretending I didn't hear him, but that seemed like a stupid idea given the situation. Better to just own up to it and shame him into letting us go. I stood up, prepared to begin my argument. When I met Kyle's gaze, I noticed that his body was shaking with silent laughter.

  Carly was pressed into my back. She was like a cat. It was like if she couldn't see Kyle, then he couldn't see her. I glanced at her, trying to get her to own up to what we'd done so we could make a hasty retreat. She wasn't making eye contact, though.

  "This was my idea." Might as well try to help Carly.

  Kyle smirked at me. "I have no doubt. My guess is, though, that it didn't take a lot of hard work to get your partner in crime here to go along with it, though."

  Carly still wasn't speaking.

  "That's not true," I lied earnestly. "I blackmailed her into coming. It was all my doing."

  "You're nothing if not predictable, Avery."

  Carly's grip on my arm was cutting off circulation. "Chill Carly, he's not mad at you. He knows I made you do it."

  Carly looked like she was going to argue with me. Instead she shut up when she saw the grim set of my jaw line.

  "Yeah, Carly, we all know Avery is the boss of you," Kyle supplied. "You would never do anything like this without her."

  I shot Kyle a dirty look. He didn't seem to care.

  "While I'd love to talk about this some more, I think you two should probably hightail it out of here," Kyle said. He was a little more serious now. "I have no doubt my mom called the cops. It’s going to be a long night if I have to bail you two out of jail."

  Well crap, I figured as much.

  "You two should go."

  I agreed. I grabbed Carly and started pulling her past Kyle. I figured they could hash our their domestic disturbance tomorrow. As she passed him, Kyle grabbed Carly's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. She smiled at him in return.

  "You're going to owe me big for this tomorrow night," he said as we started to disappear into the night.

  "Oh, yeah?" Carly finally spoke.

  "You have no idea."

  For some reason, I didn't doubt it. I slid a glance at Carly as we headed towards the car. She didn't look like she cared all that much that she was in debt to Kyle.

  Nine

  Sundays are my favorite day of the week for a multitude of reasons. One, I'm usually nursing my hangovers on Saturday mornings. Two, it's the best sports day of the year thanks to football and finals in tennis tournaments. And, three, it's perfectly okay to be lazy on Sundays. Of course, it's perfectly okay in my world to be lazy every day, but Sundays everyone gets to be lazy so I don't look out of place.

  After Saturday's hijinks with Carly, I woke up feeling slightly embarrassed -- more for her than me. This is important to note, because the one trait I apparently wasn't born with was shame, so to feel any embarrassment at all on my part is fairly monumental.

  Well, after fifteen minutes of feeling slightly embarrassed, I decided that was more than enough and opted to put it out of my mind. It was shockingly easy.

  I actually went all out cooking breakfast and used the microwave to heat up a Lean Pocket to go along with my morning tomato juice.

  Afterwards, I debated what to do with my afternoon. My lawn was desperately overgrown (and I'm too cheap to hire a lawn service) but ultimately I decided to read the paper and do something constructive -- shopping.

  As I walked out to the front door and on to my porch, I realized something else was going to be in the cards. My front lawn was covered in toilet paper. What is this, high school? What kind of jerk vandalizes someone's yard with toilet paper? Hey, when I do it I have a reason. This was just destruction for destruction's sake.

  I stood there for a minute, flabbergasted, as I took in the piles and piles of paper woven into the large elm tree on my front lawn and thrown over the railing of my front porch. Good grief.

  "Looks like you made quite the impression on someone, mama."

  Great, the white gangsters across the street were up and I was their morning entertainment.

  "What do you want?" I asked Gangster Number One, trying to act like I wasn't embarrassed by my predicament.

  "Want? I don't want anything. I was just admiring your landscaping. Better than lilac bushes and tree arbors, huh?"

  Smart ass.

  I chose to ignore him, telling myself I was doing it for his own welfare, but really I was doing it for my own dignity. I angrily stalked back to my detached garage and threw open the door to retrieve the large garbage can inside.

  I carried the receptacle to the front yard and began removing the toilet paper from the tree, angrily cursing myself that I hadn't changed out of my Yoda slippers or Friday the 13th boxer shorts before starting my task. For the second day in a week I was mixing genres in public.

  What made my toil even worse was the fact that the three white gangsters across the street had pulled up their plastic chairs to watch my progress -- while passing a bowl to toke on.

  "Isn't it a little early for that?" Suddenly, I was the pot police.

  "It's never too early for a good time."

  I decided to pretend they weren't there -- which wasn't easy. There's nothing dignified about picking up toilet paper while still in your pajamas.

  "I bet Luke Skywalker could just clean this up with his mind."

  If you haven't noticed, I take a lot of grief for being a 27-year-old female Star Wars fan. Folks, just because I love Star Wars does not mean I live it -- at least I don't live it all the time.

  It took me a good hour and a half to clean up the mess. Afterwards, I showered and got ready, opting to stay away from the Star Wars clothes for the day and instead donning a Detroit Red Wings Jersey and a pair of denim cut-offs. I topped the outfit off with my Nike flip-flops and a red bandana to keep my hair out of my face. I admired my reflection for a second, smiling to myself at the thought of my mother's face if she ever saw the outfit.

  I'd decided to go to Partridge Creek, an outdoor mall in Clinton Township about 15 miles away, instead of the inside mall in Sterling Heights which was closer, for two reasons. First of all, Partridge Creek has an Apple Store and I'm a girl who loves gadgets. Secondly, it's also a dog mall and there's nothing better than people watching when the people are dressing up their dogs in little outfits.

  As I arrived at Partridge Creek, I bypassed valet parking in favor of parking about mile out of my way. Hey, two bucks is two bucks. I could use the exercise anyway, I reminded myself, as I finished off the candy bar I'd happily found in my purse during the ride over.

  Now, Partridge Creek isn't a normal mall. It's fairly upscale. It's greatest draw, though, is the middle of the mall, which is decked out with about five flat screen televisions, all tuned to sporting events and a comfy fireplace in the winter.

  Despite the woes of the Lions, Detroit is a great sporting town. The Red Wings are always good, the Pistons are sometimes good and the Tigers went through two decades of crap but have rebounded nicely lately. As I passed by the television, I noticed a group of men watching the Tigers play the White Sox. This is a mall both men and women can love.

  I headed straight for the Apple Store to see what new accessories they had for my iPad (the best invention ever -- of course I said that after the iPod, the Wii and the Kindle, too).

  I was looking forward to a leisurely hour of shopping in the mall, then a steaming cup of cafe mocha from Starbucks and then, ultimately, watching the tail end of the Tigers game, when I ran into a hated face from my past.

&
nbsp; Tad Ludington, aka, my college boyfriend. Or, even better, aka, the guy I faked orgasms with for two years. Seriously, Tad couldn't find the clitoris with a flashlight and a magnifying glass. Of course, I was the idiot that let him think he was doing it right for two years, simply because I thought I was in love with him.

  I wasn't in love with him, mind you, I discovered that he loved himself enough for both of us.

  What really annoyed me about Tad was that he broke up with me because he said that, even being so young, he could tell I'd never make a good political wife because I was immature and I dressed badly. He then proceeded to tell me that he'd become engaged to another girl already -- of course, this was a good girl who was still a virgin.

  At that moment, I wanted to staple his balls to a tree. Instead, I mustered as much dignity as possible and walked away. I never turned back. Alright, I turned back and yelled, "You suck in bed"-- eliciting catcalls from his fraternity brothers.

  He could have been right about the maturity thing.

  Now, here he was again. The good news was, Tad hadn't seen me yet. The bad news? The Apple Store is wide open. I had two choices, I could run out and hide or face my ex head on.

  Instead, I opted for a third choice; I dropped to my knees and slowly crawled towards the door. Unfortunately, this drew the attention of one of the store clerks.

  "Did you drop something ma'am?"

  "No," I hissed. "I'm just trying to leave the store."

  "On your knees?"

  "I threw out my back."

  "Oh, do you need me to call a doctor?"

  "No!" What was this guy, some kind of idiot? "I'm fine, I just need some fresh air."

  I was almost to the door and safety when . . . "Avery?"

  Crap. I'd know that obnoxious voice anywhere. I slowly got to my feet and straightened up. I took a deep breath to calm myself before I lost control and beat Tad's head into the glass door for old time's sake.

  "Is your back better?"

  Maybe I'd slap the clerk first. "Yes, it's better, thank you."

  Tad regarded me with superior eyes -- and a receding hairline, if you really must know.

  "Hello, Tad, how are you?"

  "I'm good. I haven't seen you in awhile. Are you not covering the county commission anymore?" He was faking being polite. I hate that.

  Ever since I met him, Tad has been interested in himself. That's what makes him a good politician. When he was doing this all in Oakland County, it was no big deal. Unfortunately, he moved to Macomb County two years ago and immediately got elected to the county commission here, which meant we crossed paths from time to time. Sadly, I was never in my car when he crossed my path, so I couldn't run him over.

  "I only fill in at the commission," I responded airily, like I was really busy and he was holding me up. "I tend to try and go where the interesting stories are." Take that, you idiot.

  Tad absentmindedly smoothed back his dark, greased back hair -- I think he thinks he's the Fonz -- and smiled tolerantly. "Well, none of the commissioners are jumping around naked with a gun, that’s for sure."

  "Well, I'd want to see that about as much as the 300-pound monster I saw the other day," I countered. God, this guy is a complete tool.

  I turned to walk out the door, as if I was on a mission, when I froze. A tall, leggy blonde with a tiny waist, huge boobs and bleach blonde hair was walking in on the arm of Macomb County's finest -- Jake Farrell.

  I cursed my luck -- and rampant consumerism -- as I scoured the room for a second exit. Apparently there wasn't one.

  Jake smiled tensely when he saw me. It widened to a legitimate smile when he saw whom I was with. When I'd broken up with Jake right after high school, when he'd been in basic training for the Army, it had been for Tad.

  He didn't have a lot of sympathy for my predicament. Of course, he hated Tad, too.

  "Commissioner Ludington, I almost didn't recognize you with your new hair cut," Jake said smoothly, extending his hand to Tad.

  "I didn't get a hair cut." Tad was confused.

  "Huh, looks like there's less of it." Now, while I didn't want to encourage Jake I definitely liked Tad getting bitch slapped. I smiled sweetly at Tad while he scowled back at me.

  "I should be going," he said stiffly. He merely nodded at Jake and I before he exited the store. I got a small amount of satisfaction as I caught him checking out his hairline in the mirrored door on the way out. Tool.

  I turned my full attention to Jake -- and the walking Barbie Doll leashed to his arm.

  Jake was still focused on Tad's retreating back.

  "Um, I should probably go, too," I said. I really had no interest in meeting Barbie.

  Jake snapped his attention back to me. "You didn't buy anything."

  "I didn't see anything I couldn't live without." Of course, I never got a chance to browse because I kept running in to guys who'd seen me naked.

  "Jakey, there's nothing a girl would like in here." Barbie speaks -- and she's ignorant.

  "Oh, where are my manners, Candy, this is Avery Shaw," Jake recovered. "Avery is a reporter at The Monitor."

  And someone you used to sleep with, you prick, but that's beside the point.

  "Candy is a model. She works the boat show on the Nautical Mile. I met her last week." Sometimes I think Jake just talks to hear the sound of his own voice talk.

  "Nice to meet you," I stiffly extended my hand for Candy (not much better than Barbie if you ask me -- which no one had).

  Candy ignored it. In fact, she ignored me.

  "Jake, I want to go to a real store," she whined like a petulant 14-year-old. Okay, a petulant 14-year-old with a massive boob job. "I want to go to Sephora. This is a guy store."

  Since when are cool computers a guy thing? Apparently blue eye shadow and the faint smell of Aqua Net is much cooler.

  "Well, I should probably go. I've had my fill of negative experiences for the week." I really needed to get out of here.

  "Negative experiences? What happened?" Apparently Jake wasn't going anywhere.

  I wasn't going to admit to my jealousy, so I unloaded with the first thing that came to mind.

  "I got a threat with my paper yesterday."

  What a dumb thing to tell a cop.

  "What do you mean, you got a threat?"

  I blew out a sigh. "It wasn't really a threat. It was just a note telling me to mind my own business or else."

  "Or else what?"

  "They really didn't spell that out."

  He was quiet for a minute, while Candy apparently contemplated the meaning of uneven eyebrows in the mirror behind the display. Bitch.

  "Listen, do you still have the note?" I nodded. "I want you to drop it off at the department. Give it to Derrick. We'll process it for fingerprints."

  "That's really not necessary."

  "Well, I think it is."

  We were both quiet. I was pondering telling him where he could stick that note when I realized it would be quicker to just agree with him. Finally, I relented. "Fine, I'll drop it off tomorrow. Can I go now?"

  "I'll walk you to your car to make sure you get there safely. Candy, why don't you go to Sephora and I'll meet you there."

  The last thing I wanted to do was walk to my car with Jake. However, the pout on Candy's face was worth it. I smiled sweetly at her as I headed off to the parking lot with Jake at my side. I can be a bitch, too.

  We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence as we made the long hike to my car. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

  "Candy seems . . . nice."

  "Don't be a bitch."

  "How was that being a bitch?"

  "Please. I heard the tone."

  "What tone?"

  "You know the tone."

  "No, I don't know the tone."

  "I'm not going to fight with you about this," Jake exploded. "You lost the right to care a long time ago."

  "Oh, so we're going to do this again are we?" I hated it when he threw my own rampant stupidity in m
y face.

  "No, we're not. I don't really want to go anywhere with you."

  "Then why are you walking me to my car?"

  "I'm not doing it because I care, I'm doing it because I'm the sheriff and your life has been threatened." He met my gaze and neither one of us believed that statement. "Maybe you should have your pumped up boyfriend do these things for you?"

  "What pumped up boyfriend?" I knew whom he was talking about, but I wanted to hear him say it out loud.

  "Kane."

  "He's not my boyfriend, he's just my . . . friend." Not true, I know, but this fell in the category of lying for my benefit.

  "He's a nutcase."

  "He seems perfectly fine to me." Well, he did, in a perfectly dangerous sort of way.

  "You have bleeding tragic taste in men," Jake sighed.

  "You would know," I stuck my tongue out. Maturity is not one of my virtues.

  Thankfully, we'd finally made it to my car and I was annoyed to see a ticket under the windshield. Great. Just what I needed.

  "What? I didn't park in the valet area."

  Jake walked up and pulled the ticket off to look at it.

  "This isn't a ticket." His jaw visibly tightened.

  "What is it?"

  "Another threat."

  Crap.

  Ten

  I walked over to Jake to take a look at the piece of paper in his hand. I was trying to act nonchalant, but I was actually wigged out.

  It wasn't just a piece of paper. It was a photo. I moved nearer to Jake to get a closer look. Whoops, it was a photo of me in Yoda slippers, Friday the 13th boxer shorts and a white tank top, topped off with a purple robe while picking up toilet paper. It was from this morning. Did I mention, I had bed head in the picture and it wasn't pretty?

  Now I know I shouldn't be focusing on my hair in the picture and I should be focusing on the big red X that was over me instead and the two little words in the right hand corner "just die" but it was really heinous bed head.

  Jake didn't comment on it.

  "This is getting serious," he said.

  "It looks fine when I brush it." What can I say? I was defensive.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Nothing," I quickly recovered.