If it Bleeds, it Leads (An Avery Shaw Mystery)

by Amanda M. Lee

  The family still owns a diner in my hometown. Well, actually my grandparents Jasper and Tilly do – although the day-to-day operations have fallen to my uncle and his wife. A lot of my other family members – including a couple aunts, uncles and cousins – also work there. They don’t understand why I wanted to leave our small town and move to the “big city,” where there’s crime and prostitution and swearing. Yeah, I know, it’s irritating. Of course, there’s no homemade strawberry shortcake either – and that is one thing the city desperately needs.

  Truth be told, however annoying my family is I kind of enjoy them. They’re wacky. Not one of them has been known to be a proponent of linear thought, though. They love good food and argue politics (half the family are diehard liberals and the other half are stalwart Republicans). Heck, we even have a tea bagger in the family. By that I mean I have an uncle who identifies himself as a Tea Party supporter. I have no idea if he actually teabags in his free time – but it’s entirely possible.

  The family restaurant is a throwback to a forgotten time period, with vinyl booths in the coffee shop area and full dining room tables with a salad bar in the main room. The kitchen has those old-fashioned swinging doors that you see in vintage movies. My grandfather had set aside a “family booth” in the coffee shop area years ago. It was long and rectangular, and the way family dinner was set up you could come and go whenever you wanted within a three-hour time frame. The customers at the restaurant seemed to know not to sit there – even though it had never been implicitly stated.

  When I walked into the restaurant, I greeted a few regulars. I was something of a celebrity at the restaurant these days thanks to my near brush with death a few weeks ago. This form of celebrity forced my mother into a constant state of irritation. She’d rather have a daughter known for being a famous author than a foul-mouthed know-it-all who irked some guy so much he tried to kill her. I thought she should just be happy people were talking about me at all – but that was just me.

  When I walked into the restaurant I saw that most of my family was already there, including my mother. She looked like she was in a good mood – that was until she saw my outfit. Ripped jeans, the ‘Seaquest’ shirt, new Darth Vader high-top Adidas shoes and my freshly coiffed Princess Leia buns. Personally, I thought I looked great. She apparently did not.

  “Did you dress like that for work?”

  “Who, me?”

  “No, the person behind you.”

  I turned; hoping beyond hope there was actually someone standing behind me. No such luck. I decided to just ignore my mother’s statement. Sometimes that worked. Tonight didn’t appear to be one of those times.

  “I asked you a question.”

  “What was it again?” I had slid into the booth next to my cousin Mario. That wasn’t actually his name; he was actually named after my grandfather, and everyone just called him Mario because he looked like he belonged in a video game.

  “I asked you if you wore that outfit to work.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “No you didn’t?”

  “No, I most certainly did not.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  “That’s funny, because when I saw her at a press conference earlier today she had the same outfit on.” I couldn’t see him, but I knew Derrick had arrived. What an ass. I can’t believe he ratted me out.

  “Did you just lie to me?” My mother is like a dog with a bone sometimes. She just can’t be deterred.

  “No I did not.”

  “You just did it again. Who taught you to lie like that?”

  The truth was, I’d learned how to lie from her. I wasn’t good at it all the time but when I was truly committed – and if it was for a story – I was truly gifted. I didn’t figure that thanking her for my ability to spin a good yarn was going to earn me any points, though. She didn’t call them lies. When she told them she called them exaggerations. I think she got that from Spock in ‘Star Trek.’

  “What were we talking about again?” My fallback position always lands on divert.

  “We were talking about the fact that you’re a big fat liar.” Derrick again. I was going to have to beat his ass.

  “That’s not a nice thing to say about your family,” a voice cooed. I couldn’t see where it came from and I couldn’t identify it either. Imagine my surprise when one of my other cousins shifted and I finally got a clear look at just who was standing next to Derrick. It was his little television chippy. What the hell? This was a family dinner. He just met her. I’m not just saying this because I find her to be ridiculously annoying, either. Well, I’m mostly not saying it because of that.

  Derrick led the girl over, introducing her to everyone at the table as Channel 7 television reporter Devon Lange. I knew that wasn’t her real name. It was probably Ingrid or something.

  “Oh, an actual television reporter,” my grandmother was excited. “That’s really cool. What’s it like to get the news? To inform the public? To be right there on the front lines?”

  I wanted to yank my grandma’s helmet of bottle blonde hair to shut her up.

  “It’s exciting,” Devon said, shooting a smirk in my direction. “To be a real news person, you have to be willing to put yourself on the line. It is gratifying to be the first person out there reporting the story. I like to be the face associated with telling you the truth.”

  What a flaming douche.

  “Is that how you feel, Avery?” My grandma again, trying to boost my self-esteem I would guess. “I mean working for a newspaper isn’t as glamorous as working for television. But is it kind of the same?”

  Not even close.

  “Sure,” I responded, shoving a roll in my mouth to keep from corking off about the story I was working on. Why I felt the need to boost myself in front of the television troll was beyond me.

  “Except, of course, we actually dig up the stories and write them while television reporters just read from a teleprompter.” I don’t know why I can’t keep my foot out of my mouth for more than an hour at a time. It’s like a chronic ailment. It pops up when you least expect it or least want it.

  Devon shot me a dirty look. I gave her my patented fake smile in return, shoving more of the roll into my mouth for good measure.

  Derrick noticed the exchange and gave me a warning look. I pretended I didn’t see it. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to bring this woman to my family dinner. I know he just did it to irritate me.

  “So what are you working on right now, Avery?” My mother was obviously trying to smooth over the situation. I guess she’d decided to let my outfit go.

  “Ah, just the dead body in the parking lot.” I didn’t really feel like talking about the story too much because I knew my mother would freak out.

  Instead, my mother seemed unruffled by the conversation. I wondered if she had finally broken down and got a prescription for Xanax.

  “Yes, I saw that on the television. I was worried that it might be you all morning. Of course, you didn’t call to tell your family that you were safe.”

  “If it had been me the cops would have called you to tell you I was dead,” I answered nonchalantly. Well, that is true.

  “I knew it wasn’t her when I saw the shoes on the body,” Mario chipped in.

  “How?” My mom asked suspiciously.

  “They were off-brand,” Mario answered matter-of-factly. “Avery doesn’t wear off-brand shoes. It’s her greatest vanity.”

  This is true.

  I caught Devon staring down at my Adidas Darth Vader high tops in confusion. She clearly didn’t think designer shoes equated to high tops. Well, I didn’t think news reporter equated to television star – so I guess we were both even.

  “Well, you still should have called,” my mother sniffed pointedly. There she is, queen of the guilt trip.

  “You’re right, I should have.” Sometimes she just beats me into submission with the mere hint of an argument. Other times, I revel in her disdain. I actually try to see i
f I can get her head to spin around like that kid in ‘The Exorcist.’ I didn’t want to push things tonight, though, especially with Devon sniffing around. I had a feeling she was after more than a free meal – or maybe that is just my narcissism talking.

  My mother shot me a look. She knew I never gave up this easy. “Well, as long as you admit you did wrong.”

  “I totally admit it.” She could guilt a sociopath, I swear.

  Derrick was giving me an odd look as I capitulated to my mother, too. I decided to change the subject. “So, Mario, what’s up in your life?”

  Mario looked surprised that I was taking an interest. We weren’t exactly close. I didn’t dislike him or anything; we just didn’t spend a lot of time together. He was nine years younger than I was and had just graduated from high school. He’s a funny kid, though, and amiable, so I’d much rather talk to him than Derrick’s piece of shit dinner date.

  “I think I’m working for a cult,” he said brightly.

  “Really? Why do you think that?”

  “They all think the world is coming to an end when the Mayan calendar ends.”

  “A lot of people think that.” Well, they do. They’re stupid people, but they still think it.

  “Yeah, but they’re spending a lot of money on credit cards because they believe they won’t have to pay it back because the world ends.”

  “That sounds a little reckless.”

  “Yeah, I wish they’d just drink the Kool-Aid and get it over with.”

  “What would you do for a job then?”

  “There’s always another job. There are only so many people who are dumb enough to believe the world is ending in a few months.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  “How about you Christy?” Christy was another cousin. Her mom was one of those people that misplaced her common sense in the 1970s. I think she left it in a bong. She was on her second husband after her first one turned out to be gay. She’d decided to marry a redneck the second time around. I couldn’t help but prefer the gay guy. He was hilariously colorful.

  “How is your dad?” I’d always liked Christy’s dad. He had the best ideas for doing hair and picking out the perfect outfit.

  “He’s good. He’s kind of branched out into the entertainment industry.”

  “Really, doing what?” I was kind of scared to ask. He was flamboyant when he was in the closet. What was he going to do when he was out of the closet?

  “He’s doing an all-male burlesque show in drag.” Christy said it without a trace of any guile.

  Huh. I slid a look to Derrick. He had found something on his plate to grab his attention. I had a feeling he was embarrassed for Devon to hear about our family hijinks.

  Despite myself, though, I was actually intrigued by Christy’s story. “Do they like sing and stuff?”

  “Yeah, mostly Cher and Celine Dion songs.”

  I nodded. That actually made sense. “So how does he dress up?”

  Derrick kicked me under the table to shut me up but I pretended I didn’t notice. I didn’t know if it was the gay thing or the dressing up in drag that was bothering him. As long as the topic of conversation was steered away from me I was totally okay with it.

  “Actually, he got to pick out his outfit.”

  “That sounds fun.” Well, it does. We have drag queen bingo in Royal Oak and it’s a ton of fun. “Who did he pick?”

  Christy looked around conspiratorially for a second and lowered her head closer to me. “My mom.”

  My eyebrows nearly shot off my head. “Really?”

  “Yeah, he calls himself Mustang Sally. He says he’s always revved up to go.”

  Derrick choked on his cheeseburger, I noticed in grim satisfaction. Couldn’t have happened to a better cousin.

  “Have you seen pictures?”

  Christy nodded. “Yeah, they’re pretty funny. He wears a waitress uniform and has a clown red wig.”

  “Does he look like Aunt Sally?”

  “In a weird way he does.”

  “Where is he doing this show?”

  “Ferndale.” Well, that made sense; Ferndale was the gay capital of Southeastern Michigan.

  “We should all go one weekend.”

  Christy brightened up. I could tell she had been nervous telling us about her dad. I didn’t know why. As far as weird family members go, Christy’s dad was the least of our worries.

  “You think other people would want to go?”

  “Absolutely.” I knew I’d be taking my Flip camera for the event. “You want to go, don’t you, Derrick?”

  Derrick glared at me in response. Guess not.

  “You know what homophobia really says about you?”

  I saw Devon look from him to me to see if things were going to get ugly or not. I think she was hoping for it. I hated to disappoint her, but Derrick and I always took jabs at each other. We always made up eventually, too. There was nothing she could do to put a permanent wedge between us. I was perfectly happy with a temporary one, though, at least as long as she was in the picture.

  “So where are you focusing your investigation in the Darby Pitts murder?” Damn, I hated him. The one thing I didn’t want to talk about he just had to bring up.

  “Oh, you know, normal places. Her family.”

  “I heard you had an incident at a used car lot today.”

  “Not really.” I knew he couldn’t say too much because Jake would find out if Devon ran with the story. Derrick knew it, too, he was just trying to push my buttons. He was doing a good job.

  “Well, I hope you don’t find yourself in a situation like that again. Sheriff Farrell wasn’t exactly thrilled finding you there.”

  “When is Jake thrilled?”

  “You call him Jake?” Devon was shrewd. She was trying to ferret out some information.

  “We grew up together,” I lied; well it technically wasn’t a lie. It was just an omission as well.

  “They dated in high school.” I am going to start Derrick’s pants on fire, I swear. I’m going to pour gasoline over his crotch, strike a match and laugh like a madwoman. Where is my lighter?

  “Are you dating now?” Devon was prying. She looked concerned.

  “No, we are not.”

  “You’re not exactly not dating.” Derrick gave me an impish grin. He could tell how irritated I was. “Of course, you’re not dating him and Eliot Kane at the same time, so that creates quite a conundrum for you doesn’t it?”

  “Who’s Eliot Kane?”

  “No one.”

  “Are you dating someone?” Leave it to my mother to enter the conversation now. Where was she when I needed her five minutes ago? She was hard of hearing whenever I told her I wasn’t going to change my wardrobe but drop the word dating and all of a sudden she had the ears of a bat.

  “I am not dating anyone.”

  “Did they both dump you?”

  “I swear, Derrick, you’re going to want to drop this topic of conversation.” I was looking in my purse for my lighter again.

  “Sure,” he said easily. “Let’s go back to talking about Darby Pitts.”

  “I have to go.” This was officially the worst family dinner ever.

  Twelve

  I was happy to get out of the family restaurant and head home. For some unknown reason, they made me feel tired. Okay, it wasn’t an unknown reason, but I was especially exhausted this evening. I couldn’t wait to slip into my pajamas, watch a few hours of mindless television and then get some sleep.

  When I pulled into my driveway and noticed a familiar figure sitting on my lounge chair in the dark – I realized that probably wasn’t going to be in the cards. Crap. This is just not my night.

  I steeled myself as I moved from the car towards the house. “Eliot.” I greeted him stiffly. I was still mad at him. Well, at least I think I was mad. I also wanted to run my fingers through his hair and ride him like dirt bike – but that was a whole other story.

  “I take it you’re still m
ad.” Eliot apparently wasn’t in the mood to play games. Well, that was good, because neither was I.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Okay, I may not have been in the mood to play games but I wasn’t in the mood to sit here and have some serious conversation either. I’ve had just about enough of serious conversations for one day.

  “I wanted to apologize,” he started, looking down at his hands briefly. Hands I might add, that were firmly up my shirt only a few weeks ago. It was a memory I wanted to forget and yet was simultaneously seared into my brain.

  “What are you sorry about?”

  “What do you mean?” Eliot looked confused.

  “I mean, are you sorry about treating me like crap the other night in favor of your exotic dancer?”

  Eliot’s lip twitched as he fought to fight back a smile. Asshole.

  “Or are you sorry about not calling me for six weeks after I was almost killed?”

  Eliot’s face belied no sense of humor when I said this. Of course, I immediately wanted to take it back.

  “I didn’t abandon you.”

  “I didn’t say you did.” Well, not in so many words I didn’t.

  “Given the way Jake was around you, I figured I should probably take a step back and let you two see if you could work things out. Obviously you haven’t.”

  “Obviously.” Wait a second, what did he say? I need to get better at listening. I swung around and faced him angrily, hands on hips and a huge burst of profanity on my tongue. All I got out was “That is just ridiculous!”

  “Why is that ridiculous?” Eliot’s brown eyes had darkened. I realized he was getting angry with me. This was rich, I hadn’t done a thing. Well, not to him anyway. I couldn’t believe he was somehow getting angry with me.

  “I’m sorry, I thought I was the one with the indignant outrage here. I was the one laid up for two weeks. You couldn’t even bother to call.”

  Eliot averted his eyes from mine. Guilt? Remorse? Annoyance? Yeah, I agree, probably annoyance.