Off the Record (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 10)

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Keep it up.” We lapsed into comfortable silence as we maneuvered across the fairgrounds, being careful to skirt screaming children as we headed toward the Ferris wheel. I was in my own little world, the scent of elephant ears and Eliot’s aftershave causing my mind to drift to naughty possibilities, when I caught the sight of something odd out of the corner of my eye.

  I pulled up short, staring at the bottom of a tent I didn’t bother to identify for a moment, trying to register exactly what I saw. My eyes and mind didn’t seem to want to agree on one simple fact: I was looking at something terrible.

  “What are you looking at?” Eliot asked.

  I pointed, unable to form words. Eliot followed my finger and furrowed his brow.

  “Is that … a body?”

  I could only nod.

  “DO YOU know the deceased?”

  The police officer standing in front of me, notebook open, bore a striking resemblance to Grizzly Adams. He introduced himself as Dean Jenkins, but that name didn’t seem to fit his demeanor. His beard was so long and full that I couldn’t help but wonder if he doubled as Santa Claus during the winter.

  “We’re not local,” Eliot explained, tugging on my hand to get me to sit next to him at the picnic table. The carnival emptied relatively quickly once the cops were called and ascertained that a woman was really dead. Eliot and I remained behind to be questioned, and the crab legs I’d been so happy about an hour before felt like a huge ball of lead sitting in the pit of my stomach.

  “What are you doing here?” Jenkins asked.

  “We rented a cabin at the campground. We came to town for a dinner and decided to check out the carnival while we were here.”

  Jenkins’ eyes slid to the stuffed animals. “How long were you here before you discovered the body?”

  Eliot shrugged. “I don’t know … a half hour or so.”

  “We were here an hour and a half,” I automatically corrected. “You were trying to win that shark for a lot longer than thirty minutes.”

  “And here I thought it just felt that long,” Eliot muttered, idly picking at the octopus. “I guess we were here longer than I realized.”

  “I see.” Jenkins jotted something in his notebook. “How did you know the victim?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “We don’t know the victim. We didn’t even get a good look at her. We saw her feet sticking out from under the tent bottom and then looked a little closer and then … well … we called you.”

  “She’s been identified as Tansy Gilbert,” Jenkins supplied. “Her driver’s license was in her back pocket, so we caught a break there. She’s an African-American female. Does that help?”

  Was that a joke? “I’ve never met anyone named Tansy. I figured out the color of her skin on my own.”

  “How?”

  “How did I figure out the color of her skin? I looked at her. It was kind of obvious.”

  “How did you know it wasn’t a man?”

  “Because I can tell the difference.”

  Eliot must’ve sensed my growing irritation because he rested his hand on top of mine to calm me. “We didn’t get close to the body,” he interjected. “We realized pretty quickly that she was dead. My girlfriend is a reporter and I’m in the security industry, so this isn’t the first time we’ve been around a crime scene.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jenkins’ droll tone was enough to give me heartburn … and an overwhelming urge to kick him in the nuts just to get a reaction out of him. “You’re a reporter, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes and nodded.

  “Well, off the record, you’re in a bit of a pickle here.”

  If Jenkins was trying to be funny, he was a terrible judge of humor. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but … whatever.”

  Jenkins stared at me a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he jerked his shoulders and returned to reality. “How did you know she was dead without touching her?”

  “Well, I think the way her neck is bent is a dead giveaway,” Eliot replied, squeezing my hand. He was a master at dealing with my agitation on a normal day. This wasn’t a normal day. Between the French bug disease and dead body, I was pretty much at my limit. “I’ve seen my share of bodies.”

  “Because you caused the individuals in question to die?”

  “Not last time I checked.”

  “When was the last time you checked?”

  “I don’t like your attitude,” I interjected, jerking my hand away and causing Eliot to sigh as I glared at Jenkins. “We were minding our own business, winning stuffed animals and heading toward the Ferris wheel when we stumbled across her. How is this our fault?”

  Jenkins’ expression remained unreadable. “Did I say it was your fault? Is there a reason you’d think I’d point the finger at you?”

  Other than that I hate cops and have a weird persecution complex? “I don’t know what you want me to say,” I gritted out. “We were minding our own business when we found her. It was a fluke that we saw her at all because it was dark and she only half stuck out from this side of the tent. I was looking forward to a good grope on the Ferris wheel, and then I was going to make him buy me an elephant ear on the way back to the cabin. My plans tonight involved eating crappy food and getting him naked. They did not involve finding a murder victim.”

  Eliot slapped his hand to his forehead. “That was an overshare.”

  “I’ll say,” Jenkins muttered, “but while we’re on the subject, how do you know that she was murdered?”

  “Look at her neck.” I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to forget the angle of her neck. It was grotesque. It would probably give me nightmares that even He-Man didn’t have the power to eradicate.

  “Yes, but that could’ve happened any number of ways,” Jenkins countered. “A broken neck doesn’t necessarily indicate murder.”

  Well, great. Now he was talking to me as if I was seven. “Oh, really? How do you think her neck got like that? Do you think she accidentally slipped on a banana peel and slammed into a canvas tent wall and it somehow broke her neck?”

  Jenkins frowned. “Do you think that’s funny?”

  “I’ve been told I’m extremely witty on occasion.”

  “I don’t find you funny … and in case you’re keeping score, you can mark that comment down as being ‘on the record.’” He clearly thought he was witty. I would show him witty.

  “Yes, but you’ve got a face that suggests you’ve been sucking on a sour pickle for most of your life, so it’s hardly a news flash that you don’t find me funny, is it?” The words were out of my mouth before I realized how stupid it was to utter them. Even if Jenkins was only mildly suspicious of us, my mouth would push us to the top of his suspect list in two seconds flat if my track record held.

  “Avery!” Eliot gave me a firm headshake as he pressed his hands to the picnic table and leveraged himself to a standing position. “You’re not helping.”

  “I didn’t realize that’s what I was supposed to be doing.”

  Eliot ignored the comeback and focused on Jenkins. “We didn’t have anything to do with this. We’re on vacation. We came here to entertain ourselves for a few hours – and trust me, we’re regretting it now – but we have no reason to kill a woman. I mean … what’s our motive?”

  “Perhaps you’re sociopaths,” Jenkins replied. “Sociopaths don’t need a reason to kill.”

  “I’m a narcissist, not a sociopath,” I announced. “Narcissists always need a reason to do anything because the world revolves around them.”

  “So … you’re saying the world revolves around you?” Jenkins looked confused.

  I bobbed my head. “Yes.”

  “That’s not what she’s saying.” Eliot shot me a death glare. “Stop messing with the locals. They don’t get your humor. Just because you can talk to Jake that way doesn’t mean you can talk to this officer in the same manner. He’ll lock you up.”

  I looked Jenkins up and down. I had my doubts. Still … . “Fin
e.” I blew out a sigh. “We didn’t kill her. We’ve never seen her before. She looks like a nice lady – other than that broken neck thing – so I can’t think of any reason we would want her dead. Do you have any other questions?”

  “Do you have an alibi?” Jenkins asked, not missing a beat.

  “When did she die?”

  “Tonight.”

  “That’s kind of a vague timeframe,” I pointed out. “Can you be more specific?”

  “Oh, geez,” Eliot muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We were at the cabin until five. Then we came to town and ate at the seafood restaurant on the water. I paid with a credit card. And I’m sure the waitress will remember us because Avery put away two huge orders of crab legs. People couldn’t stop staring.”

  “They were staring because I’m pretty,” I corrected. “Some of them might’ve been staring because you’re pretty, but that’s just the waitresses and gay waiters. Everyone else was infatuated with my beauty.”

  Eliot ignored me. “We came here around seven or so. We played games. I can guarantee the guy running the dart booth will remember us because Avery almost made him cry.”

  “Seems like she’d be good at that,” Jenkins said dryly

  “She has a gift,” Eliot agreed, nodding. “She won the octopus. I threw away a hundred and fifty bucks trying to win the shark. The guy ended up giving her the shark because he was terrified of her. Then we headed toward the Ferris wheel and … here we are.”

  “We were going to feel each other up on the Ferris wheel because Eliot had a particular fantasy when he was in high school,” I offered helpfully.

  “That was also an overshare,” Eliot grumbled.

  “We’re not suspects because we have no motive and we’re booked solid when it comes to an alibi,” I said, staring down Jenkins. “If you’re looking at us, you’re looking in the wrong direction.”

  “I see.” Jenkins didn’t look convinced. “Should I believe you because you say it’s true?”

  I held my hands palms up. “Do what you want. That woman, though, deserves justice. You might try focusing on other people if you want to give it to her. You’re wasting your time with us.”

  Jenkins’ expression was icy and cold. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You do that.”

  4

  Four

  I left Eliot sleeping the next morning. There was something about the fresh air that caused him to slumber longer and harder than he did at home. It was an interesting change, because I’m generally the one who prefers more sleep and he’s often up with the sun on work days. My night was restless, though, the dead woman’s face haunting my dreams. That’s why I walked to the campground administration office and bought a newspaper before returning to the cabin.

  Eliot was up when I returned, a mug of coffee in his hand as he sat on the small front porch and stared at me. I felt uncomfortable under his measured gaze and pasted a bright smile on my face.

  “Good morning!”

  Eliot cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what this is? I tend to think that good mornings are the ones where I wake up with my girlfriend beside me. Even on the rare occasion that doesn’t happen, I like finding a note to tell me where she’s gone. That way I don’t have to imagine putting together a search party in case she’s lost in the woods.”

  “Oh, please,” I scoffed. “You knew I wasn’t in the woods.”

  “There are bugs there.” Eliot remained rigid in his chair, his expression hard to read. “Is that why I don’t have to worry about you going into the woods?”

  “And skunks.”

  “Skunks?”

  “I’m the type of person to incur the wrath of a skunk,” I supplied, climbing the steps. “We both know it. There’s no sense denying it. I can piss off anyone – human or animal – within mere moments of meeting them.”

  “You clearly put that on display last night.” Eliot stretched his legs and glanced at the newspaper clutched in my hand. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, um, this is called a newspaper. Some people read it to catch up on the day’s events. Now, granted, in today’s troubling times, most people prefer reading blogs and holding them up as truth – even if the crap they spout couldn’t possibly be true anywhere outside of a horror movie – but that doesn’t mean I have to join the unwashed masses and avoid real news.”

  “Uh-huh.” Eliot didn’t look convinced. “Did you sleep last night?”

  The conversational shift threw me. “I … slept.”

  “How long?”

  “I didn’t get up until thirty minutes ago,” I replied. “I thought I would be back long before you woke up. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I wasn’t frightened when I woke up alone. I figured you hadn’t gone far.”

  “You just said … .”

  “I said I was annoyed to wake up alone,” Eliot clarified. “This is a vacation – our first vacation together, to be precise – and I like waking up with you. Sue me.”

  I rolled my neck, the crack echoing as I tamped down my irritation. His words, while tinged with annoyance, came from a place of sweetness. That shouldn’t aggravate me … and yet it did. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “That’s good, because I have no intention of being your babysitter,” Eliot said. “That doesn’t mean I don’t want to take care of you. You have circles under your eyes. That means you didn’t sleep. If you had nightmares you should’ve woken me.”

  “I hardly had nightmares.”

  “But you didn’t sleep.”

  I wanted to argue but he wasn’t wrong. I blew out a sigh as I took the seat next to him, resting my feet on the wooden railing and staring at the quiet campground. The cabin was adjacent to the kid-friendly atmosphere at the camp next door, and even though the two places were owned by different entities, that didn’t mean the jocularity from one didn’t spill over to the other.

  “I couldn’t get the sight of her body out of my head,” I admitted, resting the newspaper on my lap. “I don’t know why it bothered me so much – I’ve seen dead bodies before, as you know – but there was something so off about the scene that I couldn’t let go of it.”

  Eliot heaved a sigh as he collected my hand and gave it a squeeze. “You can admit that to me without worrying I’ll make fun of you. I get it. Neither one of us expected to stumble across a body while on vacation. I thought the worst thing that would happen last night was that you would throw up that second helping of crab legs. The body was … difficult … to see.”

  “It’s not just that. She was obviously killed in that location. A murderer couldn’t risk carrying a body through a carnival. Whoever did it hid her there – probably until the carnival closed down for the night – and then planned to move her.”

  Eliot’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you reach that conclusion?”

  I shrugged. “We both know she didn’t accidentally fall and end up where we found her. Somebody placed her in the exact spot where the tent walls meet the ground and they tried to hide her beneath the folds. That means someone had to move her there, and unless you’re a murderer the idea of moving a body is probably pretty low on your to-do list.”

  “I happen to agree that she was murdered,” Eliot offered. “I know some people break their necks by falling, but there were no stairs in that location … or ladders … or anything else that could’ve precipitated a fall. In theory, she could’ve done it falling off a ride, but she wasn’t near any of the rides.”

  “And if she fell off a ride they would’ve called the police and reported it.”

  “Unless they panicked.”

  “Most people don’t hide bodies when they panic.”

  “Most people don’t have bodies to hide when they panic,” Eliot clarified. “I can see the carnival workers panicking if she accidentally died. Their insurance probably costs more than you or I make in a calendar year and if a claim is made against it … well … it could very well mean the end of this particular carnival
.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” I rubbed my chin. “That doesn’t feel right, though. You saw her. That was murder.”

  “I’m glad you’re not a coroner because I don’t think most law enforcement agencies would enjoy searching for killers thanks to your gut feelings.” Eliot poked my side to let me know he was teasing. “We have to wait for the medical examiner to cite a cause of death. We’re not experts when it comes to that field.”

  “I’m an expert at everything.”

  “Except good manners.”

  “Fine, I’m an expert at everything that matters,” I corrected, enjoying the way Eliot’s eyes flashed as he shook his head. “You said yourself that you believe she was murdered.”

  “I believe the odds of that injury resulting from a fall are nil,” Eliot countered. “Something else might’ve happened.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. What does the newspaper article say?”

  I scowled as I flipped the item in question to his lap. “Not much,” I answered. “I skimmed it on the way back – when I wasn’t looking for skunks, mind you – and there’s barely anything there. Whoever wrote that article should be tarred and feathered.”

  “Oh, well, that sounds reasonable,” Eliot drawled as he opened the newspaper and skimmed the article. “This area doesn’t have a big newspaper. It’s not like Macomb County, where we have a lot of crime and political corruption. The reporters here probably aren’t used to covering murders.”

  “Stop making excuses. That coverage is an abomination.”

  Eliot made a clucking sound with his tongue as he read the article. It didn’t take him long to scan the seven measly paragraphs. “They don’t have much, do they?”

  “They make the Macomb weeklies look like USA Today.”

  Eliot pursed his lips. He was used to my competitive nature when it came to covering stories. He often encouraged my instincts, but he didn’t look wild about that possibility today. “Avery, this isn’t your story.”

  I balked. “I didn’t say it was.”

  “I know you. You want it to be your story. We’re on vacation. This isn’t your beat.”