I ignored the worried expression on his face. “I figure between the politicians and their aching … you know … and a potential murderer hiding close to the carnival that I’ll have my hands full.”
“Don’t forget the actual festival,” Fish reminded me. “You need to do the fluff pieces about people enjoying themselves, too.”
“Of course.” I adopted a singsong voice. “I look forward to writing those stories.”
Fish locked gazes with me. “I’m serious. We’re sponsors for this event. Don’t screw it up.”
“Did I say otherwise?”
“You focus on the fluff pieces first,” Fish warned, extending a finger. “If you get something else out of the festival, great. The fluff pieces are your first priority, though.”
“Oh, and here I thought it was bringing love and laughter to the world,” I smiled and batted my eyes.
“And I’ve officially hit my limit,” Fish grumbled. “Take your inappropriate conversation and evil thoughts someplace else. I’m busy.”
“Yes, sir.” I clicked my heels together and mock saluted before falling into step with Marvin and walking down reporter row. I waited until we were well out of hearing distance before speaking again. “He’s so easy.”
“Have you ever considered that you’re too evil for mankind?” Marvin asked.
I shrugged. “Would you like me less if that were true?”
“Probably more.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“There’s absolutely no problem.”
Finally someone agreed with me today. It was about time.
9
Nine
I decided to get one of my fluff pieces out of the way first, and headed toward the art museum on the edge of the Mount Clemens business block. I proceeded to spend the next hour pretending I was actually interested in papier-mâché, pencil sketches of women in hats and what looked to be old shoes masquerading as sculptures.
The woman who runs the museum was full of herself for the duration of the interview, and I could tell my Star Wars “It’s on like Alderaan” shirt wasn’t a big hit (which was rich because she had little silver cats connecting her wire rim glasses to a chain around her neck). I left her with a half-hearted wave and a promise that I’d check out the art fair being set up on one of the side streets before turning in my story.
Even though the idea of hanging out at an art fair was more painful than a bikini wax, I headed in that direction so I could get color quotes. I wasn’t keen on writing festival stories, but I wouldn’t shirk my duties when it came time to file the piece.
Despite my initial boredom while traversing the row of booths, I ended up finding a guy who took Lego characters and set them up in elaborate scenes before photographing them. I picked up several matted prints for the new house while interviewing him. I was convinced Eliot would love them. Okay, I knew he’d hate them, but I was mildly curious about how far he’d let me go when it came to decorating parts of the new house. He claimed he was open to input, but I was guessing that would last only a certain amount of time.
When I completed my interviews I bought an iced green tea and found a spot on a bench in the shade to use my phone for research. I started by pulling up the website of the Port Hope newspaper so I could see where the investigation on Tansy Gilbert’s murder stood, frowning when I found next to nothing in the way of updates. All that the reporter wrote – while rehashing an old story and simply putting a new lead on it – was that the investigation was ongoing.
After fuming for five minutes, I punched in the listed number for the reporter and pressed my cell phone to my ear.
“Angela Stewart.”
The woman on the other end of the call sounded young – like seventeen young – and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I sucked in an irritated sigh.
“My name is Avery Shaw,” I announced. I hadn’t given much thought to what I was going to say if the woman picked up. I tend to dodge calls from readers whenever possible. Apparently Angela didn’t feel the same way. “I’m a reporter with The Monitor in Mount Clemens.”
“Oh, wow.” Angela sounded impressed, which was scary. “That’s a daily newspaper.”
I rubbed my cheek. “Isn’t yours a daily newspaper?”
“Oh, no. Only three days a week.”
I should’ve known. The area wasn’t populated enough to sustain a daily newspaper. A three-day-a-week paper staff didn’t understand about true deadlines, so it was basically a weekly with a heavier printing schedule.
“Oh, well, I didn’t realize that.” I fought to keep my tone friendly even though I wanted to shake the woman until the mothballs I imagined packed in her head rolled out. “I’m looking for information on the Tansy Gilbert case.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“But … you wrote the story.”
“What story?”
I rubbed my sweaty palm over my knee to calm myself. I knew blowing up wouldn’t help over the long haul, but it took everything I had to refrain from screaming the word “dimwit” into the phone.
“The woman who died at the carnival,” I prodded.
“Oh, right. Her.”
The way Angela said “her” made my stomach roll. She clearly wasn’t interested in the story. If that murder happened in my jurisdiction I would be all over it.
“Yes, her,” I intoned. “I happened to be up there vacationing with my boyfriend last week. We’re the ones who stumbled across the body.”
“Oh, wow! That was you?” Angela was back to reverent. “The police told me – off the record, of course – that the woman who found the body was mouthy.”
“I’m sure they did.”
“They also said your boyfriend has long hair. Is that true?”
“He does.”
“Is he hot … like Harry Styles hot?”
I had no idea what that meant. “I don’t know who Harry Styles is,” I admitted after a beat. Crap! Was I getting so old I no longer knew who pop culture considered hot?
“You don’t know who Harry Styles is?” Angela squealed as if I’d asked who Johnny Depp was or something. “He’s with One Direction.”
“What’s One Direction?”
“Um … a band.”
“Like a boy band?”
“Only people without musical taste call it a boy band.”
“Only people who are deaf listen to boy bands.”
Angela’s voice was cool and clipped when she spoke again. “Did you call for a specific reason?”
Oh, well, good. I managed to piss off a boy band fan. My day was now complete. “Yeah, I was hoping you could give me some information on the Tansy Gilbert case. I read the story on your website, but there’s not a lot there.”
“Are you insinuating I didn’t do my job?”
Angela was clearly going to hold a grudge over this boy band crap. “I’m suggesting that there’s not a lot in the story,” I clarified, keeping my tone even. “I need to know if there are any new developments.”
“Why don’t you call the police?”
“Because I find reporters are much smarter than cops,” I answered honestly. Of course, Angela was the exception to that rule. She didn’t need to know that, though.
Angela heaved a sigh. I could practically hear her puffing up on the other side of the call. “Oh, well, that’s true.”
“Definitely.”
“I don’t know how much there is to tell you,” Angela said. “We have very little on the woman – she wasn’t from this area, from what I can tell – and we haven’t found any family.”
“How did she die?”
“Her neck was broken.”
“Yes, but how?”
“Someone broke it.”
If I could reach through the phone and rip out the girl’s lungs I would not only do it, I might take a moment to dance in her entrails. “Was it done by hand?”
“As opposed to what? Like a vise?”
I chewed on the inside
of my cheek as I considered how to answer. Angela Stewart had to be the most annoying woman in the history of the world. Given the fact that I ran across annoying women every day of my life, that was saying something.
“Uh-huh. Well … there was talk that first day that perhaps she might’ve fallen down some stairs,” I gritted out.
“Oh, that.” Angela sounded more and more disinterested with each passing second. “No. The medical examiner ruled it a homicide, but the cops said they don’t have any suspects. They believe the killer was a transient, and that they may never solve the case because he’s already left the area.”
In other words, they were already giving up. The revelation didn’t surprise me but, I couldn’t help but be a little bitter about it. “You said you didn’t track down any family, right?”
“I couldn’t find any relatives in the area.”
That didn’t mean Tansy Gilbert was alone in the world. That simply meant that Angela hadn’t bothered to look for family. “What about any other tidbits?” I pressed. “We both know there are certain things you discover while following leads that don’t make it into a story.”
“I don’t know that. I put everything I found into the story.”
“You mean you rewrote a news release when the cops sent it to you,” I muttered, my anger getting the better of me.
“And I think we’re done,” Angela said, her annoyance obvious. “I have a lot of work to do. I can’t talk to you on the phone all day.”
“Yes, well, that air isn’t going to get in your head without someone else operating the tank,” I shot back, disconnecting before Angela could unleash a full blast of millennial angst in my direction.
I held my phone in my hand for a few minutes, my mind busy as I tried to decide which way to take my investigation. I wasn’t familiar with the medical examiner in the Port Hope area. The cops already didn’t like me. I’d managed to tick off the local reporter handling story coverage. I didn’t have a lot of options.
I was lost in thought, debating about whether or not I should send Angela a stuffed unicorn to butter her up when a shadow appeared on the sidewalk in front of me. I lifted my head, meeting the weighted gaze of the guy from the game booth.
“Oh, look who it is,” I said, smirking. “Do you want me to check your darts for you again?”
The man frowned as he shook his head. He really was attractive for a carnival worker. I know that sounds harsh, but he was clean and had all of his teeth. I’d rarely seen that combination when dealing with carnies. I try to refrain from making snap judgments about people, but … okay, I never refrain from doing that. I always go with my gut. It has never let me down so far … except for that time in middle school when I thought the dentist was really a serial killer after watching a horror movie. That man had a drill and walked around in a white jacket, for crying out loud. What else was I supposed to think?
“What are you doing here?” the man asked, glancing around. “Are you following me?”
Well, that was an interesting question. “I don’t know. Do you have a lot of people following you from venue to venue? Is there, like, a carnival groupie network I don’t know about?”
The man frowned as he narrowed his eyes. “You are following me, aren’t you?”
“Oh, get over yourself.” I brushed off my cargo pants as I shifted a leg and rested it on my knee. “I work here. When we ran into you in Port Hope we were on vacation. You’re on my turf now, so I don’t need your attitude.”
“Uh-huh.” The man didn’t look convinced. “If you’re working, why are you sitting on a bench in the middle of a festival that’s not even set up yet?”
I saw no reason to lie. “I’m a reporter and I have to write fluff pieces on this stupid thing. My co-workers took a vote when I was out of town, and I lost.”
“Bummer for you.” The guy didn’t sound sympathetic, but I couldn’t blame him. “Does that mean you’ll be hanging around the entire week?”
I nodded. “Unfortunately.”
“Oh, well, great. I’m telling you now that you’re not allowed at my booth. You’ve already won your stuffed animals. You don’t need any more.”
“If I want more stuffed animals, I’ll win them.”
“Not at my booth.”
“Are you allowed to turn away customers?” I challenged. “I’ll have to ask the sheriff about that. He’s a personal friend. One of my cousins is a detective. Maybe I should bring him with me to smooth things over when I decide I want another stuffed animal.” I should’ve felt guilty about position dropping in such a tacky manner … but I didn’t.
The man narrowed his eyes, the distaste evident on his face. “Do you have any friends?”
“A few.”
“Do you pay them to spend time with you?”
“My sunny personality is enough to woo the world.”
Even though he was somber – and clearly not a member of my fan club – the man snorted out a laugh and shook his head. “You’re a piece of work.”
“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that,” I supplied. “While I’ve got you in a good mood, though, what do you know about the murder at the Port Hope carnival the night we were there? I tried talking to the local reporter covering the case, but she was about as helpful as a pair of gloves at an armless man convention.”
This time the man’s guffaw was loud enough to echo throughout the small area and his shoulders shook as he stared at his feet. “You are … something else. As for the murder, I don’t know anything about it. The cops questioned everyone, but believe the suspect came from outside. That’s such a big tourist area that the killer could be anyone. They cleared us right away.”
He had a point, but still … . “Do you think that someone traveling with your carnival is capable of murder?”
“That’s a bold question.”
“I’m a bold person.”
“I have no doubt.” The man rubbed his chin as he considered the question. “I’ve learned that it’s entirely possible for people to do things you’d never consider them capable of doing. I can’t answer that question because I basically think anything is possible.”
“That’s a fair answer.” I rolled my neck until it cracked. “Did you see anything that night?”
“Like someone killing a woman?”
I nodded.
“I did not.”
“Well, that’s a bummer,” I conceded. “I have no idea where to go next on this.”
“Is this even a story you should be following? It happened in Port Hope. This is Mount Clemens. I can’t figure out why you would be interested.”
“I’m multi-faceted weird,” I replied, my smile slipping when I recognized a familiar face moving up the sidewalk behind my new carnival friend. “Speaking of weird … .” I cleared my throat to get the new visitor’s attention, enjoying the way the color drained from his face when he saw me. “Hello, Tad.”
Tad Ludington, my least favorite person in the world – yes, even more than Duncan – scowled as we locked gazes. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, of course.”
“Why?”
“I missed you. I was out of town for a week. I’m so glad we have a chance to catch up. How are you? How is the wife? How are the kids?”
“You know exactly how things are going,” Tad spat.
“Right. What I should’ve asked is, ‘How’s the divorce?’”
“You’re the one who created the problem, so you should know.”
“Yes, it’s my fault you can’t satisfy your wife in bed.” I never think before I speak. I know I should. I know when I’ve pushed people to the limit. In this instance, I knew I pushed Tad to the limit months ago. He was barely hanging on by a thread, so he toppled over the edge of reason very easily these days. That didn’t stop me from poking him with a huge invisible stick. “Have you considered buying an instructional DVD to help you with your issues?”
Tad’s eyes flashed and he jerk
ed in my direction before I had a chance to register what was happening. He clearly had murder on his mind. “I’m going to kill you!”
Whoops. Someone should really write an instructional manual on how to deal with sociopaths when you have a big mouth. I would totally buy that one in hardcover.
10
Ten
Tad lunged with clear purpose – maximum damage – so I did the only thing I could from a sitting position. I lifted my leg and slammed my foot into his groin. His eyes crossed as he cried out, instinctively reaching to protect himself – too late, of course – and dropped to his knees on the sidewalk.
The carnival guy raised his eyebrows, amused, and opened his mouth to speak. He snapped it shut when another figure stormed into the area and caused him to take an inadvertent step back. This new figure was tall, broad shoulders offsetting a narrow waist, and he wore a sheriff’s department uniform.
“What is this?”
Jake Farrell, my high school boyfriend and Macomb County’s top cop, glanced between Tad and me with furious eyes.
“Hey!” I forced a bright smile as I made a big show of getting to my feet. “I haven’t seen you since I got back. How are things?”
“How are things?” Jake was incredulous. “You’ve been back in town less than forty-eight hours and Ludington is on the ground.”
“I want her arrested,” Tad sputtered.
“On what charges?” I challenged.
“Attempted murder.” Tad’s face was red with exertion as he writhed on the ground.
“If I was trying to kill you I would’ve succeeded, because you have the reflexes of a blind sloth, you tool,” I snapped. “At best you could nail me for assault. But I was protecting myself, so I don’t think you have a leg to stand on. Or, well, a leg to lay on, as the case may be.”
Jake pinched the bridge of his nose and I could practically see him silently counting to ten to calm himself. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“If I was trying to kill you … .”
Jake extended a warning finger to cut me off. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Off the Record (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 10) Page 9
