Off the Record (An Avery Shaw Mystery Book 10)

by Amanda M. Lee

  That made sense. “So, do you primarily work in Michigan?”

  “No, we hop all over Michigan, Illinois, Indiana and Wisconsin.”

  “Do you travel all year?”

  “Pretty much. We do take a break in December, January and February. Southern and western states host carnivals year round, but we don’t. We work without a break through the spring, summer and fall months, and then take all of our vacation time at once.”

  “That sounds great in theory but I’ll bet it’s a drag when you’re stuck working seven days a week with no end in sight.” I feigned sympathy. “However do you put up with that?”

  “It’s not so hard when you get used to it,” Stella explained. “I’ve been doing this for about thirteen years now. I started right out of high school and kept going.”

  I did the math in my head. That put Stella at about thirty-one years of age if she attended high school until she was eighteen. She looked older. I was guessing life on the road was hard on the skin. “So you’re used to it.”

  “I am. I think it’s like anything. It’s an adjustment at first and then things become easier when you fall into a routine.”

  For a carnie, she was fairly well spoken. Okay, yeah, I heard it that time. I’m massively judgmental. I can’t help myself. “So, do you follow a set schedule every year? I’m guessing that a lot of these towns hold the same festivals at the exact same time each year.”

  “I’d say that’s a good seventy-five percent of our bookings,” Stella confirmed, bobbing her head. She seemed to be getting used to me. “The other twenty-five percent are one-year deals, and they shift a lot. You have to book our services at least six months out. That allows the planners in the main office to plot out the best course for everyone, so we’re not driving back and forth across every state.”

  “I guess I never thought about the logistics,” I mused. “It sounds like you guys are organized.”

  “Everyone here knows what they’re doing,” Stella said. “Our group is run by Don Hamilton and he’s very organized. I’ve heard of other groups that don’t run as well as we do, but we rarely have problems.”

  “Problems?” I hoped I sounded innocent rather than predatory. “What kind of problems?”

  “Oh, it’s usually nothing major.” Stella waved off my faux concern. “We have maintenance to perform on the rides. Sometimes something goes wrong with some of our product deliveries – and that’s always a pain. Every once in a while there’s a fight to break up between workers. We’re like a family because we spend so much time working together.”

  “I get that. I fight with my co-workers all of the time, and we don’t travel together. In fact, I’m fighting with most of my co-workers right now.”

  Stella tilted her head, curious. “Why?”

  “Because they took a vote when I was on vacation and that’s how I ended up writing fluff festival pieces.” I saw no reason to lie. In fact, complaining about the assignment might further put Stella at ease.

  As if on cue, Stella giggled. “You’re pretty funny. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Only the important people in my life.”

  “Anyway, if you’re looking to do an interview, Don is probably the one you want to talk to,” Stella offered, leading me through the maze that was the carnival. “I guess Jess might work, too.”

  I worked overtime to keep my expression neutral. “Jess?”

  “Yeah. He’s Don’s nephew. He hasn’t been with us very long – about a year, I guess – but he’s kind of Don’s right-hand man. The others think it’s favoritism, but I think family favoritism is normal, don’t you?”

  I pictured my family. “I think working with family is the cruelest punishment imaginable,” I replied, involuntarily shuddering when I considered how rough it would be to live and travel with my family nine months out of the year. I’d have to kill myself … or more likely, them. “Still, it’s good that everyone around here gets along. I’m glad you don’t seem to have hard feelings about this Jess. I’m not a fan of nepotism, so I’d prefer talking to Don.” If I could avoid Jess – the one person at the carnival who would recognize me – so much the better.

  “Sure.” Stella led me to a small trailer on the outskirts of the carnival. It backed to the Gratiot Avenue corridor and had a clear view of the residential neighborhoods on the other side of the multi-laned thoroughfare. “Don is in here. I’ll take you inside. I’m sure he’ll love talking with you.”

  “Great.”

  Stella slowed on the plywood walk that led to the trailer door. “You might want to watch yourself. Don is a good guy, but … well …,” she lowered her voice, “he’s a boob man.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of the statement. I glanced down at my T-shirt. It covered everything and I wore a bra (which wasn’t always a given considering I’m often late for work). “I don’t understand.”

  “Yours are nice. He won’t touch them or anything, but he might stare.”

  “Um, well, good to know.” If he touched them I’d be kicking two guys in the nuts today and then Eliot would go on a rampage when I told him. At least I had something to look forward to.

  Stella knocked on the door and waited for a greeting before pushing it open. “Hey, Don. There’s a reporter here from The Monitor. She’s looking for information for a story. She has to do fluff pieces – that’s what she called them anyway – because her newspaper is the media sponsor. I thought I’d bring her to you.”

  “Well, send her in.”

  I wasn’t a fan of the voice, and when I caught sight of the man – a burly dude with a scraggly beard and a comb-over that would make the Hair Club for Men stand up and take notice – I had to force myself to keep smiling. I could tell I wasn’t going to like this guy on sight. Things only worsened when I sensed a presence to my left and swiveled, locking gazes with an amused-looking Jess. Well, great! I thought my day couldn’t get worse, but clearly I was wrong.

  “This is Avery Shaw.” Stella plowed on, oblivious to the change in my demeanor. “She’s extremely funny and asks really good questions.”

  “Oh, really?” Jess’s voice hopped to borderline falsetto. “What kind of questions has she been asking?”

  “Just about what area we cover and if we hit the same places more than once.”

  “Well, that definitely sounds insightful,” Jess teased, his eyes predatory. “How are you, Ms. Shaw?”

  “I’m great,” I replied, tapping my pen against my notebook. “How are you?”

  “I’ve never been better.” Jess shifted his attention to the human bowling ball in the corner. “Uncle Don, this is the reporter I was telling you about.”

  Don, a man who looked as if he swallowed an inflatable water doughnut, widened his eyes. “Really? This is the spitfire who kicked a guy in the balls and got away with it?”

  Stella swiveled quickly. “You know them?”

  “I’ve had occasion to meet Jess,” I replied.

  “You didn’t mention you knew him.” Stella’s voice was tinged with accusation. “It seems to me that’s the sort of thing you would admit.”

  “I didn’t realize it was the same Jess.” As far as lies go, it wasn’t one of my better efforts. I didn’t have a lot of options, though, so I decided to plow forward. “Jess is a very common name.”

  “You know a lot of people named Jess who work with a traveling carnival?” Jess pressed. “That seems unlikely.”

  “Yes, well, you’d be surprised at the people I’ve had occasion to meet.”

  Stella looked decidedly angry. “You tricked me.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m here to do a story, just like I said. I had no idea that the Jess you were talking about happened to be the same guy I met this afternoon. I’ve had a busy day, and it totally slipped my mind.”

  Stella didn’t look convinced. “Do you want me to show her out, boss?”

  Don chuckled as he waved off her question. “I’ll take it from here, Stella. Why don’t you ch
eck on everyone else and make sure we’re set to open Thursday afternoon as planned. I trust you to do today’s walkthrough.”

  Stella preened. “You do? Thanks.”

  Don watched her go, his face remaining neutral as he waited for the door to shut. Once Stella was gone, I felt keenly aware of the fact that I was outnumbered and in a small space with two men I didn’t know. The fact that I was digging for information on a murder – and not writing a fluff piece on how a traveling carnival operates – was at the forefront of my brain.

  “So, well, this is a nice trailer,” I said, scuffing my foot against the linoleum floor as I glanced around. “Do you live in here?”

  “This is my office,” Don answered, cracking his hairy knuckles as he regarded me. “I’m guessing you’re not here to write a story about the carnival. Why are you really here?”

  I hate when people accuse me of something without having facts to back it up. “I could be here writing a story about the carnival operation.”

  Don cocked an eyebrow. “Are you?”

  “No, I’m here because they fished a dead woman out of the Dumpster in the alley about a block away and she happens to look a lot like the woman who died at your carnival in Port Hope last week.” A lesser reporter would’ve continued lying. I saw no reason to do it. If they attacked I would scream, kick and then send Eliot after them with a baseball bat.

  “I see.” Don steepled his fingers, his eyes steady. He rarely blinked, which I found disconcerting. “How do you know the most recent victim – and yes, we were aware a body was found because deputies have already been by to question us – looks a lot like the Port Hope victim?”

  “Because I happened to find both of them.”

  Don’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “I know. Even I’m dumbfounded by the coincidence on this one. I was in Port Hope on vacation with my boyfriend last week. We stopped by the festival to hop on a few rides and play a few games … .”

  “You mean shake me down,” Jess corrected.

  “It’s not my fault you had defective darts,” I shot back.

  “Oh, this is the same woman who won the octopus and shark stuffed animals,” Don mused, as if putting the rest of a puzzle together. “I hadn’t gotten that far yet. My nephew has developed a strong dislike for you. Did you know that?”

  “If you expect me to cry … or be upset … or stomp my foot and demand he join my fan club … you’re about to be disappointed,” I replied. “I’m a reporter. My whole reason for being is to make people dislike me. That’s how you know you’re doing a good job in the journalism game.”

  Don leaned forward, intrigued. “How’s that?”

  “If you make one side happy, you’re doing it wrong. If you make the other side happy, you’re doing it wrong. If you make both sides unhappy, you’re doing it right.”

  Jess frowned as Don heartily guffawed.

  “You’re definitely funny,” Don said, once he recovered. “I can see why you make an impression wherever you go.”

  “It’s just one of my many gifts.”

  “Some people wouldn’t consider it a gift,” Jess interjected.

  “Then they’re looking at life wrong,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’re right, though. I’m not here to write a story on the carnival. I want to know if you have any employees who might be serial killers.”

  “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.” Don made an odd clucking sound as he shifted in his chair. “I run background checks on everyone I hire, Ms. Shaw. If I had knowledge of one of my employees being a killer, do you really think I’d keep him on?”

  “I guess it depends how efficient he is.”

  Don snickered as he looked at Jess. “Funny girl. For the record, I don’t hire killers. I won’t pretend that all of my employees have clean records – that comes with how little I pay – but I don’t hire violent offenders.”

  “Just robbers and people with a propensity for property damage?”

  “And you’re back to being funny.” This time the words weren’t accompanied by a laugh. “Ms. Shaw, I don’t know what you want me to say. The deputies who visited didn’t seem to think that this investigation had anything to do with the Port Hope case.”

  That’s because they hadn’t linked the two cases. They didn’t have the same information I did. There was no way I could admit that. “So you believe this is just some horrible coincidence?”

  “Until I hear otherwise, that’s exactly what I believe.”

  I stared at him a moment, uncertain. “Okay. Well … I guess that’s all I need.”

  “Are you sure? I could force Jess to give you a tour for that fluff piece you need to write.” Don was back to being amused, although the emotion didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. He seemed … agitated, for lack of a better word. He didn’t want me to realize it, though.

  “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Thank you so much for your time. I can find my way out.”

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Jess called to my back. “After all, it won’t be a fun festival if we didn’t get to spend more time together, Ms. Shaw.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me being a stranger. I’ll be all over this place until the festival is over.” I meant it as a borderline threat, but Jess obviously didn’t take it that way.

  “I look forward to more quality time with you.” Jess lifted his red plastic cup as sort of a toast.

  “That makes two of us.”

  14

  Fourteen

  “You’re actually packing?”

  Eliot looked surprised when he found me in my office shortly after seven. He carried a takeout bag in one hand and graced me with a teasing smile before glancing around the room. It looked messier than it had the previous night, but that was only because I’d gotten a lot done. I had stacked boxes against the wall, on a table and in the middle of the floor. What can I say? I’m terrible when it comes to household organization. I’m a dynamo when it comes to work-related tasks, but I’m a mess on the domestic front.

  “I am,” I confirmed, nodding as I slid a Harry Potter diorama in a Styrofoam case. “I should be able to finish this room tonight.”

  “That’s good.” Eliot dropped a kiss on top of my head before settling on the floor with me. “You’ve made a lot of progress.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve been home for two hours.”

  “And running the investigation through your head,” Eliot deduced. “Did you come up with anything?”

  I shrugged. “I ran into the guy from the dart game again. That was the second time today, even though I thought I was avoiding him when I asked to talk to the manager.”

  “The guy you terrorized into giving you the shark?”

  “I didn’t terrorize him.”

  “Some people have different levels of terror,” Eliot teased, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “What’s bugging you?”

  I balked. “What makes you think something is bugging me?”

  “You’re in a mood.”

  “I am not in a mood.”

  “You are.” Eliot was firm as he caught my chin and forced me to lock gazes with him. “Spill.”

  “I’m … frustrated.” It was hard to admit, but once the word was out of my mouth I felt better. “This entire thing feels wrong to me.”

  “Moving?” Eliot squared his shoulders, as if preparing for battle. “You said you were ready for this. I believe you’re ready for this. You cannot back out now. If you’re feeling reticent … or afraid … or just Avery-like, you need to tell me exactly what’s going on so we can deal with it.”

  It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. “I’m not frustrated about moving.”

  Eliot almost looked relieved. “You’re not?”

  “I’m not happy about all of the work, but I’m excited about moving,” I offered. “Sure, I’m convinced our new neighbors are pod people, and we’re definitely going to have to get one of those ‘no solicitors’ signs beca
use I do not want these people showing up on our doorstep to get me to join their Tupperware groups.”

  Eliot arched an eyebrow. “Tupperware? Is that still a thing?”

  “Or whatever,” I replied. “There’s always some new form of cult, whether it be essential oils, those weird necklaces with little pieces inside of them … heck, I think there’s some form of legging cult out there these days. I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s stupid. I saw it on Facebook when I was looking for off-color political memes to post to my mother’s wall the other day.”

  Eliot looked as if he was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “You don’t wear leggings.”

  “I ordered a pair with a Star Wars theme. They’ll be here tomorrow.”

  Eliot smirked. “Well, I’m pretty sure you can handle whatever cult the subdivision throws your way. You’re a leader, not a follower. Maybe you can start your own cult.”

  “You laugh, but I’ve considered it. I want to start a cult where we make fun of anyone who joins a leggings cult.”

  “You’d be good at that.” Eliot was silent a moment as he shifted the food bag. When he did, the unmistakable scent of Middle Eastern food assailed my olfactory senses and I had to swallow to keep myself from drooling. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until he tempted me with dinner. “If you weren’t talking about the move – and I’m still waiting for that freakout, by the way – what are you frustrated about?”

  “The entire thing.” I rolled to my hip and grabbed the stack of papers I hidden under the empty desk when I heard his truck in the driveway. “I’ve been multi-tasking. I can read something from the information I printed out at the office this afternoon if I pack something first.”

  “Oh, that’s why you got so much done.” Eliot grinned as he shifted so he was next to me. “What do you have?”

  “I pulled records on the carnival,” I replied. “They have to file a ton of paperwork whenever they change venues. They’re licensed and insured because of the heavy machinery, and, believe it or not, they have to file employee lists. The problem is that tracking these people down is practically impossible.”