One Stiletto in the Grave (Reapers in Heels)

by Jason Krumbine

  ten

  “Ow,” Avery says, flinching. “Ow!”

  “Stop being a baby,” the doctor says. He can say that. His name is Jack Ellis and he’s Avery’s boyfriend.

  Jack’s tall with ordinary features; dark hair that’s starting to thin out in the back, light acne scaring on his left cheek and brown eyes that watch her from behind wire rim glasses. He’s six years older than Avery, but looks closer to eight. His lips are thin and when he gets mad they press together into a single line.

  The three of them are in the main ER, privacy courtesy of the curtains pulled around them. Avery sits on the bed and Brooke’s grabbed a chair off to the side.

  Jack dabs at the cuts on Avery’s face again.

  “Ow!” she says and swats at him.

  He stops and looks at her over his glasses “You can’t do that.”

  “It stings,” she says.

  “It’s supposed to,” he says. “Now stop being a baby,” he grabs some bandages from the tray.

  “Wow,” Brooke says. “Do you give all your patients this kind of bedside charm?”

  “No,” he replies, placing the bandage over Avery’s eyebrow. “You two are special.”

  “Oooh,” Brooke looks at her sister. “You hear that, sis? We’re special.”

  “Can I ask what happened to you two or am I not going to get an answer?” Jack asks.

  “You’ll get an answer,” Avery says. “You might not like it, but you’ll get an answer.”

  He regards her with a raised eyebrow and then looks at Brooke.

  “A door opened in our faces,” Brooke explains.

  Jack looks at her bruises and bandages. “Must have been a big door,” he says.

  “Very big,” Brooke agrees. “One of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  Jack turns back to his girlfriend.

  “What she said.” Avery points to her sister.

  “You need to more careful,” he says, finishing up the last bandage.

  “We’re about as careful as we can get,” Avery says.

  “Which is why you’re in my ER.”

  “Actually, we’re in your ER because you’re my boyfriend,” Avery says. “Saint Mary’s was closer.”

  Jack frowns. “Closer to that big door.”

  Avery nods solemnly. “Very big door.”

  “Hey.” He cups her face gently in his hands. “I love you. I want you to come home safe every night. Be careful.”

  “I love you, too.” She rubs his arm affectionately. “Speaking of coming home, you didn’t last night.”

  He groans, peeling off his surgical gloves. “We had, like, three doctors call in sick last night. They had me work a double. It was non-stop. We had six major car accidents, three gunshot victims and more than two dozen people with food poisoning.”

  Brooke gets up from the chair. “Who was poisoning their food?”

  “Fresco’s,” he says. “It’s some Italian place down east. Window cleaner got in half their ingredients.”

  Brooke makes a face. “Remind me to never go there.”

  “Oh, you’ll like this,” Jack says. “I forgot the best part of last night.”

  “One of the car accidents was a tiny car filled with a bunch of clowns?” Brooke asks.

  He frowns at Brooke. “You’re weird,” Jack shakes his head. “No, one of orderlies swears some guy came in missing the back of his head.”

  Brooke and Avery look at each other.

  “What?” he asks, catching the shared look.

  “Nothing,” Avery says. “What happened?”

  Jack shrugs. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I didn’t see it. But apparently the guy walks right up to admissions, looking paler than me.”

  “That’s pretty pale,” Brooke cuts in.

  “He shows ‘em the back of his head and Liz, she was manning the desk, passes right out,” Jack finishes. “Can you believe that?”

  “What happened with the guy?” Avery asks.

  Jack shrugs. “He disappeared, if he was real at all. The orderlies have been trying to pull off a prank on the ER staff for the last month.”

  Brooke and Avery share another look.

  “Okay, seriously, what’s going on?” he asks again.

  “Nothing,” Avery says.

  He doesn’t look convinced. Jack just shakes his head. “You two are trouble.”

  “I’m not sure, but that kind of talk can’t be good for your relationship, sis,” Brooke says with a false whisper.

  “The secret is to take it as a compliment,” Avery says.

  Jack holds up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “A basketful,” Avery says.

  “Well, then in my professional opinion you’re as fit as a fiddle,” Jack says.

  She smiles and hops off the bed. “Thanks.”

  Avery grabs her jacket and starts to put it back on. Jack stops her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “Seriously, though, what happened?” he asks.

  “Seriously, we were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Avery says, gingerly shrugging into her jacket.

  Jack waits for more and when it doesn’t come, he just shakes his head and pulls back the privacy curtains. “I’m probably not going to be home again tonight. They’re gonna want me to work a triple.”

  “That’s okay,” Avery says. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day for us, too.”

  “More doors to run into?” he asks.

  “There’s a lot of doors in this city,” Avery says.

  “Maybe you’ll come by later with some dinner?” he asks hopefully.

  She smiles. “Sounds good to me.”

  Brooke and Avery stand outside the hospital. Brooke takes a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the sunlight. “That was a convenient story. About the guy last night.”

  “It sure was,” Avery agrees.

  “You think it’s our third guy, Larry?”

  “Sounds like him,” Avery says. “What does a guy whose not dead do after visiting a hospital that won’t help him?” she wonders aloud.

  “In fairness,” Brooke says, checking her reflection in the hospital’s glass doors. “I’m not sure that he gave the staff enough of an opportunity.”

  Avery steps off the curb. “Come on.” Avery gets to the middle of the parking lot before she realizes her sister isn’t behind. “What are you doing?”

  Brooke’s using the glass doors to apply a shade lipstick that can only be described as lusty red. “I don’t want to look like a battered wife.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  She smacks her lips together, giving one more final inspection and then follows Avery. “This’ll distract from the bruising.”

  Avery points at her sister’s overly red lips. “That lipstick.”

  “It’s very eye catching,” Brooke explains. “And if they’re staring at my lips, they’re not staring at my bruises.”

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  Brooke smiles. “Anybody who thinks I’m pretty enough to look at.”

  Avery shakes her head and heads for the car.

  Carrie's is a small outlet store that carries name brand items at half the price. It’s the Graves’ sister’s favorite place for retail therapy.

  “This,” Avery says, holding up a leather purse. “Is exactly what I needed.

  “No, you don’t,” Brooke says. “It’s hobo purse. You don’t want to look like a hobo.”

  “Not the purse.” Avery sets the purse back down. “This.” She waves her hands around the store. “This experience is exactly what I needed after getting tossed around like that.”

  Brooke looks around the store, nodding her head. “There is something to be said for it.”

  Avery closes her eyes and smiles. “I love this music. Every store should have music like this.”

  “Then Carrie’s wouldn’t be Carrie’s,” Brooke points out.

  Avery opens her eyes. “Good point.” She
nods at the basket on Brooke’s arm. It’s filled with six pairs of shoes. “You know we’re not buying anything today.

  Brooke holds the basket defensively. “I know. I just like to hold them.”

  Avery steps away from the purses. “You’re just going to get attached them.”

  “They’re not puppies,” Brooke says.

  “No, they’re not,” Avery agrees.

  “It’s not like I’m going to adopt them. Although,” she picks up a pair of discounted Prada heels. “These are pretty cute. I should try them on one more time.”

  Avery snatches the shoes from her sister’s hands.

  “Hey!”

  “We’re window shopping,” Avery says, dropping the Prada’s on a table filled with clearance items.

  “Well, that’s really odd, because I don’t think they sell windows here,” Brooke says. She looks longingly at the shoes.

  Avery grabs her by the arm and drags her towards the lingerie department. “Come on. Let’s find you something to wear that doesn’t make you look like a stripper.”

  “What’s the point?” Brooke asks. “Apparently we’re just window shopping. Hey, you know what’s funny? You told me Jack was home last night.”

  Avery stops to look at a bra. “Yeah, that was supposed to make you feel bad.”

  “Oh?”

  She looks over at sister. “It’s part of my secret plan to trick you into a healthy, monogamous relationship.”

  “It’s not working,” Brooke replies.

  “It’s a long term plan,” Avery confesses.

  “You know, Jack’s not really a nice guy,” Brooke says.

  “Yes he is,” Avery defends him.

  “Yeah, well, he was kind of an ass back at the hospital.”

  “He doesn’t like what we do.” Avery holds up a pair of pink panties. “Here.”

  Brooke looks disapprovingly at her sister. “That would cover my entire butt.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “I don’t think it is. Maybe you should dump Jack,” Brooke suggests.

  “That has nothing to do with these panties.” Avery puts the underwear back down.

  “It’s been two years.”

  “Relationships don’t come with expiration dates,” Avery says.

  “Sure they do,” Brook insists. “It’s like milk. Sometimes you can stretch ‘em past their Good-By Date, but they’re still gonna go rotten.”

  Avery frowns. “You’re ruining the shopping experience.”

  “I’m just saying he was kind of an ass back at the hospital,” Brooke says.

  “You’re confused. Stanley’s an ass,” Avery tells her. “Jack’s a nice guy.”

  “Is it his dick?” Brooke asks.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Does he have a big dick?” she clarifies. “Size is everything, but it isn’t everything, you know.”

  Avery avoids looking at her sister. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

  “There are other dicks out there,” Brooke reasons.

  “Stop talking.”

  “You might even find one better than Jack’s,” Brooke tries to sound hopeful. “You know, it’s not the size, it’s how they use it. I can attest to that.”

  “Hey, here’s a question,” Avery turns to her sister. “If you’re so hot on Stanley-”

  “I’m not really hot on him.”

  “-why were you gushing about Steven the bartender last night?” Avery finishes.

  Brooke rolls her eyes. “Because Steven the bartender is gorgeous. And he has a tongue blessed by God himself. I have long term plans for Steven the bartender.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Oh really,” Brooke moans.

  Avery makes a face. “Please don’t do that.” She walks over to the robes.

  “This is what I’m saying.” Brooke follows her. “This is what you’re missing out on.”

  “Sloppy seconds?”

  “Not sloppy seconds,” Brooke says. “But there is a Steven the bartender out there for you.”

  “I have a Steven the bartender,” Avery says. “And he’s called my boyfriend Jack.”

  Brooke shakes her head. “Jack is no Steven the bartender. Jack is definitely a Stanley: Not good for you, but comfortable.”

  “Oh, is that what Stanley is?”

  She shrugs. “He has an accent. You know how I get around accents.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “I can’t help myself,” Brooke says.

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Remember that Australian?” Brooke asks.

  “Yes I do,” Avery replies. “So does Mom. Because you brought him home and started dry-humping him in the middle of dinner.”

  “We were just kissing.”

  “If that was just kissing then I’m horribly conservative.”

  “Well, you kind of are,” Brooke agrees.

  Avery stops and turns around to face her sister. “Stanley’s a bad penny. A bad penny that you get rid of and then go looking for again and again. And I have no idea why you do it.”

  “I didn’t go looking for him this time,” Brooke says. “He found me.”

  “You know how to say ‘no’?” Avery asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you could have said it last night.”

  Brooke frowns. “And gotten stuck with my shower head? No thank you. Stanley may have a lot of bad qualities-”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Avery mutters.

  “-but at least he’s not a shower head,” Brooke finishes.

  “That’s a pretty low standard,” Avery points out.

  “But at least it’s a standard.”

  Avery shakes her head. “No, that’s not an argument.”

  “I’m just saying,” Brooke says. “Or, what I was trying to say is that Jack’s a bit of a butthole.”

  “Oh, hey, look the time,” Avery points to a clock on the wall. “Retail therapy is over. Let’s check the second accountant’s house and hope there’s no one there waiting to beat us up.” She makes a beeline for the front door.

  Brooke points to the clock. “That’s not a real clock, Av.”

  eleven

  Jim Hollway used to live in a white two-story house with a neatly trimmed front lawn and a relatively new mini-van parked in the driveway. The neighborhood is right out of a Martha Stewart fantasy.

  “This is not what I was expecting,” Brooke says, looking down the street. It’s shady with giant trees lining the roadway between the homes.

  They sit in their car, parked across from Hollway’s house.

  “What were you expecting?” Avery asks, watching the house.

  Brooke shrugs. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t this,” she looks at her sister. “What does his paperwork say?”

  Avery pulls out the paperwork they were given. “Name, age and where he died. Nothing else.”

  “I think he’s got a family,” Brooke says.

  “Really? You don’t think he drives a mini-van around for fun?” Avery asks sarcastically.

  “I’m just saying it’s harder to search the house if he’s got a family hanging around,” Brooke points out.

  Avery pulls out the spectral device.

  “I really wish you’d get rid of that,” Brooke says.

  “I really wish you’d stop being a slut,” Avery replies, flipping the switch on the side. “You think we can work out a compromise?”

  Brooke shakes her head. “Lipstick Feminism.”

  “Strangely enough,” Avery says. “The more you say that, the more ridiculous it sounds.”

  The red light flicks on.

  “We don’t even know what the range is on that thing,” Brooke points out.

  Avery flips it off and pockets the device. She checks her reflection in the rearview mirror.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure I don’t look like a battered woman,” Avery says. Bruises are forming slowly, but it’s not too noticeable yet. She looks
at her sister. “There’s not much we can do about you.”

  Brooke looks down at her outfit. “I don’t look like a bum.”

  “No, but you look like Hollway’s mistress that’s decided to come clean with his wife now that he’s dead,” Avery says.

  “Hardy-har-har,” she says flatly. “That’s me, laughing. In case you were wondering.”

  Avery opens her door and gets out. “Just let me do the talking.”

  Haley Hollway answers the door. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen from crying. Her blond hair is disheveled and her clothes are wrinkled. She’s got a preppy suburban housewife look to her.

  “Yes?” she asks. She doesn’t open the door all the way, just wide enough to see Avery and Brooke. She holds her hand against the door, a soggy tissue between her fingers.

  “Hello, Mrs. Hollway?” Avery asks as gently as possible.

  “Yes, that’s me,” she says. “Is there something I can help you with? This really isn’t a good time…”

  “Actually, ma’am, this is about something we can help you with,” Avery says. “I’m Avery Graves and this is my sister, Brooke. We need to talk to you about your husband’s soul.”

  She slams the door in their faces.

  “Wow,” Brooke says. “I’m definitely glad I let you do the talking.”

  Avery looks down at herself and then at her sister. “We don’t look like quacks.”

  Brooke raises her eyebrows. “Seriously? You’re going to rationalize this?”

  “I’m just saying. It’s not like we’re dressed in short sleeve button down shirts and ties, riding bicycles,” Avery replies. “I mean, the least she could do is hear us out.”

  She turns back to the door and knocks again.

  “I vote we come back later when they’re asleep and search the house then,” Brooke suggests.

  “That’s a stupid idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, first, you are the opposite of stealthy,” Avery says. “And second, it’s really creepy.”

  The front door opens and Haley Hollway peeks out again.

  “You’re still here,” she says needlessly.

  “Yes,” Avery says. “You didn’t let me finish,” she pulls out her brass badge. “My name’s Avery Graves and this is my sister. We’re grim reapers and we would like to talk to you about your husband’s soul.”