They sit in the Hollway’s living room. There’s a fireplace and family portraits. The sofas are a cocktail of subdued stripped colors. Haley Hollway perches herself across from the sisters on the opposite sofa.
“I don’t understand,” she says. “What do you mean you’re ‘grim reapers?’”
Brooke starts to open her mouth but Avery beats her to it. “Mrs. Hollway, it’s pretty much exactly what you think it is. What my sister and I do is round up souls that don’t make it to the afterlife on their own.” She leaves off the part about how some souls will go on the run.
“And you think my husband hasn’t crossed over?” she asks.
“Actually, we know your husband hasn’t,” Avery says. “In addition to a Burton Gentry. Did you and your husband know him?”
She nods. “Yes. They were partners. They had their own accounting firm. I’m sorry; Burton’s soul is missing as well?”
“It’s best if you just focus on your husband’s situation,” Avery suggests. “It’s easier to digest that way.”
“And what you do,” she points at the two of them. “It’s a real job?”
Avery fights the urge to look at her sister. But she’s reasonably sure Brooke has a poorly hidden smirk on her face. “Yes,” Avery says. “It is a real job.”
“Huh,” she slouches back on her sofa. “I would have never thought.”
“It’s not very highly publicized,” Avery says.
“And you’re here because you can’t find my husband’s soul?” she asks again.
“It most causes, in traumatic incidents like this, the victim’s soul doesn’t depart the scene of their death,” Avery explains. “Your husband’s has and we’re trying to narrow down a few locations as to where he might have gone.”
She looks at the both of them. “You know, you sound absolutely crazy.”
“Well,” Brooke finally says, “you did let us into your house.”
Hollway doesn’t say anything.
“Please ignore my sister,” Avery says. “She’s not a people person.”
“I am a great people person,” Brooke insists.
“What do you need from me?” Hollway asks.
“Ideally, we would like to search your home,” Avery says. “But I’ll be honest; I don’t think your husband is here.”
“Why’s that?”
She gestures around the living room. “You seem to have a very nice and loving family, Mrs. Hollway. If I was your husband and I was going to haunt you, I’d make myself known.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” she asks.
“After a fashion.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Ms. Graves,” Hollway says, looking down at her hands. “He was an attentive and loving husband and parent. He was caring and strong. He was my high school sweetheart and my first and only love,” she falls silent, lowering her head. “Despite all that, in the last month or so he had become distant. He and Burton were spending more hours at the office,” she looks back at the sisters. “He became very secretive and nervous. I asked him repeatedly what was wrong, but he refused to tell me.”
“Why was your husband at that motel?”
She looks at Avery. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told the police: As far as I knew my husband was at his office last night, which is nowhere near that motel.”
“What about drugs?” Brooke asks.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Was your husband into drugs?” Brooke clarifies and taps her finger against the side of her nose.
Haley glares at her. “My husband didn’t even drink, much less take drugs.”
“We’re not trying to sully your husband’s name, Mrs. Hollway,” Avery steps back in. “You just have to understand-”
“I understand perfectly,” she cuts her off. “The police explained it very well.”
“Right,” Avery looks at her sister. Brooke just shrugs. She turns back to Hollway. “What do you think was going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, clearly your husband wasn’t involved with drugs, Mrs. Hollway,” Avery says. “So why were he and his partner at the motel last night?”
Her face falls. “Honestly, Ms. Graves, I have no idea why my husband was there.”
“One other thing,” Avery says, “Does the name Larry Faraco mean anything to you?”
“Who?”
They walk back to their car.
“And why didn’t we check her house?” Brooke asks quietly. Hollway’s watching them from her front door as they walk down the driveway.
“Because he wasn’t there,” Avery replies. “And you know it.”
“Yeah, but don’t you like going around dead people’s homes?” she asks. “I know I do. I love picking around other people’s stuff.” She glances back over her shoulder at Hollway’s house.
“You’re unbelievable,” Avery says.
They reach the car.
“So we’ve still got two missing souls and an undead man no one’s heard of,” Brooke says. “You know what? Something doesn’t sit right.”
Avery throws her hands up. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
twelve
The diner’s retro-themed and dirty. It smells like an outhouse, but Brooke swears by their burgers. The sisters are seated in a booth at the back.
Avery flips her cellphone closed and sets it back on the table.
“Well?” Brooke asks her.
“Jackson gave me an earful,” Avery says, relating the five-minute call that had turned into a ten-minute tirade.
“About what? The concrete man we left for him at Gentry’s place?”
“For harassing Hollway’s widow,” Avery says, digging into her burger. She makes a face. It’s already cold.
“We were not harassing her,” Brooke says.
“That’s not what she says,” Avery replies. “Apparently, she was on the phone five seconds after we left, giving Jackson an earful.”
Brooke shakes her head. “No. I don’t buy it. She understood.”
“She thought we were quacks,” Avery says.
“Why’d she let us into her house then?”
Avery shrugs. “Maybe she was hoping for a laugh. If my husband had just died I’d be taking my laughs where I could get them. What do you think her husband was up to?”
Brooke shrugs. “Maybe Hollway and Burton were having a gay affair?”
“Let me know when you plan on being serious.”
“What does it matter?” Brooke asks. “So the guy was being secretive. Maybe she didn’t know him as well as she thought. Who cares?”
Avery drums her fingers on the table for a moment. “I wonder if they’re running.”
“Burton and Hollway?”
“Yeah. Maybe they saw the bright light and decided to skip it for now.”
“That would fit neatly with my gay love affair theory,” Brooke points out. “What about the guy we left at Burton’s?”
“There was no guy,” Avery says. “Jackson said Burton’s partner came home and reported a break-in. No suspects present.”
Brooke finishes her soda. “Well, bullet dodged.”
Avery shakes her head. She pushes her burger to the side, only half finished. “No, I want to know who that guy was.”
“I can live with that mystery unsolved,” she points to the half-eaten burger. “You gonna finish that?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s cold and it tastes like a fart.”
Brooke frowns at her. “It does not taste like a fart.”
“How did you find this place?” Avery asks. “It looks disgusting.”
Brooke grabs the burger and starts to finish it.
“Okay, well, mystery solved. Clearly the owners sought you out,” Avery says, making a face. “Because you’re just as disgusting.”
“This is great food,” Brooke says with a full mouth.
“I’m not even gonna dignify that with
a response,” she pulls out the paperwork. “Anyway, the short of it is, Jackson’s in a pissy mood.”
“But…?”
“But he still gave me their office address,” Avery says, holding up the napkin with the address for Hollway and Burton’s office.
“That’s over by the theater district,” Brooke says, looking at the address. “Also, your handwriting sucks.” She finishes Avery’s burger with a burp. “That was a good burger. When you’re hungry later you’re gonna be sorry you didn’t finish that.”
“I’ll survive,” Avery shoves the napkin into her pocket. “We still need to find out who Larry Faraco is.”
“Apparently, he’s an undead man that nobody knows anything about,” Brooke says.
“Other than that.”
After burping loudly, Brooke says, “We need a computer.”
“Please stop burping like a man,” Avery says. “Searching the Internet isn’t the answer for everything.”
“Maybe not,” Brooke says. “But it’s a great excuse for having a computer. Plus, I don’t know if you’ve heard this, online dating’s all the rage these days.”
“You don’t date, you just spread your legs for anything that has a penis,” Avery says.
“Not anything,” Brooke argues. “He has to be at least attractive. I’m not a whore.”
“No, you’re a slut.”
“You know, some women use that as a term of affection,” Brooke points out.
Avery leans across the table, as though to share some sacred secret. “In case you’re wondering, I’m not one of those women.”
“Here’s the funny thing,” Brooke says, wiping her mouth with her napkin.
“From the tone of your voice I have a feeling it’s not really going to be funny,” Avery says.
“Oh, it’s going to be a laugh riot,” Brooke insists. “As I recall and I’ll be the first admit I don’t have the world’s best memory, but you slept with Jack on the first date.”
“Well,” Avery replies, folding her hands on the table. “You’re wrong.”
“I am?”
“It was not the first date.”
“What date was it?” Brooke asks. “Because if it’s anything under the fifth date, you don’t have much of leg to stand on.”
“When Jack and I slept together is really none of your concern,” Avery says. “Unlike you, I don’t like to go around sharing intimate details of my sex life.”
Brooke snaps her fingers. “It was your third date.”
“Please stop talking.”
“It was your third date and I when I saw you the next day you had stars in your eyes,” Brooke finishes.
“What part of ‘Please stop talking’ confuses you?”
“You’ve been with the man two years,” Brooke says.
“Because he’s a wonderful man.”
“Because he’s safe and comfortable,” Brooke corrects her.
“Even if that was entirely true,” Avery says. “Neither of those things are bad qualities in a man.”
“Personally, I don’t think Jack likes you very much.”
“And how do you come to that conclusion?”
Brooke replies, “He’s easily the most passive aggressive man I’ve ever met.”
Avery takes her sister’s hands in her own. “I have something important to tell you and I want you to take it with the love it’s intended to be taken with: You are a horrible judge of character.”
“If I set you up with an online profile, would you consider at least going out with one of the men it matches you with?” Brooke asks, not missing a beat.
“Hello, ladies.” Adam Harris slides in the booth next to Brooke. He’s a skinny man with a buzz cut and a sharp, angular face. He dresses like a preppy nerd and smells like one, too. He works, in an unofficial capacity, as a grim reaper historian. Adam has taken it upon himself to transcribe the whole of the Reaper Chronicles digitally, to help the grim reaping community move into the 21st Century. Officially, the Council of Reapers considers him a pain in the neck, but hasn’t bothered to shut him down.
“Adam,” Brooke greets him. She turns to her sister. “Why’s Adam here?”
“Because I asked him to be,” Avery says, letting go of her sister’s hands.
Adam wrinkles his nose at the burger in front of Brooke. “What is that?”
“Avery’s lunch.”
“Why isn’t Avery eating it?”
“Because Avery doesn’t want to die later today,” Avery answers for herself. “I’m pretty sure it would be a painful and embarrassing death on the toilet.”
Adam makes a disgusted face. “I was gonna say just that.”
“They’re better than they look,” Brooke says.
“They’d have to be, because they look pretty bad,” Adam says. “I can feel my arteries clogging up just looking at them.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not here to make fun of my food,” Brooke says dryly.
Adam pulls out his smartphone. “You are absolutely right. So. The last zombie outbreak.”
Brooke stops eating and stares at Avery. “You said it wasn’t a zombie outbreak.”
“I said that Thane said wasn’t a zombie outbreak,” Avery corrects.
“And you agreed with him,” Brooke says.
“I thought he was probably correct,” Avery amends.
“Then why is Adam here using the z-word?”
“Because it doesn’t hurt to be absolutely certain.”
Adam looks back and forth between the sisters. “Are you two finished?” He checks his notes on the phone. “Your Faraco boy is definitely not a zombie. The last zombie outbreak was, of course, twenty years ago in Louisiana.”
Brooke shudders. “I hate zombies.”
“During that memorable incident, we had over three thousand infected. It was the third longest infection, lasting four months and it took a total of twelve Alpha Reapers to contain it. We lost almost twenty reapers in total to the infection, including the esteemed Council member Van Ellison. Since then, there have been a few random incidents, but they’ve mostly been contained to Africa,” Adam continues. “The Council’s been having a hard time getting any solid numbers or accounts. Reapers tend to go missing out in the jungles. And Faraco’s never been to Africa.”
“So, Faraco’s definitely not a zombie,” Avery says.
“Definitely,” Adam confirms.
“Then how the hell is he not dead?”
“Maybe it’s not Faraco in Faraco’s body,” Brooke says with a mouth full of hamburger.
Avery looks doubtfully at her sister.
“What?” Brooke asks. “He can be undead but he can’t be possessed? Don’t you remember what’s his face?” she snaps her fingers, trying to remember the name. “With the nose? Last year?”
Adam shakes his head. “Repossession requires special dispensation from the Council.”
Avery points to Adam. “What he said.”
“There’d be a paper trail,” Adam finishes. “Literally.”
Avery drums her fingers on the table. “So Faraco’s undead and nobody knows why.”
Adam presses his palms against the table and gets to his feet. “Well, I’m sure you lovely ladies will figure it out. The sight of that hamburger, however, is making me nauseous, so I’m gonna go before I hurl all over you.”
thirteen
Burton and Hollway’s office is located in a tiny storefront squeezed between a video store and a cigar store.
Brooke peeks through the front window, cupping her hands around her eyes. “The place is a mess,” she looks at her sister. “Somebody tossed their office.”
Avery tries the front door. It’s locked.
She looks around, the street isn’t busy, but there’s too many people walking around.
“Let’s head around back,” she says.
They walk down to the corner and follow the side of the building. There’s a separate parking lot in the rear. Two dumpsters are off to the side.
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Avery counts the doors until she reaches the one that should be Burton and Hollway’s. Brooke tries the handle. It’s unlocked.
The sisters share a look and carefully open the door.
No giant fists swing out to greet them.
“So far, so good,” Avery whispers and steps inside.
They walk down the hallway. It’s dead quiet. Avery’s gently tapping her stick along the walls of the hallway as they go.
There are two office doors on either side of the hallway. Peeking through both they find that each office is a mess with papers and personal objects strewn everywhere. The front room has chairs overturned and the receptionist’s desk is a wreck.
They double back to the offices. Careful not to trip over anything, Brooke walks over to Hollway’s desk.
“Who do you think was poking around?” she asks.
Avery checks Burton’s office. “Cops?”
“Cops don’t leave a mess behind.”
“True,” Avery agrees. She pulls one of the chairs upright. “You think it was that Perkins guy from earlier?”
“That would be coincidental,” Brooke says from across the hallway.
“It sure would,” Avery says. She taps the desk with her stick. Nothing happens. She ruffles through the papers. It’s a lot of numbers that don’t make any sense. The computer monitor is cracked and the tower is missing from under the desk.
Grumbling Avery walks back over to Hollway’s office. She finds Brooke sitting behind the desk. “You find anything?”
Brooke holds up a magazine with a scantily clothed woman on the cover. “Hollway’s reading preferences,” she says.
“So much for your gay love theory,” Avery says, pulling out the device.
Brooke shrugs. “Could be an artfully constructed cover.”
“They were accountants, Brooke,” Avery says. “There’s nothing artful about them.” She flips the switch on the side. The red light comes on. She flips the switch back off and slips it back into her pocket. She catches Brooke giving her a disapproving look. “What?”
“I feel like that device takes a lot of the wonder out of our jobs,” Brooke says.
One Stiletto in the Grave (Reapers in Heels) Page 7
