Brooke smiles. “Does this mean we’re off the black list?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Russell snaps. “There’s no such thing as a ‘black list.’”
“Are you sure?” Brooke asks. “Because last time I checked you were a little ticked off that I popped your nephew’s cherry-ow!” Brooke’s cut off as Avery kicks her.
“Don’t mind her,” Avery says.
“I try not to,” Russell replies. “Unfortunately, your sister has a big mouth.”
“Yeah, she’s used to hearing that,” Avery says.
Brooke frowns, but keeps her mouth shut.
Russell continues, “Marge says you haven’t brought in the heart attack from last night.”
“Yeah, well, we’re still hunting him down,” Avery says.
“Is there a problem?” Russell asks.
“No more than usual,” Avery says casually. “We think he might be haunting his wife.”
“And?” Russell asks.
“We can’t find the wife,” Avery says. “Turns out the guy was loaded. Looks like she took off with the money the first chance she got.”
Russell looks at Brooke. The younger sister just shrugs. He starts for the door. “If your hands are full with the heart attack, I can find someone else. We have that new reaper firm in town, what’s their name? Messor and Decessus?”
“Whoa,” Brooke steps in front of Russell, blocking his path. “Hey, we’ve got two sets of hands here,” she holds up her palms.
Russell just stares at Brooke, his lips curling into a sneer.
“That means we can handle more than one bounty at a time,” Brooke explains slowly. She holds out a hand for the envelope.
Russell looks back at Avery.
“It’s no big deal,” Avery says. “We can take care of both. You knew our father.”
“Your father liked to bite off more than he could chew,” Russell says.
“And he would give the leftovers to us,” Brooke says. “This way we would always be fed.”
Russell frowns and hands over the envelope. “It’s a suicide couple. They killed themselves yesterday and never arrived in the afterlife,” he walks around Brooke and then stops at the door. “One more thing. Your new tapping sticks are on order.”
“Great,” Avery says, smiling.
“They’ll be here in about a month,” Russell finishes.
Avery frowns. “Not so great.”
“You’re lucky,” Russell says. “Performing that illegal soul displacement at Gentle Gardens could have earned you an infraction fine.”
“Guess it’s a good thing we reported it right away and filled out all the paperwork,” Avery responds.
Russell opens the door.
“Tell your nephew I said hi,” Brooke says.
Avery kicks her again.
“Ow!”
Russell exits the office grumbling to himself.
Brooke tosses the envelope to her sister. “Ow,” she says again, rubbing the back of her leg.
“Maybe if you stopped opening your big mouth,” Avery says.
“I was trying to be polite.” Brooke shakes her head. “And you said there was no reason for the Council rep to come by.”
six
It’s picture perfect house with a white picket fence and two garden gnomes on the front lawn. The tall trees in the yard block the sun from where Brooke and Avery are sitting in the Thunderbird. They’re parked across the street.
“So...” Brooke says as they take a few minutes to watch the house.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Avery goes back to watching the house.
“It’s been three weeks,” Brooke says.
“Yeah?”
“Yep.” Brooke nods her head. “Three weeks.”
“Wow.”
“I know.”
Avery looks at her sister. “I have no idea what we’re talking about.”
Brooke sighs. “Three weeks since I met Steven the bartender.”
“You’ve been keeping track?” Avery sounds dubious.
“I always keep track,” Brooke replies. “I need to know when this thing is going to go sour.”
“Well, considering the only favorable quality about Steven the bartender is that he seems to have a talented tongue-”
“Extremely talented,” Brooke interjects. “Is it possible for a tongue to be double jointed?”
“-I’m surprised the relationship has lasted this long,” Avery finishes.
Brooke makes a sour face. “Please don’t call it a relationship.”
“It’s been three weeks, Brooke, what else are you going to call it?” Avery asks her.
“An ongoing sexual engagement.”
“That wasn’t a real question,” Avery says pulling the information sheet from the envelope that Russell had given them.
“I brought it up because I wanted your advice,” Brooke says.
“My advice is to close your legs,” Avery says, looking over the paperwork.
“That’s not what I was asking.”
“I know,” Avery replies. “But that’s the best advice.”
Brooke ignores her. “Here’s the thing, three weeks is a long time.”
Avery looks at her sister. “I’m sorry?”
“You know what I mean.”
Avery shakes her head. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Brooke sighs. “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”
“About you and him?”
“Exactly.”
“And the fact that you’ve been seeing him for three weeks now?”
“See, you understand,” Brooke says.
“But it’s not a relationship.”
Brooke holds her hands up. “This is why I love you. You get me.”
“Unbelievable,” Avery mutters and hands the paperwork back to Brooke. “Brian and Cindy Mason. Double suicide,” she pulls out two pairs of handcuffs from the envelope. Brian’s name is etched on one. Cindy’s name is on the other. “Here’s what we do: Suicides are easy. These people wanted to die. Brian and Cindy are probably just lurking around their house all confused-like. We grab these two, drop them off at the Waiting Room and then deal with Daniel.”
“Daniel the Dead Guy.”
“Unless you know of another Daniel,” Avery says.
“I know of many other Daniels,” Brooke replies, almost wistfully. “I’ve known many other Daniels, if you catch my drift.”
“Oh, I caught it.”
“I’ve been intimate with other Daniels,” Brooke continues. “Is what I’m trying to say.”
“I figured that.”
“Lots of Daniels,” Brooke says.
Avery stops and stares at her sister. “Do you have a point?”
Brook shrugs. “Not really. Just reminiscing. It’s a good plan,” Brooke says.
“Thank you.”
“Except for one thing,” Brooke amends. “What about me?” she asks, taking one of the cuffs.
“What about you?”
“You know, my thing with Steven the bartender.”
Avery gets out of the car. “I was just going to pretend that you never asked me that.”
Brooke snorts as she follows her sister across the street. “But this is it. Your golden opportunity to give me big sisterly advice.”
“I do that all the time,” Avery replies.
“Yes, but it’s unwanted when you do it,” Brooke says. “Here it’s wanted.”
Avery opens the gate and they walk up to the front door. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the theory that I want to live vicariously through you, does it?”
“It has everything to do with that.” Brooke gives a courtesy knock on the door. It’s painted white with a brass kitten knocker at the center.
“Please stop,” Avery says, trying the handle. It’s locked.
Avery steps back and Brooke pulls out her lock picks. Kneeling in front of the door she says, “I feel like I should be e
motionally hurting from your words.”
The door unlocks and Brooke opens it as she gets back to her feet.
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Avery says, stepping past her sister and into the house.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Brooke follows her sister.
The front door opens to the living room. It’s small. There’s a sofa covered in brown pillows, one of those reclining chairs and an old TV. Floral print wallpaper border wraps around the room where the wall and ceiling meet. But more importantly, it’s a complete and utter mess.
seven
The Mason’s living room looks like it was the victim of a serial tornado. Moving boxes are everywhere, but they’ve been torn open and the contents are spread out along every inch of the room.
“Okay,” Brooke says finally. “What the hell?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Avery says, looking around the living room.
“Did they have a massive party before they offed themselves?” Brooke asks, wading through the mess. She kicks a cardboard box out of her way and a pile of papers fall out.
“Hey,” Avery says. “Come on.”
“Oh, like anyone’s going to notice,” Brooke replies.
“Maybe they were messy movers?” Avery suggests, peeking under the coffee table. She finds unopened boxes of crackers.
“I don’t know what they were, but I have a feeling it’s not going to bode well for us.” Brooke replies. “Hello? Any dead people home?”
Avery stands up. “What are you doing?”
“What does it sound like?”
“It sounds like you’re trying to embarrass me,” Avery says, pulling out a small black box with a switch on the side and two lights, one red and one green, on the front.
“There’s no one here to embarrass you in front of.” Brooke nods at the device in Avery’s hand. “Why are you still using that?”
“Because,” Avery says, “like Russell said, we’re still a month away from getting new tapping sticks. So we’re kind of stuck using this wonderful spectral analysis device that Messor & Decessus so condescendingly gifted us with.”
“There are other ways of locating dead souls,” Brooke says, walking around the sofa.
“Oh, really?” Avery pauses, folding her arms “This I’ve got to hear. Tell me, oh great wise one, what are some of the other ways to find a dead soul?”
“Well,” Brooke sputters, waving her arms around, “there’s times when you walk in and the soul is just sitting there.”
“Really?” Avery asks. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“So I don’t go to bed every night reading the reaper manual,” Brooke throws her hands up. “You’re the genius,” she walks down the hallway. “You tell me. There’s got to be a better way than using hardware from mortal enemies.”
Avery holds up the device. “One encounter with Messor & Decessus hardly qualifies them as our mortal enemies. Remember, they offered us a job.”
“Yeah, well, they did it ominously,” Brooke says. “So, you know...”
Avery flips the switch on the side. There’s a two second wait and then the red light flashes.
“Nobody’s here,” she says, pocketing the device. She walks down the hallway after Brooke. “Which is odd, because suicides aren’t normally runners,” she pauses at the first door. It’s the guest room. It’s just as messy as the living room is. “I’m wondering if they killed themselves because they couldn’t live with the fact that they were the worse slobs the planet has ever seen.” There’s no answer from Brooke. “Are you even listening to me?”
Avery reaches the master bedroom to find Brooke splayed out on the bed. She’s got a satisfied grin on her face.
Avery frowns. “What are you doing?”
“This bed just looked so comfy,” Brooke says. “I had to try it out.”
“And?”
“It’s comfy,” Brooke sighs. “It’s like I’m lying on a cloud. Would anyone notice if we take it with us?”
The master bedroom’s painted a light green and the furniture’s all cherry wood oak. The bed’s a four-poster with a fuzzy blue comforter.
“Get up from there,” Avery says, checking the closet.
“I can’t,” Brooke closes her eyes. “The comfiness of the bed pulls you in and doesn’t let go.”
Avery grabs her sister by the ankles and yanks her off the bed. Brooke catches one of the posters before she’s pulled completely off.
“Hey!” she snaps. “Not cool.”
Avery holds up a photo from the dresser. It’s a picture of a dark haired man and a brunette woman. They appear to be in their early thirties. “Our couple.”
“Great,” Brooke picks herself up. “Now we know they liked having their picture taken. Thank you for interrupting my special moment.”
Avery puts the photo back on the dresser. “It’s not special moment time. Our suicides are runners.”
Brooke frowns. “Why would a couple of suicides run?”
“That’s a good question.”
They head back to the living room.
Brooke reaches into her sister’s jacket pocket and plucks out the paperwork. “Brian and Cindy Mason,” she reads. “Brian’s an out of work writer and Cindy’s a school teacher. Neither has a surviving set of parents and Cindy has one sister who lives in Connecticut,” she looks at her sister. “Maybe they went to go haunt the sister.”
Avery takes the paperwork back and steps into the dining room. There’s a small desk shoved in the corner. “Connecticut’s a little far for a haunting.”
“We found that guy from the burger thing in Alaska,” Brooke says.
Avery ruffles through the papers on the desk. Unpaid bills.
“No suicide note,” she says.
Brooke shrugs. “So?”
“Everybody leaves a suicide note.”
“I’m not going to leave a suicide note,” Brooke says, leaning against the wall.
Avery looks dubiously back at her sister. “You plan on killing yourself?”
“No,” Brooke says. “But if I was, I wouldn’t leave a suicide note.”
“Okay. I’ll bite,” Avery turns back to the desk, checking the drawers. “Why wouldn’t you leave a note?”
“Because then it would shroud the whole thing in an air of mystery,” Brooke says. “I like the idea of mystery surrounding my death. Plus, I know it’ll really irritate you.”
“It’ll probably upset Mom, too,” Avery points out.
“That won’t be my problem,” Brooke says, folding her arms. “I’ll be dead.”
“Why are we even talking about this?” Avery asks. “It’s really morbid.”
“Have you noticed what we do for a living? And besides,” she waves a hand around to encompass the living room. “Even if there was a suicide note, how exactly would we find it? There’s no rule that suicide notes need to be left on the desk.”
“No, but it’s certainly helpful when they are.” Avery finds a checkbook and a day planner. She tosses both of them to Brooke. “These might come in handy.”
Brooke flips through the checkbook. “Who uses checks anymore? It’s all debit cards and cash.”
“Like you’ve ever used a debit card,” Avery says.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen you use one,” Brooke says. “They’re just like credit cards.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Avery asks.
“You’re supposed to not talk to me like I’m retarded,” Brooke says.
“The checks have their account number,” Avery explains. “We’ll be able to access their account with that and find out what they were spending their money on.”
Brooke shoves the checkbook and planner into her pockets. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but they probably weren’t buying much,” she says, “considering they ended up killing themselves.”
Avery looks at her sister. “You know what’s weird?”
“Our lives?” Brooke suggests.
Avery ignores
her. “Brian’s supposed to be an unemployed writer?”
“That’s what the paperwork says.”
“Where’s his desk?” she points to the desk over her shoulder. “This is all day-to-day stuff. Where’s Brian’s workstation?”
“Maybe that’s why he’s unemployed?” Brooke suggests. Avery gives her a look. “Maybe it’s somewhere else in the house.”
“It’s a small house,” Avery says, walking past her sister. “There’s the master bedroom, the bathroom and the spare room.”
“Maybe it’s under the world class hoarder’s mess in here,” Brooke suggests, following her, shaking her head. “I swear, you pick the weirdest things to focus on. Who cares where his desk is?”
“I care,” Avery says.
“Obviously,” Brooke says. “Which brings us back to my statement about how you pick the weirdest things to focus on.”
Avery reaches the front door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She opens the door to find Thane Grym standing on the other side.
eight
Thane Grym is a tall, handsome man with a smooth smile and dark blue eyes. His hair is short and brown. He inherited his grandfather’s strong jawline. Dressed in a pair of faded casual jeans and a simple black t-shirt Thane manages to ooze raw sexuality with a simple look.
“Hello, ladies.”
Caught by surprise, both of the sisters forget how to talk for a moment. Avery’s caught up in his eyes, drinking them in. Brooke gets that familiar tingle between her legs and bites her lip to keep from moaning at the sight of him.
“Hi, Thane,” Brooke breathes.
“Hi, Brooke,” Thane replies with a smile.
“Thane,” Avery says, suppressing a girly giggle.
“Avery,” Thane responds. “What have you got here, ladies?”
“Suicides,” Avery replies a little breathlessly.
“Yeah?”
“Runners.”
“Suicide runners?” Thane asks. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”
“Yep.”
“Fancy running into you here,” Brooke says, running her eyes down his hard body.
“Yeah, well.” Thane clears his throat and Avery finally comes to her senses.
“Yeah,” she says. “It is awfully convenient running into you here.”
Death & Stilettos Page 17
