Death & Stilettos

by Jason Krumbine

  “I’m not sure I feel comfortable discussing this with two complete strangers,” Principal Wards says. “I’ve had some negative experiences with private investigators in the past.”

  “I can assure you, Ms. Wards,” Avery says, “we’re not looking to sully Cindy Mason’s name. We just want to help the family.”

  Principal Wards frowns. “Mrs. Mason didn’t have much family.”

  Avery nods. “Yes, we understand she only had her sister up in Connecticut.”

  “Her parents died a few years back,” Wards offers.

  “Cindy’s uncle was very upset to learn that his niece had committed suicide,” Avery says. “He just needs to understand what happened so that he can have some closure.”

  Principal Wards hesitates, her gaze flicking back and forth between the sisters. “It’s an odd thing to hire private detectives for,” she says.

  “Honestly?” Brooke speaks up for the first time. “Her uncle has some serious concerns regarding whether or not Cindy actually committed suicide.”

  Principal Wards nods her head. “Well, I can certainly understand that,” she takes a deep breath. “Her death came as quite a shock to us all.”

  “She didn’t seem like that kind of person?” Avery prompts.

  “Not at all,” Principal Wards says. “Cindy was a bright, cheerful, young lady with a sunny disposition. Her students loved her. Her coworkers loved her. Her husband loved her.”

  “And yet she and her husband killed themselves.”

  “So soon after they were married, too,” she adds sadly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Avery asks.

  “You weren’t aware? Cindy and Brian were married two months ago,” she says. “That’s one of the reasons it was such a shock.”

  “One of the reasons?” Avery prompts, pushing the issue of the marriage to the side for the moment.

  “Well,” Principal Wards starts, “you know how these things go. It’s always the last person you’d suspect who ends up doing something like this,” she pauses, searching for the right words. “There were no warning signs. Cindy worked here for six years. She never had any problems with depression or anger. She was, by all accounts, a very well-adjusted woman.”

  “Obviously not well adjusted enough,” Brooke says.

  Principal Wards glares at her. “Cindy was a hopeless romantic. She fancied herself a princess in search of her prince. Brian was her prince,” she looks at Avery. “Cindy requested time off for next month. She and Brian were going to Hawaii for her birthday. Ms. Graves, I ask you: who gets married, makes plans to visit one of the most romantic getaways in the world and then kills themselves?”

  Avery waits for a calculated minute. “Ms. Ward, my partner and I are inclined to agree with you. It does seem very suspicious,” Avery pulls out a notepad and pretends to check it. She looks at the Principal. “How well did you know her husband?”

  “Brian?” she asks. “I hardly knew him. In fact, no one really knew him, including Cindy.”

  “Beg your pardon?” Avery asks.

  “Brian and Cindy’s love affair was very sudden,” Principal Wards explains. “Up until about two months ago she had been dating a young man named Philip,” she pauses. “What was his last name? I think it was Brown. Yes, that’s it. Philip Brown.”

  “What happened?”

  Wards shrugs. “Cindy broke it off quite suddenly and just as suddenly she was engaged and married to Brian Mason.”

  Avery makes a note. “Did you know Philip Brown?”

  “We all knew Philip.” Wards smiles. “Philip and Cindy were high school sweethearts. He was here all the time. He was a delightful young man. We were all a little sad when she broke it off with him.”

  “And what about Brian?”

  The Principal shrugs. “Cindy brought him around once or twice to show him off. He was a handsome young man, but beyond that, I had no interaction with him.”

  “We understand that he was some kind of writer?” Avery asks.

  She nods. “That’s what Cindy said. He wrote children’s books. I don’t believe that he had published anything yet, though.”

  “Do you know if Brian worked from home?”

  “That’s something of an odd question,” she says.

  “That’s what I keep telling her,” Brooke agrees.

  “We’re just trying to get a better feel for who he was,” Avery says. “Do you know if he had any family in the area?”

  Principal Wards thinks it over for a minute. “According to Cindy, Brian had two brothers that lived in town. She didn’t say much else about them. In fact, she almost seemed, I don’t know, embarrassed by them.”

  Principal Wards hems and haws for a few minutes, mostly for appearances sake, before finally letting the sisters see Cindy’s classroom.

  It’s like any other elementary school classroom. Tiny chairs, small desks, and finger paintings all over the walls.

  “Mrs. Harris has her class at recess for the next fifteen minutes,” Principal Wards says.

  “We’ll only be a few minutes,” Avery assures her.

  She steps back out into the hallway.

  Brooke turns to her sister immediately. “Something doesn’t smell right.”

  “I know,” Avery walks around the classroom.

  “They were just married?”

  “You were sitting next to me when Wards told us,” Avery pokes around the desk.

  “And who the hell is this Philip guy?” Brooke asks.

  “I know,” Avery says.

  “This is juicy,” Brooke says. “Very juicy.”

  “That’s not the word I would use...”

  “You know what I’m thinking?” Brooke asks. Her arms are folded and her face is twisted up a bit. “I’m thinking we’ve got another Raymond Stevens on our hands.”

  Avery looks back at her sister.

  “You know, the guy that stole those souls,” Brooke explains.

  “I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Avery says. “I was there.”

  “Well, you had a look on your face.”

  Avery shakes her head and turns back to the desk. “It’s not another Raymond Stevens.”

  “I think it’s this Philip Brown character,” Brooke continues.

  “Just so you know,” Avery says. “I’m not really paying attention to you.”

  “I think Philip was so distraught with jealousy that he killed Cindy and kidnapped her soul,” Brooke says. “That’s what I think.”

  “Then where did Brian go? I don’t see any reason for a jealous ex to take Cindy’s husband.”

  Brooke thinks about it for a minute and then says, “I didn’t say it was a perfect solution.”

  “Well, it’s nice that you gave yourself that out.”

  “Who commits suicide and then doesn’t go to the afterlife?”

  “Other than Brian and Cindy Mason?” Avery asks.

  “Not specifically,” Brooke replies. “It was more of a general, rhetorical question.”

  Avery pulls out the spectral analysis device.

  “Besides, how likely is it that both souls are hanging around here?” Brooke waves her hands around the classroom.

  Avery flips the switch and the red light comes on.

  “Told you so,” Brooke says.

  “It’s called being thorough,” Avery pockets the device.

  “I don’t think they committed suicide,” Brooke says.

  “I didn’t ask,” Avery looks around the room one more time.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to look into this Philip Brown guy,” Brooke says.

  “Never said we weren’t,” Avery replies. “We have to find him first.”

  “Are you anticipating this being a problem?”

  “The man’s name is Philip Brown,” Avery says. “Yes, I think it’s going to be a problem.”

  Brooke just shakes her head. “Come on. How many Philip Browns ca
n there be?”

  ten

  Turns out there are 23 Philip Browns in Century City. But the sister’s get lucky and find the one they want on the third try.

  Philip Brown, former boyfriend of the now deceased Cindy Mason, is an unassuming young man. He’s short, but not too short, probably just a hair over five feet. His face is round. His cheeks look chubby, like he’s still hanging on to some of that adorable baby fat. He walks with a slight limp, hardly even noticeable, and has dark hair that’s kind of just sitting on his head in no particular style or fashion. Philip’s apartment is small and there’s an absence of photos anywhere.

  “I’m sorry,” Philip says. He’s soft spoken. “What did you say were again?”

  They’re sitting at his kitchen table. It’s the only spot in the apartment that’s large enough for three adults to meet. The table’s square. Philip’s at the head and Graves’ sisters are on either side of him.

  “We’re grim reapers,” Avery says, going for the truth this time.

  Philip’s holding a hot cup of tea in a mug that seems a little too girly for him. It’s got a sparkly princess on it. He’s gripping that mug tight enough to warm his whole body. “Huh,” is all he says. “There’s a job.” Philip takes a sip from his tea. He doesn’t offer anything to the sisters.

  Avery and Brooke share a quick look. Philip seems very unflappable about the entire situation.

  “You are aware of what happened to Cindy Mason?” Avery asks.

  Philip slowly nods. “Yes, I just heard about it this morning. Horrible thing to happen.” He takes another sip of his hot tea.

  Avery waits for a second, but Philip offers nothing further.

  "That's certainly one way to describe it," Brooke replies.

  "You'll have to forgive me," Philip says, blowing on his hot tea. "Suicide isn't exactly new to me. I lost my father and a co-worker to suicide years ago. It doesn't hold the same punch as it used it."

  "So, what you're saying is that you're not upset that your ex is dead," Brooke says.

  Philip looks at her. "We all deal with our grief in different ways."

  "And yours happens to be drinking hot tea and being kind of an ass?" Brooke asks.

  "Okay," Avery cuts in. "I'll handle the talking."

  "I'm not offended," Philip says simply. "Very little offends me these days."

  Brooke rolls her eyes.

  “Philip,” Avery says. “Yes, we’re here because Cindy and her husband, Brian, committed suicide. But, more importantly, neither of them arrived in the afterlife.”

  No reaction from Philip.

  “Do you know what that means?” Avery asks him.

  “It sounds fairly self-explanatory,” Philip responds.

  “It does, doesn’t it,” Avery agrees.

  Brooke steps back in. “Here’s the deal, Philip. We’re trying to figure out where Cindy and Brian might have gone.”

  Philip takes another sip of his hot tea, letting his gaze drift back and forth between the sisters. “And you’ve come to me?”

  “Well, it’s been pointed out to us that until quite recently, you and Cindy were in a serious relationship,” Avery says.

  “Yes, we were,” Philip replies. “But as you yourselves have already mentioned, Cindy’s married to someone else now.”

  "In our line of work," Brooke says. "That's not usually much of a deterrent."

  "For what?" Philip asks.

  Brooke opens her mouth, but Avery silences her by kicking at her under the table.

  “What happened?” Avery asks Philip.

  "For Cindy and Brian to kill themselves? I don't know. I never met Brian, but Cindy grew up Catholic. Suicide was a mortal sin for her. If you're asking what happened in regards to Cindy leaving me," Philip shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea about that one either. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. One day I came home and Cindy was just gone. There was a note, but it was hardly an explanation. It simply said she had found her true love.” He stares into his hot tea for a moment. “I tried calling her a few times but she wouldn’t answer her phone and soon the number was disconnected. I heard from a mutual friend that she had gotten married a few weeks later. We had been together since high school. Ten years with each other and in the end, I didn't even warrant an explanation.”

  Philip falls silent. He seems sadder, but there's no real change in his expression.

  “What was Cindy like?” Avery asks him.

  “What was she like?” Philip mulls it over for a minute. “Cindy was everything I could ever hope for in a woman. She was kind, loving, never cross and always thoughtful.” He sips his tea again. “At least, that’s what I thought before she left me. Now,” he shrugs. “I’m not sure who she was.” He looks soulfully at Avery. “What kind of person just ups and leaves like that?”

  Avery doesn’t have an answer.

  “I’m not going to say that was a waste of time,” Brooke says as they step out on the sidewalk.

  “That would be a nice change of pace,” Avery comments. “Especially considering it was your big idea that he kidnaped Cindy’s soul in the first place.”

  Brooke points her thumb over her shoulder back at Philip’s apartment building. “That sad sack couldn’t hurt a fly, much less kidnap someone’s immortal soul.”

  "I used this while he was in the kitchen," Avery holds up the spectral analysis device. "The red light came on."

  Brooke reaches their pink sedan and waits for Avery to unlock the car. "I want to know what happened."

  "I'm sure Philip would like to know that, too," Avery agrees, opening the car.

  "I mean, I'm all for female empowerment, Lipstick Feminism, as it were."

  "Not a real thing," Avery says getting into the car.

  Brooke follows her into the car. "But just walking out on your boyfriend like that without any explanation? That's pretty mean."

  Avery shrugs. "Maybe it's just like she said in her note. Cindy found her true love."

  "And couldn't be bothered to at least tell her boyfriend of the last ten years it was over in person?" Brooke shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I don't buy it. No excuse."

  "This is an interesting side to you," Avery says. "The romantic side."

  "I'm hardly being romantic," Brooke says. "I'm being human. Walking out on a guy like that isn't very humane."

  Avery starts the car. "Well, we can add it to the list of questions we're going to ask them when we find the Masons."

  Brooke's phone goes off as she receives a text message. "Ricky got us info on Brian's two brothers."

  "Yeah?"

  "Hey, look at this," Brooke's reading the message. "One of them runs a bowling alley. Spare Strikes."

  "I think I know that place," Avery says, checking the street signs. "It's, like, fifteen minutes away."

  Brooke smiles. "How fortuitous."

  eleven

  Spare Strikes is a pigsty of a building. It looks like it should have been condemned years ago and torn down. Instead someone slapped another coat of brown paint over it. It’s an effort in futility, like trying to use a band-aid to cover a gunshot to the chest.

  “Wow,” Brooke holds a hand to her mouth as they step inside.

  “I know,” Avery agrees. She tries to breathe through her mouth, but the stench burns her throat a little.

  The place smells like two dead rats met, fell in love and had a dozen dead rat babies.

  “This is disgusting,” Brooke says as they look around. “No. I take that back. Disgusting would be a compliment. This is something beyond disgusting”

  It’s early evening, but the alley isn’t quite busy yet. The afternoon crowd is still lingering, but slowly degenerate drunks are drifting out and the hardcore bowlers are drifting in. The lighting is bad and there are more shadows than there are patrons.

  “Is it possible to die from a smell?” Brooke asks, making a gagging noise. “Because I’m seriously concerned about whether or not I’m going to make it out of here alive.” />
  Avery pulls out the spectral analysis device. The red light comes on.

  “Another dead end?”

  Avery shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s talk to somebody first.”

  “Can we talk to somebody outside?” Brooke suggests. “Maybe over the phone?”

  Avery walks up to the counter. Brooke follows her, making gagging noises.

  The guy behind the counter is large and scruffy looking. Brooke tries to peek around and figure out how somebody that large ever got back there.

  “Is Ben Mason in?” Avery asks.

  The big guy just nods and jerks his head over to the open office.

  Avery and Brooke walk around to the office. Avery knocks on the open office door.

  “Hello?”

  The man behind the desk is in his forties. He’s got a bald patch in the middle of his head and heavy crease lines running through his face. He’s dressed in a dark polo shirt and slacks.

  “What the hell do you want?” he asks, looking up from his desk. He closes the folder he was looking through as he sizes Avery and Brooke up.

  “Benjamin Mason?” Avery asks, stepping into the office.

  “Who wants to know?” the man asks. There’s a defensive tone in his voice.

  Avery makes a quick judgment call before continuing. Sometimes it didn’t pay to give someone the run around.

  “Avery Graves, grim reaper” she introduces herself. Avery points to sister, “My sister Brooke.”

  The man behind the desk doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at them. His jaw works back and forth.

  “Grim reapers, huh?” he drums his fingers on the desk. “You got some proof?” he asks finally. “It’s kind of a bold and outlandish statement.”

  Avery nods as she pulls out the brass badge. In the badge’s case there’s an official reaper’s license.

  The man looks at it closely before handing it back to Avery.

  “You can’t be too careful,” he says, by way of an explanation.

  “I wasn’t aware that grim reaper impersonators was a thing,” Brooke says.