Death in Detail

by Andrew Stanek

  “Liar,” Agatha said. “I could have done it better myself. Now, ring the bell for me and call the maid.”

  Henry shook his head, bringing his messy red hair perilously close to a nearby candle. “You know Aunt Agatha, there’s really no point in having someone else ring the bell. The bell is already there so you can summon a servant, but if you already have someone there to ring the bell-”

  Agatha shot him a withering glance and he stopped mid-sentence. Stephanie obediently rang the bell and the two maids, Lisa and Jackie, appeared around the corner of the door.

  “Food,” Agatha roared, with a voice that Stephanie could scarcely believe belonged to a woman of her advanced age.

  The maids disappeared wordlessly and returned with bowls of soup. Without instruction from their mistress, they laid soup at the empty places as well as the filled ones. Agatha seemed to take no notice of this, but instead attacked her soup with one of the spoons that had been given to Great Uncle Horace by the Emperor of Mexico, and quickly drained the bowl.

  Jasper made a rasping noise as he saw it. Lisa set down his bowl of soup in front of him with a sympathetic sort of smile.

  “What is it?” Jasper asked dubiously, staring at the murky liquid.

  “It’s tomato soup,” she explained quite unnecessarily once she had finished it. “The recipe was my mother’s, and I grew the tomatoes myself. It’s my favorite. Do you like it?”

  “Er... Oh yes,” Jasper said, glancing up at her.

  “Liar,” Agatha said with a hiss.

  Jasper looked as if he were about to say something when, suddenly, the sound of the front door creaking open caused the entire assembled family to sit stock-still and listen. Heels pounded rapidly on the wooden floor in the hallway, and then, quite abruptly, a dark-haired young woman burst through the doors and into the dining room. Agatha froze, staring at the young woman, temporarily at a loss for words. The newcomer was wearing an ostentatious silver dress with a scarf of the loudest possible neon green wrapped around her neck and trailing behind her like a train. She wore several jangling bracelets in a variety of bright colors, and her face was done up with an obvious excess of makeup and mascara.

  “Aunt Agatha!” the woman squealed and embraced her stunned Aunt tightly. She gave Stephanie nothing more than a small smile before turning to the men at the table.

  “Hank,” she said brightly, and hugged him before turning on Jasper. “And Jasper! Oh my goodness, it’s just a big reunion, isn’t it?”

  “Hello, Diane,” Jasper said a little stiffly, trying to return his hair to order after contact with her. “How have you been?”

  “Oh, I’ve just been having the most wonderful time with my friends in New York. And I’m very sorry I’m late, Aunt Agatha, I know how much you hate us to be late, but I’m afraid there was the most dreadful traffic on the freeway, you wouldn’t believe it - and of course I had to pick up Gloria.”

  Agatha said nothing but gave Diane a cold stare, though the girl seemed undeterred.

  “So, come on Hank, tell us everything,” she prompted.

  “Hm?”

  “Everything about her, Hank,” she said, sitting down heavily.

  “About who?” Henry asked.

  “Oh, you’re so cute playing dumb, Hank. I know what you’ve been up to.”

  “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said back.

  “You’ll have to tell me sooner or later,” Diane advised.

  Before Henry could reply further, the door to the dining room swung open again. A tall middle-aged woman with bleach blonde hair and a feather boa, a look that might have been outrageous were it not for Diane, shuffled into the hall.

  “Hello, Gloria,” Agatha said, a little more warmly than she had greeted anyone else.

  “Oh, hello Agatha,” the bleach-blonde woman said, falling into the chair next to Agatha. “Where’s Chester?”

  “Probably rotting in a ditch somewhere,” Agatha said.

  “I could give him a call if you like,” Jasper said. “I’m sure he’s just running a bit late. You heard what Diane said about the traffic. It’s true I passed an awful accident on the way here.”

  Agatha snorted. “Traffic? More likely he’s drunk out of his skull - or worse - and he’s forgotten everything.”

  Gloria smiled nervously. Apparently eager to change the subject, she asked. “How are you tonight?”

  “As well as can be expected, given present company,” Agatha said cooly.

  A small silence fell over the table. Even Diane, who had been chatting animatedly to Henry, abruptly stopped. The silence became very pregnant as Agatha lapped at the dregs of her soup.

  “So...” Diane began, adjusting her neon scarf as she turned to Jasper. “How fares our conqueror of Everest?”

  Jasper gave a forced smile. “I’m doing alright, I guess. I don’t feel all that different, to be honest.”

  “I read about that in the paper,” Gloria said off-handedly. “They said someone on your expedition died. Is that true?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is. Hypothermia, probably aggravated by some other problems...”

  “How awful,” Gloria muttered.

  “Is it really as dangerous as they say then?” Henry asked from across the table.

  “I’m afraid it is,” Jasper answered. “The whole mountain is littered with the bodies of people who’ve tried to make it to the top and, well, didn’t. Some of them even have names. The corpses, I mean. It’s a very sobering experience. But standing on the top is like nothing else I’ve ever done before. You feel like you can see the whole of everything from up there, and just knowing that you’re standing on the highest point in the entire world...” He shook his head. “I can’t describe the feeling.”

  He glanced at his Aunt, but Agatha was determinedly slurping at the dregs of her soup and not paying him any attention.

  “I hear they have some sort of helicopter that landed on the top of Mount Everest,” Henry interjected.

  “Yes, someone landed a helicopter on the summit,” Jasper confirmed. “I think the Nepalese government was furious, mind you. They have all sorts of rules about what you are and aren’t allowed to do on the mountain. Another thing is there’s so much tourism that there’s actually a lot of trash lower down on the slopes. Even higher up, you still see quite a lot of trash, discarded tanks and so forth. But enough about that - how’s the business going, Henry?”

  “It’s going quite well, all things considered. You may have read, but there’s a lot of political opposition to the Import-Export bank right now, which doesn’t affect us as directly as you might think it would, but it’s making cooperation with our foreign partners harder-”

  “Are you trying to impress me?” Agatha barked suddenly, placing one hand on her cane.

  Five startled faces looked at her from around the table.

  “Impress you?” Henry repeated.

  “They were just having a conversation, Aunt Agatha,” Stephanie said soothingly.

  “Oh-ho? Is that what you were doing? Well, I know better. You were trying to impress me. Trying to show that it was worthwhile to bring you into this wretched world, that you’ve done something worthy of attention. I want you to know you haven’t!” She tapped her cane heavily against the floor, sending a loud thud crashing through the hall. “You don’t hold a candle to my father, or to your Great Uncle Horace. They were magnates, peacemakers, leaders! And what have you done? Diane - you’re a jobless skank and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “Aunt Agatha!” Diane exclaimed, sounding scandalized. “You really shouldn’t act so sour-”

  “Jasper, you’re a drifter, and your brother Chester is a wastrel. He’s probably too drunk to care, but it’s true.”

  Jasper seemed at a loss for words.

  “Gloria, your father, Colonel Crownover, was a very great man. I invited you here to tell you I hoped you’d be able to follow in his footsteps, and you’ve disappointed me terribly.”<
br />
  Gloria let out a distressed cry, but Agatha did not stop for long enough to watch her continued reaction.

  “Henry,” Agatha said, wheeling on the red-haired brother, “you’ve only ever played at business. It’s pathetic how you’ve tried to follow in your grandfather’s footsteps, but you’re never going to get anywhere in life. It’s easy to see. Just look at how the suit hangs off you. It’s silly. Just from your eyes I can see that you won’t ever be anything.”

  This, perhaps the most withering of all Agatha’s assaults, seemed to stoke a fire in Henry’s eyes. He sprang up.

  “Now wait just one minute,” Henry said loudly. “Aunt Agatha-”

  “Enough,” she bellowed like a fire-breathing dragon, banging her cane against the floor. “It’s clear to me that this family has gone to the dogs. Look at all of you, circling around me like vultures. You’ll never be half the men your ancestors were. At least your cousin Robert has made something of himself - but none of you have done anything but take. I won’t sit here in your presence a moment longer! I want you all out of my house.” She stood. “Take the rest of my dinner to me upstairs,” Agatha said, addressing Stephanie. “I will have another bowl of soup in addition to the other courses.”

  And with that, she hobbled upstairs to her bedroom, her cane hitting every step.

  “Well, that went incredibly well,” Henry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Happy birthday Aunt Agatha.” He loosened his tie and reached over for a bottle of wine, pouring out a generous quantity. “If this is her birthday, I can’t wait for her funeral,” he added, after a sip.

  “What a horrible thing to say,” Diane said, though her tone was not particularly chastising or scandalized. “I think it’s being locked up in this old house with all these portraits and heirlooms she adores and things. She’s started to worship that big painting of her father like he was some kind of god. There’s a sort of a shrine to him in the hallway.”

  “Sebastian Virgil Bellinger,” spat Henry. “Our most honorable saintly ancestor, who I’m meant to aspire to be. How come cousin Robert is the one she likes? He’s the worst of any of us. Chester had the right idea, showing up late to this dinner.”

  “I climbed Mount Everest,” Jasper said weakly, taking the wine bottle from his brother. “I climbed Mount Everest and she didn’t even care. What would I have had to have done to impress that woman?”

  “I don’t see how you can stand to be locked up in here with that crazy old woman, dear,” Gloria interjected, addressing Stephanie. “She hates everyone and everything and it must be terrible for you.”

  “She’s alright,” Stephanie replied. “She’s just a little - scared, is all.” However, Stephanie could hear the doubt in her own voice.

  “I don’t understand what she said about me,” Gloria lamented. “I mean, I’ve tried to be like my father-”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Henry jumped in. “She’s just being horrible for the sake of being horrible. She’s stuck in the past and anything more recent than the nineteen twenties, including us, is a sign of decadence and decay to her. Aunt Agatha’s got to adore the last generation and hate us young whippersnappers. This is her way of telling us to get off her lawn. Don’t worry. With any luck, she’ll die soon.”

  Jasper scoffed. “I doubt it. With all these miracle drugs they’ve got these days, she’ll probably outlive Methuselah. Is it true she’s still doing her own gardening?”

  “Yes,” Stephanie affirmed immediately. “She’s got a large vegetable patch in the backyard. It’s the one thing she doesn’t want me to do with her or for her. Aunt Agatha insists on doing it herself, and she really did grow the tomatoes for the soup.”

  “Do you think she meant what she said about us getting out of the house?” Diane asked. “I mean, we came all the way here for her birthday and it’s going to be hell getting back. I thought we were going to stay the night here, or at least until tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think she really meant it,” Stephanie said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine if you stay here.”

  “After all, it’s our house too,” Gloria said. “I don’t think she can really kick us out to the curb. It ought to be alright if we all stayed the night.”

  “No, she can’t,” Stephanie agreed. “Though she might kick the maids out soon enough. She’s convinced they’re stealing.”

  “If I were her maid, I’d be stealing too,” Diane said, having seized the wine bottle from Jasper.

  A loud knocking from the hallway caused them all to look up, and a man with dirt-brown hair in a ragged suit tramped into the room.

  “Hi all,” he said. “Have I missed anything?”

  “You’re a bit late, Chester,” answered Diane. “Auntie’s already had a temper tantrum and moved upstairs.”

  “Damn,” he answered. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was horrible.”

  “We know,” Gloria said soothingly. “Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything.”

  Chester plopped down into a chair adjacent to his sister.

  “Any chance I could get some of that?” he asked.

  Diane handed him the bottle.

  The next day, Stephanie arrived at the usual time with her aunt’s box of pills.

  “The maids are stealing,” Agatha said as she measured out her pills. “I’m sure we’re missing a plate.”

  “The maids are not stealing, Aunt Agatha,” Stephanie answered soothingly.

  “The maids are stealing” Agatha said forcefully. “The maids are stealing and someone’s trying to kill me.”

  Stephanie gave a weary sigh.

  “Oh, Aunt Agatha, the maids aren’t stealing and no one’s trying to kill you.”

  Chapter 2

  Sam Alders bent down to pick up the newspaper deposited on the doorstep before standing and confronting the door that loomed over him. The faded lettering on the door read “Felix Green, Private Investigator.” A messy, handwritten script below this said, “Sam Alders, Associate.” Alders, given that his name was on the door, felt perfectly at liberty to nonchalantly slam it open, sink down into a chair before the desk at the far end of the room, and read the paper. He gave little thought to the pale young man in the baggy black jacket with gray-streaked dark hair sitting behind the desk. This man was Felix Green, private detective, Alders’ partner, and infamous kleptomaniac at large.

  Although it had long since ceased to bother Alders, nearly everything in the office of Felix Green - from the drapes to the desk - was stolen. Even the gold-framed photograph on his desk, showing a girl watching a young boy on a bicycle, had been stolen from the late Sean Lebow during their last investigation. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised Alders in the least if someone had burst through the open door behind him, claiming Felix had stolen the lease to the room. Though Alders had yet to ascertain the probably criminal origin’s of Felix’s twenty pound doorstop - on which Alders regularly risked breaking his foot - the only thing Felix ever had or received that Alders was sure wasn’t stolen was the newspaper. Alders had checked with the delivery man and confirmed the subscription was paid for. Of course, Felix might have paid for it with a stolen credit card, but if that were true, Alders preferred not to know. He enjoyed reading the paper.

  Alders sat down in the chair in front of Felix’s desk, crossed one leg over the other, and glanced over the front page. The largest picture on the front of the paper showed a police officer with a chest full of medals and an important looking mustache - the city police chief, a man by the name of Breckinridge.

  “Any good news?” Felix asked.

  Alders gave a derisive snort. “That’ll be the day. Apparently the city of Great Redmond has the highest non-drug-related murder rate in the country.” He tapped a picture of Chief Breckinridge, the head of the GRPD, that had accompanied the article. “You’d almost think our police force was corrupt and inefficient.” He gave a grim smile.

  Breckinridge, had, as a result of detective work by Alders and Felix, been implicated in a c
orruption scandal that had nearly forced him to resign his office. However, Breckinridge had managed to avoid retirement in disgrace. Alders, then a GRPD officer, had resigned in disgust over Breckinridge’s blatant interference with police operations for personal gain. He’d worked with Felix ever since.

  “Non-drug-related,” Felix repeated. “That’s a bit strange. Plenty of our murders are drug-related. I’d say our last case was, wouldn’t you?”

  Over the top of his paper, Alders glanced at the photograph on Felix’s desk, which the latter had taken as a memento of the case.

  “I guess so,” Alders said.

  “Speaking of which, our success in that matter has brought us some new business,” Felix said, gesturing to a pile of letters on his desk. “Though I do wish these people would call or send email rather than writing. It’s rather old-fashioned.”

  “Well, since even I wouldn’t know which of the many phones you’ve stolen to call, we’ll have to wait for you to fulfill your long-standing ambition of stealing a full desktop computer for the office to receive email,” Alders said with a snicker.

  “I never steal,” Felix muttered, as he opened one of the letters. “And there’s no need to be snide. We have a perfectly functional office phone. It’s just that in that last article the paper wrote about us, they failed to include our number.”

  His clever, pale fingers played over the envelopes and opened them one by one.

  “Did you just get this mail delivery?” Alders asked. “It’s the middle of the morning.”

  “Our mailman seems to be operating in a funny timezone,” Felix answered unconcernedly as he slit open one of the letters. He frowned at it. “Sam, take a look at this.”

  Alders accepted the letter from Felix. His frown soon deepened to match Felix’s as he read it aloud.

  “Dear Mr. Green,

  Though I do not have any proof, I am convinced someone in my household is trying to kill me. As I am surrounded by people I do not trust, I have taken a great risk in contacting your agency.

  I read about your detective agency and its effective work in the newspaper. Please call on me at the enclosed address whenever it is convenient for you, and we will discuss the matter further. As I never leave the house, you will be able to reach me at any reasonable hour.