by D E Dennis
Kimona Grimm was well into her fifties, but traces of the former beauty still remained. Daily walks through the park and weekend yoga with her friends kept her fit. Her short brown hair was going gray, but she embraced it and it made her look distinguished. The only makeup she allowed herself was the dark reddish-brown lipstick that adorned the full lips that were currently pressed into a thin line of disapproval. The button nose she passed on to her daughter was wrinkled and her perfectly plucked eyebrows drew together as she frowned.
Thirty-two years old and I still get that look. And now that Monica has it down pat, I’ll probably never escape it.
Michael leaned forward peering into his mother’s worried eyes. “Mom, I don’t want you getting stressed about this. Monica and I will be fine. We’re smart, we’re trained, we know how to handle ourselves. Besides, we’re not working the case alone. The police are also hunting down Preston Charming’s killer.”
Kimona blinked. “Charming? That name sounds familiar. Isn’t your father friends with a Charming? Lives on the other side?”
Michael tensed. “I have no idea who his friends are,” he replied curtly, “but yes, the Charmings live on the other side. Their son was murdered and found in Siren Woods this morning.”
She gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “That awful place?” She stepped around the desk and put her hand on Michael’s shoulder. “But you can’t go in—”
“Mom, I’m fine,” Michael said firmly. He rested his hand over hers. “I promise.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about him, Mom,” Monica piped up. “Samira and I are watching his back.”
Michael shot her a look, but he was too late.
“Samira? Your Samira? She’s back in town?”
Michael was more than a little concerned about the excitement in her voice. “She’s not my Samira, Mom. We’re just friends now.”
Another harrumph. “And if you were smart you would do something about that, I always liked that girl. Such a beauty and smart as a whip. Don’t know what you were thinking ending your engagement.”
Sighing, Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”
“Fine, don’t talk. You never want to talk to me. Twenty hours I was in labor with you, pushing out that oversized head, but it’s too much to ask for you to have a conversation with your poor mother and tell her what’s going on with you and—”
Michael groaned, dropping his head on the desk. His mother never hesitated to whip out her ace card.
“Mom,” he said into his desk calendar. “Please, can we drop it?”
She sniffed. “Fine, I’ll drop it.” He felt a tap on the back of his head. “But I want you to invite Samira over for dinner this weekend or next.”
He bolted up in his chair. “Mom, that is the opposite of dropping it.”
She flapped a hand at him. “Oh, hush. It’s just to thank her for looking out for my baby, while you work this case.”
“She isn’t looking out for me,” he grumbled. “We’re both professionals and we’re working together. I’m also not a baby, by the way.”
She leveled a finger at him. “Twenty-four hours of labor. You’re my baby. End of story.”
Michael decided to lose this fight another day. “Okay. I’ll ask if she’s free for dinner.”
“But just her,” Monica said. “The Frogman is not invited.”
Michael snorted. “That goes without saying. I don’t want anything to do with Spencer if I can help it.”
“Spencer?” His mother looked between the two of them questioningly.
Michael shook his head at his sister, trying to tell her not to—
“Spencer Gutierrez, Mom. He is Samira’s partner and used to go to school with Michael. You know the kids used to call him Ghoul?”
Another gasp.
“You know, you don’t have to tell Mom everything,” Michael scolded, but his sister shrugged unrepentantly.
His mother spun on him. “Kids called you that? Why? Who was it?”
From the look in his mother’s face, Michael could tell she was ready to jump back twenty years into the past and slap a few kids upside their heads.
Just the thought of that made him laugh. He got out of his seat and gave his mother another hug. “It was a long time ago, Mom, and kind of inevitable. I was a boy from our side attending Castle Rock Prep. I was a gangly kid with big ears, an even bigger head, who barely talked to anyone, and had a name like Grimm. Of course, the kids called me Ghoul.”
“What do you mean of course?” His mom pulled away and popped him over the head.
“Hey!”
“Don’t ever speak that way about yourself, Michael Cornelius Grimm. You were a very handsome boy. Sweet as sugar and would never harm a soul. You did not deserve to be teased by those children, and if I had known about it, I would have raised hell.”
And that is why I didn’t tell you.
But out loud Michael said, “You’re right, Mom, but that is how kids are. Ruthless toward anyone they see as different. But a lot has changed since then.”
I’ve changed since then.
He was no longer the funny-looking Grimm kid, who skulked around the halls. By the time Michael hit his sophomore year of college, he had filled out in all the right ways. He joined the track team and went from thin and weedy to toned and muscled. He grew into the ears, and the head, and by then women went from passing him by to watching him pass by, especially one woman in particular.
Michael abruptly closed the door on those thoughts. No need to go there.
“I just don’t get it,” Monica mused. “I went to Castle Rock Prep too and none of the kids bothered me.”
Michael gave her a deadpan look. “Yeah, well they wouldn’t, would they?”
She blinked at him. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” he said with an amused sigh.
The reality was that no one would have messed with Monica Grimm. She entered CR Prep six years after he did, but she did so with his mother’s looks. Long curly hair, flawless brown skin, a button nose, and almond-shaped sienna brown eyes. All that coupled with her natural air of confidence and a willingness to drop anyone who messed with her on their backside meant that no one dared call her Ghoul.
“Let’s just eat,” Michael continued, “the subs are getting soggy.”
Kimona plucked the bag of food off his desk before he could get his hands on it. “You’re not eating that,” she said, kissing her teeth. “I brought you some lunch.”
“Mom, I told you. You don’t have to bring us—”
“It’s oxtail and rice and peas. Your favorite.”
He straightened. “Then again, if you really want to, who am I to turn down your generosity.”
“Mm-hmm,” she replied, her lips stretching into a smile.
Monica and Michael laughed and headed into their small kitchen to grab lunch and sit down for a nice meal as a family. Afterward, Michael would delve back into the case of Preston Charming and the hunt for his brutal killer.
MICHAEL KICKED OFF his shoes and abandoned them in front of the door, he had spent the entire afternoon learning everything the internet could tell him about the Charmings. Preston Charming in particular. According to his social media profiles, he was a handsome boy, and a popular one too. His photos were public and they all showed a smiling, crystal-blue-eyed, blond guy with friends draped all over him in every picture. The photos were all that was public though. Michael couldn’t see who Preston talked to or what they talked about. Hopefully, the girlfriend could shed some light on who Preston was, and ultimately who would want to hurt him.
He made a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbed a cold soda, and trudged into his living room. He didn’t have to venture far to complete this trek. His apartment was incredibly small.
The kitchen, dining room, and living room were all in one space with his small couch in the middle giving the illusion of separation. He plopped down on that couch and cracked the
top on his soda as he scanned the room.
This wasn’t where he imagined he’d end up when he graduated from college. Twenty-two years old, a degree in criminal justice, and a beautiful woman on his arm. He thought by the time he reached thirty-two he would be head detective of a police station working alongside Samira and coming home to his three kids.
Instead, he fought to eke out a living between his struggling private detective agency and the mountain of debt he accrued since he left school. As for kids.
Michael snorted in between slurping his drink. I haven’t even been on a date in six months. Kids are a far-off dream at this point.
Michael sighed and rested his head against the couch. It was no real wonder why he was suddenly torturing himself with thoughts like these. Seeing Samira today had unnerved him. He was forcefully reminded of the bitter end to their relationship and all that he had lost because of it.
Now they were thrown together on this case and there was no way the past wouldn’t come up. He wanted the pain to stay buried, but would Samira oblige?
No, his internal voice said wryly. Mira doesn’t keep her feelings bottled up. She says exactly what she thinks and she’s not afraid to wear her heart on her sleeve. That is why I fell in love with her. She’s my opposite in every way.
Michael sighed as the truth of that sunk in. There would be nothing simple about this case. He might as well prepare himself for that now.
“WHAT’S THE ADDRESS again?” Michael asked, pulling up his GPS.
“It’s 511 North Maple. I’ll drive.”
Michael tossed her the keys without hesitation and went around to the passenger side of the car. “That’s on our side, isn’t it?” he asked when they were both inside, doors slammed shut.
“Barely.” His sister turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the drive.
The next day and he and Monica were off to interview Abigail Ino, while across town, Samira and Spencer were back at the Charming mansion going through Preston’s room. Samira had invited him to the party, but Michael decided to keep his appointment with the Inos and go through the evidence with Samira later.
Michael sat back and watched his town of Castle Rock zip by. He was certain there was no other place on earth quite like this. The line between the haves and have-nots was clearly marked, even geographically. Anyone who hung around long enough noticed that the locals referred to places as “our side” and “their side.” Our side was where Michael, his mother, and sister lived. It’s where he grew up for most of his life and it was the part of town that existed outside of the gate.
Those that lived within the gated community of Fairy Tails were on “their side,” and their side was where the rich and wealthy of Castle Rock lived, worked, and played away from their middle-class counterparts. The residents of Fairy Tails were largely old money with families that have lived there in their massive medieval-style mansions since the town was founded. It was also where Castle Rock Prep school resided.
The Fairy Tails gated community took up one side of Castle Rock and the endless Siren Woods took up the other. That left the regular old townspeople in the middle, where they lived their lives as best they could on their little speck of the map.
“What are you thinking about, big brother?”
Michael pulled his mind out of his musings and turned to his sister. “Just thinking about what it was like growing up in Castle Rock.”
Monica looked away from the road to give him a sad smile. “You didn’t have to come back you know. I know you hated it here. You ran off to the first out-of-state college that accepted you and started building your life in Snowhaven. You didn’t have to come back,” she repeated. “Mom and I would have been fine.”
“Of course, I had to come back,” Michael said impassively. “You’re my family. You don’t abandon family.”
Monica’s only response was to squeeze his shoulder. They lapsed into silence and Michael went back to looking out the window and watching the houses get nicer and larger until they turned down North Maple Street.
Yes, they weren’t far from their side at all, but it still begged the question—
“Why would Preston Charming date someone from our side?”
His sister pulled up in front of number 511 and killed the engine. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t care about all that stuff.”
“Everyone cares about that stuff,” Michael said softly. Popping open the door, he climbed out and made the trek up the drive to the Ino house. It was a charming, two-story Tudor with a hand-laid stone path lined with azalea bushes leading up to the front door.
Michael rang the doorbell. Once. Twice. Then stepped back to wait.
“Think they are home?” Monica asked after a full minute had passed.
“I called yesterday. The woman I spoke to said to come at this time.” He turned to her. “You know the drill.”
She nodded.
Michael pounded on the door. “Mrs. Ino? It’s Michael Grimm from Grimm Investi—”
The door swung open on creaky hinges. “Who are you?”
Michael blinked at the young woman who appeared before him and the harshness of her tone. He studied her, looking her up and down. The short tight dress with accompanying plunging neckline that left nothing to the imagination. She teetered on impossibly high heels and the hands crossed beneath her ample chest were covered in dozens of bangles, bracelets, and a few hair ties.
Completing the image, her pale face was caked in makeup that did little to hide the bumps and pimples underneath. The harsh line of her mouth was made all the more harsher by bright red lipstick, and green eyes studied him coldly. Despite all that, Michael had a feeling she would be quite attractive if she didn’t seem to have a permanent sneer on her face.
“I said who are you?” she demanded.
Michael held out a hand. “My name is Michael Grimm. This is my partner, Monica. We are here to speak to Abigail Ino.”
She glanced at his outstretched hand like it was a dirty sock. She answered, keeping her arms crossed. “That’s me. What do you want?”
Not concerned with common curtesy, seemingly vain and distrustful.
Michael dropped his hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Ino. We’re here to talk to you about Preston Charming. We’re working for his parents, we want to find out who killed your boyfriend.”
The lines on her face smoothed out, hostility disappearing. “Come in.”
She pivoted on her heels and click-clacked her way through the house, leading them into a sunken living room.
“You can like have a seat or whatever.” Abigail threw herself into an armchair. Michael and Monica slowly stepped around her and sank into the only other available couch, a brown leather loveseat. The other sofa in the living room was taken up by the woman in a ratty bathrobe and dirty pink fuzzy slippers. She was sleeping on the couch in a halo of wild gray and brunette hair, snoring with abandon. An impossibly fat black cat watched them from its place on her stomach.
“That’s my mom.”
Michael nodded and settled in, letting Monica take over.
Monica shifted her attention away from the sleeping woman. “Right. We would like to talk to her as well... when she wakes up.”
Rolling her eyes, Abigail said, “Yeah, whatever.”
Michael sighed internally. He didn’t quite understand it, but somehow they were already on the wrong foot.
“Miss Ino,” Monica began. “We would like to ask you some questions about your boyfriend, if you’re feeling up to it.”
The glare softened and for a second a flash of pain shone in her eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Monica inclined her head. “How long have you and Preston been seeing each other?”
“Six months. We hooked up at his eighteenth birthday and have been going out ever since.”
“What was Preston like?”
“Perfect,” she said without hesitation. “Perfect gra
des, perfect body, perfect life. Everybody loved him.”
“So he didn’t have any enemies that you knew of? Did anyone want to hurt him?”
She shook her head. “No, everyone worshiped him. We ruled the Castle together.”
“The Castle?”
Another eyeroll. “Castle Rock Prep. Duh.”
“Did he seem different these last few days? Like he was worried about something?”
“No. He was the same old Preston.”
“Abby! Where did you put my hair dryer?” Michael wrenched his eyes away from Abigail just as her clone stepped out of the hallway. Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“My goodness, there are two of them,” Monica whispered out of the side of her mouth. Michael fought to keep his expression neutral.
He stood and introduced himself again.
“We are investigating the death of Preston Charming. And your name is?”
His words had a similar effect on the clone. At the mention of Preston Charming, the unfriendly scowl disappeared, and sadness clouded her features.
“Oh, I see.” Michael was surprised to see her lower lip tremble, but she quickly pressed it into a hard line. “I’m Delilah Ino. Abby’s twin.”
Stiffly, she came all the way into the room and perched herself on the arm of her sister’s chair. “Do you know who did it?” she asked.
Dressed the same as her twin sister right down to the hair ties on the wrists. No desire to distinguish themselves as individuals and apparently the same unpleasant personality.
“That is what we’re trying to find out.” Michael settled back into his seat. “First, we need to know who held a grudge against Preston. Do you have any ideas?”
Delilah rolled her eyes. These two were very fond of that move. “He was Abby’s boyfriend. Not mine. How should I know?”
“Maybe you heard or saw something you didn’t think was important at the time.” Monica picked up the line of questioning. She glanced at Abigail. “Mrs. Charming said you and Preston threw a party last weekend. Anything happen then? Did Preston get into an argument with someone? Did any guests get rowdy and have to be thrown out?”
