One Stiletto in the Grave

by Jason Krumbine

  About this book

  When a dead soul goes renegade you call a grim reaper. And when you’re in Century City, sometimes all you can get is the Graves sisters.

  Jack and Cindy were a happily married couple. She was an elementary school teacher. He was an aspiring children’s book author. They had the perfect life together, until the day they decided to kill themselves. Their souls never arrived in the afterlife and now it’s up Avery and Brooke to find out where these deceased lovers have wandered off to.

  Hunting down a pair of dead lovers isn’t the only thing on Brooke’s to-do list. Her love life is a mess with too many men, too many options and not enough time. And what starts out as a meaningless fling for her quickly moves to something more serious for him.

  Love, death, relationships and sparkly shoes. It’s just another day for Century City’s prettiest grim reapers.

  previously

  Grim Reapers are real.

  There are three classes of grim reapers:

  Wood, Cloth and Metal.

  Grim Reapers are governed by the Council of Reapers and are responsible for the capture and containment of dead souls that refuse to or cannot move on to the afterlife.

  Avery and Brooke Graves are sisters working as reapers out of Century City. They are trained in Wood Class.

  Recently a grim reaping firm by the name of Messor and Decessus opened a branch in Century City. They’ve offered the Graves’ sisters permanent positions within the organization. After an initial meeting with James Decessus the sister’s remain dubious and are concerned that the reaping firm may have less than altruistic intentions.

  one

  Cindy Mason is scared. Where there was once love and hope for the future, there now only remains fear. Cold, paralyzing fear that grips her so tight she finds it hard to breathe. She looks to her husband for guidance, but doesn’t find any there.

  Brian is pacing the length of their living room. Sweat drips off his forehead. He’s running his hands back and forth across his hair. He knew there was a possibility...He knew he could be bad...But he never thought it would become horrible.

  “What do we do?” Cindy whispers. It feels like the walls of their home are closing in on her.

  “I don’t...” Brian mutters. “I don’t know.”

  “Can we talk to them again?”

  “And say what?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “There must be something.”

  Brian shakes his head violently. “No, they’re not going to stop.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know!” he shouts at her.

  Cindy flinches, shrinking back against the sofa.

  Brian’s scared himself. This is not who he is. This is not who he wanted to be.

  “No, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Brian says, sitting next to her. He wraps his arms around her tightly, pulling her to his chest. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you.”

  Cindy starts to cry. “They’re never going to leave us alone, are they?”

  “No,” Brian answers, his voice hollow. “No they aren’t.”

  “Can we run?” she asks.

  “Where?” Brian says. “We have no money. And they’d find us anyway.”

  Cindy sobs against his chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers to her. “I’m, so, so sorry.”

  two

  Brooke Graves is being overwhelmed, assaulted, really. Assaulted by a barrage of sensations that are drowning her in pleasure.

  It starts at the tips of her fingers, the tips of her toes. Every ounce of energy is being pulled through her body, all heading towards the same sweet spot between her legs.

  Her thighs quiver as it approaches. A light sweat breaks out along her skin. Brooke squeezes her eyes shut, giving herself completely over to the sensations that are racing through her body.

  She starts to writhe on the bed. It's closer now. Her hands clutch at the beige sheets, bunching them tightly between her fingers. Her knuckles turn white.

  Her breasts shake as her breathing becomes more irregular.

  It's so very close now.

  She bites her lip. Her hips buck, as though reaching out for it.

  “Yes,” she moans, quietly at first. Then louder. “Yes. Yes. YES!”

  It shudders outwards through her body like a wave, crashing over her with pleasure.

  Brooke cries out again, arching her body as she pulls the sheets around her.

  “YESSSS!”

  Smaller waves follow, decreasing in intensity, carrying her down from the peak.

  Brooke drops back against the bed, releasing the linen from her grasp. Her heart's still pounding, but it's slowly backing down into its regular rhythm.

  She opens her eyes and gazes down at the man between her legs.

  He smiles at her, revealing a set of sparkling, perfect teeth.

  “Was that a good one?” he asks.

  “Like you have to ask?” Brooke says, wiping her brow with her wrists. She squirms a bit on the bed, like a cat lazily basking in the golden warmth of the sun. “Hmmm, I can still feel it.”

  He pulls himself up beside her. His hair is a dark brown and the rest of him is solid muscle. On her phone, he's listed as simply, Steven the Bartender. She's not sure if he's got a last name and she doesn't particularly care.

  Her phone goes off.

  “You want to get that?” Steven asks, pointing to the cellphone on her nightstand.

  “Not particularly,” Brooke admits. “It's my sister's ring tone.”

  “Oh?”

  “She can be a bit of a buzz kill,” Brooke says. “And this is a buzz I don't want to kill just yet.”

  After a couple of rings, the phone falls silent.

  “See? Problem solved.” Brooke gives a happy sigh and stretches out.

  Steven lazily traces circles around her nipples and ideas start popping into Brooke’s head. She smiles and starts to reach below his waist.

  Then the phone rings again.

  “Oh, come on.” Brooke frowns. She rolls over and snatches the phone from the nightstand. “Do you know what voicemail is?” she asks, answering the phone.

  On the other end, her sister, Avery says, “Yes. Do you know what an appointment is?”

  Brooke holds the phone in front of her to check the time. It's ten past eleven. She puts the phone back to her ear. “We weren’t supposed to be there until twelve.”

  “It's twelve now,” Avery says.

  “No it's not,” Brooke insists.

  “That's because last night was daylight savings,” Avery says. “And now you're late.”

  Brooke curses under her breath.

  “What?” Avery asks.

  “I'll meet you there,” Brooke says louder.

  “At the doctor's place?”

  “At the doctor's place,” Brooke says.

  “You know where it is?”

  Brooke rolls her eyes. “I know how to get a taxi to take me there.”

  “Brooke...”

  “Thirty minutes,” Brooke cuts her off. “I'll be there in about thirty minutes.” She hangs up before Avery can say anything else.

  Brooke tosses the phone back on the nightstand and turns back to Steven. “What are you doing up here?”

  Steven frowns. “Should I not be up here?”

  “No, you should not,” Brooke replies, gently pushing him back down between her legs.

  “I thought you had to leave,” Steven says.

  “Whatever,” Brooke says. “She can wait a few minutes. Let's see if we can work up another buzz, I want to go out on a high note.”

  Steven laughs softly as he settles between her legs again. His tongue darts out, lightly stroking her soft lips
and Brooke closes her eyes again.

  “This is my favorite way to start the day.”

  three

  It's an hour later.

  “An hour,” Avery Graves says to her sister, standing outside the dull grey, two-story medical complex. “Do you know how to tell time? Do you know the difference between thirty minutes and an hour?”

  Brooke looks both ways and pauses to let a Buick pass before crossing through the parking lot. She's got a hot tea in one hand and a glazed donut in the other. As she approaches her sister, Brooke holds up her wrist to show off her watch. “Remember, I have Dad's watch.”

  “That's not really an excuse when you know that Dad's watch is broken,” Avery says. “Also, you have a cellphone.”

  “Which doesn't apparently tell the correct time either.” Brooke pulls the phone out of her pocket. “I thought these things were supposed to automatically correct for daylight savings?”

  Avery takes a deep, calming breath. She’s the older of the two sisters. Her hair is a dark brown, shorter, but still long enough to pulled back in a simple ponytail. She has a slim figure and is wearing a pair of practical jeans with sparkling rhinestones along the back pockets. Her shirt is a light pink tank top and a long sleeve blouse with the sleeves rolled up. Today she went with her red Espadrille’s with the three-inch wedge heel for a little extra flare.

  “An hour,” Avery simply repeats after a minute.

  “Uh. Sorry?”

  “Are telling me you’re sorry or asking if you should be?”

  Brooke shrugs. “Honestly, whichever one gets you off my back.”

  Brooke’s taller than her sister, only by a few inches, but usually more because she favors the stripper heels. After a quick shower to wash away the scent of Steven the bartender, Brooke threw on her clothes from last night: a black t-shirt with an extremely low scooped neckline and a denim mini skirt.

  The sisters enter the small medical complex.

  “Not exactly a professional outfit,” Avery says, taking notice of her sister’s appearance as they head towards the elevator.

  Brooke buys herself a few seconds by taking an extra long bite from her glazed donut.

  “Did you give any thought to what you were going to wear or did you just grab your most recent outfit?” Avery pauses. “Wait a minute. That's what you were wearing last night. Where were you when I called you this morning?”

  Brooke swallows. “With a gentlemen friend.”

  “A gentlemen friend?” Avery echoes.

  “That’s what I said.” Brooke pushes the UP button for the elevator and finishes off her donut.

  Avery runs through her memory of the previous night. “It wasn’t the guy at the bar, was it?”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy with the bow tie.”

  Brooke laughs. “Please. A bow tie?”

  “Bow ties are cool now,” Avery insists.

  “Bow ties are not cool,” Brooke replies. The elevator arrives and they enter. “They’re code.”

  “Code?”

  “As in secret,” Brooke explains. “Any man in a bow tie is probably looking for another man.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since always.”

  The elevator doors slide closed.

  “Okay, so you’re trapped on an island,” Brooke starts.

  “No,” Avery cuts her off immediately.

  Brooke looks up from the magazine. “What?”

  The sisters have been sitting in this pastel waiting room for the better part of twenty minutes. There’s a black man across from them that keeps giving them a suspicious look, like they were going to jump up and steal his cane.

  “I already sat through your ‘Am I Too Sexy?’ quiz,” Avery says, stretching out in her chair.

  “And now you know that you, in fact, are not sexy enough,” Brooke says. “You’re welcome.”

  “I didn’t say thank you.”

  “You were about to,” Brooke says. “I just saved you the trouble.”

  “And I am plenty sexy.”

  Brooke flips back a few pages in the magazine. “Not according to your score.”

  “Why can’t you ever sit in a waiting room without flipping through one of these stupid magazines?” Avery asks her little sister.

  “Because I’m easily bored,” Brooke says.

  “Hey, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “If you had gotten here on time,” Avery says. “We wouldn’t be waiting right now and you wouldn’t be bored.”

  “Also, if I had gotten here on time I would have deprived myself of certain delights.”

  “Oh, what kind of delights?” Avery asks.

  “The delights of a delightful man,” Brooke says. “And that’s all you’re going to get from me.”

  “Who were you with last night?”

  “I do not kiss and tell.”

  Avery frowns. “Since when?”

  Brooke shrugs. “Since now. Call it a belated New Year’s resolution.”

  “Very belated.”

  “Well, we’ve already established I can’t tell time.”

  “If it wasn’t Mr. Bow Tie,” Avery muses.

  “It wasn't anybody from the bar last night.”

  “So you made a booty call,” Avery says.

  Brooke squirms in her seat, biting back a smile. “I can assure you, he paid no attention to my booty.”

  Avery snaps her fingers. “Steven the bartender.”

  Brooke puts the magazine down. “How did you do that?”

  “Am I right?”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Brooke gives in. “But how are you right?”

  “It’s called a sister sense,” Avery says.

  Brooke just shakes her head.

  “You were also blushing pretty bad at the booty call line,” Avery says.

  “It was not a booty call,” Brooke insists.

  “Sure it wasn’t,” Avery replies. “What else did you guys do last night other than have sex?”

  Brooke sits silent.

  “It was a booty call,” Avery says again.

  “You’re underestimating the simplistic fun of just having sex,” Brooke replies.

  “Please.” Avery waves her off. “Just because I don’t appreciate having sex with faceless strangers doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate having sex.”

  Brooke frowns. “I don’t know. You pretty much meet all the requirements for a prude.”

  “Not wanting to hear all the salacious details of your sex life, doesn’t mean I’m a prude,” Avery replies.

  “Well, you’re the one that brought it up,” Brooke says, flipping through the magazine. “Are you sure you’re not trying to live vicariously through me?”

  “I don’t need to,” Avery replies. “I have a wonderful boyfriend of my own.”

  “He might be wonderful,” Brooke says. “But he is no Steven the bartender.”

  Avery scoffs. “I don’t even think Steven the bartender is Steven the bartender.”

  Brooke burps. “Is this some kind of existential thing?”

  “It’s a kind of I-think-you-probably-have-too-much-to-drink-whenever-you-see-Steven-thing and end up blowing it all out of proportion,” Avery says.

  Brooke smiles at her. “Oh, big sister of mine, I pity you.”

  Avery raises an eyebrow.

  “I pity you,” Brook continues. “Because I was stone cold sober last night. Steven the bartender, however, may have made me a little tipsy what with all the orgasms he blessed me with through the night and well into the morning. Don't ask me how many exactly. I lost count after the first four.”

  Avery makes a soured face. “Please stop.”

  Brooke smiles and returns to her magazine. “So, you’re trapped on an island.” She pauses and sneaks a glance at her sister.

  “I’m not saying a thing,” Avery comments, watching her out of the corner of her eye.

  “I just don’t want to get interrupted again,” Brooke explains.r />
  “And yet, here you are, interrupting yourself,” Avery points out.

  Brooke turns back to the magazine. “You’re trapped on an island and you’re allowed three things: one luxury item, one necessity item and one person.” She looks at her sister.

  Avery watches two female assistants come back from their lunch break. They’re giggling about some silly story. They step through the door next to the receptionist’s window.

  “Well?” Brooke prompts.

  “Well what?” Avery asks. “You didn’t ask a question.”

  “It was implied,” Brooke says.

  “Implied?”

  “Within the statement,” Brooke clarifies.

  “You realize if you had just simply asked an actual question we could have moved on already.”

  Brooke sighs loudly. “Okay. Fine. You’re stranded on an island-”

  “I’m pretty sure you can stop repeating the concept,” Avery interrupts. “I’ve got it by now.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” Brooke says. “Honestly, you seem like you’re more interested in the strangers walking around here than you are in talking with me.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Avery says. “I shouldn’t let work come between us.” Avery looks at her. “Do you have any idea what we’re doing here?”

  “Wasting my time?” Brooke suggests.

  Avery reaches over and flicks her sister’s ear.

  “Ow.” Brooke holds a hand against her stinging ear.

  “A dying man asked us to find his daughter,” Avery says.

  “Because you,” Brooke pokes her sister in the chest, “asked him if there was anything we could do before he shuffled free of this mortal coil. So, as far as last requests go, it doesn’t hold a lot of weight when you go fishing for one.”

  Avery shakes her head. “It’s called being a human being.”

  Brooke makes a face. “I don’t know. I’m not sure that there’s anything in the Human Being manual about fishing for dying men’s requests.” She starts to go back to her magazine and then looks up again. “Actually, you know what, scratch that.”

  “And here it comes,” Avery mutters.