One Stiletto in the Grave

by Jason Krumbine

  He looks at Avery. “Was I a horrible person?”

  Avery hesitates before answering. “I can’t really say, Daniel,” she says. “You did what you felt you had to do.”

  If Daniel hears her, he doesn’t show it. “And, you know, I thought it was worth it. I had raised my daughter. It was time for her to be on her own anyway. I had needs, you know? And for five years, it was worth it. Shelly was a remarkable woman, or so I thought.” He sighs. “And then, I walked in on that bitch having sex with Raul,” he falls silent for a moment. He looks at Avery. “I think she might have only married me for my money.”

  Avery waits a minute, staring at Daniel. She asks, “What money?”

  “I had a net worth of fifty million dollars,” he says.

  Avery chokes on her own spit. “How much?”

  Daniel looks genuinely confused. “What?”

  “You lived in a duplex on Carter Street,” Avery says. “Two blocks from the Y.”

  Daniel shrugs. “I was a very simple man.”

  Avery just stares at the dead man. “Simple?”

  “Ms. Graves,” Daniel starts.

  “Call me Avery,” she interrupts.

  Daniel nods. “Avery, there’s a stipulation in my will. Kristen is supposed to get everything. If she doesn’t show up to claim her inheritance within forty-eight hours of my death, Shelly assumes control of my entire estate.”

  “That’s an odd stipulation to have in your will,” Avery says.

  “Shelly insisted she was marrying me for love,” Daniel replies. “And I believed her. I made my fortune with my first wife, Kristen’s mother. I thought it was only fair that if anything happened to me, Kristen should receive it all.”

  “And Shelly was okay with this?”

  “Well, honestly, I thought at the time she was,” Daniel says. “But finding her screwing Raul…” He shrugs. “I’m not so sure now.”

  Avery makes a note. “So, what you’re saying is, Shelly’s not going to want Kristen found.”

  “Nor is she going to make any effort to find her,” Daniel adds.

  Avery taps her pen against the notepad. “Daniel, there must be something else. Some kind of communication between you and Kristen.”

  He shakes his head. “She just left. I’ve tried looking for her a few times but every private investigator I hired came back empty handed.”

  “What about this Doctor Soong?” Avery asks. “Why send us there?”

  A blank expression passes across Daniel’s face for a brief second. “She was working there at the time she disappeared,” he says. He looks pleadingly at Avery. “Honestly, I have no idea where she could be.”

  Avery gets to her feet. “Well, I’m not going lie, Daniel, it’s not looking good.”

  “Ms. Graves,” Daniel grabs her by the wrist. “Avery. I just want to say good-bye to her. Please. Help me find her.”

  Brooke is in the 24 Hour Chinese restaurant, sitting at the counter bar, wrestling with chopsticks, when Avery comes in.

  “I hate chopsticks,” Brooke says as her sister grabs the stool next to her.

  “And yet, you eat here at least once day,” Avery observes.

  “They’re a sin against nature,” Brooke continues, holding the chopsticks in front of her.

  “That’s a little extreme,” Avery says.

  “You know why you never see a fat Asian?” Brooke asks.

  “Okay, so this is going to be a racist thing?”

  “Because it’s impossible to actually grab any reasonable amount of food with these stupid pieces of wood.” She knocks the chopsticks together. “Completely impossible.”

  “Again, very racist,” Avery points out. “And, also, Jimmy is a slightly overweight.”

  “Asian Jimmy?”

  “How many Jimmy’s do you know?”

  Brooke holds up three fingers. “Three. And our Asian Jimmy is not Asian.”

  “He’s Chinese,” Avery says.

  “He is not.”

  “Oh, yes he is,” Avery insists. “Third generation.”

  “American-Chinese,” Brooke clarifies. “The man eats more hamburgers than anyone I know. He doesn’t count.” She snaps the chopsticks together in her sister’s face. “Evil, evil, evil things.”

  “And yet, again, here you are,” Avery points out. “Eating their food.”

  “It’s not my fault.” She manages to grab a few noodles and shove them into her mouth. “I think they put something in here.”

  “Something?”

  “Yeah,” Brooke says, slurping the noodles down. “Something addictive.”

  “Okay.” Avery nods her head. “So you’re not actually being serious.”

  “I have no self-control.”

  “No one’s going to argue with you over that,” Avery agrees. “Anyway, you’re not going to believe what I found out.”

  “Our dead guy has a twin brother,” Brooke says, her mouth full of noodles and rice.

  “No.”

  “He had a twin sister.”

  “No.”

  “He has a twin dog?”

  Avery looks at her sister. “What’s with the twin thing?”

  Brooke shrugs and points at the TV playing in the corner. “They’ve been playing some stupid soap opera where the guy’s dead twin brother reappears.”

  Avery rubs her eyes. “Our dead guy’s rich.”

  Brooke stops chewing. “How rich?”

  “Fifty million dollars rich.”

  Brooke spits out her rice. “Are you serious?”

  Avery nods.

  “We found him in that stupid duplex,” Brooke says. “He was living there.”

  “He says he’s a simple man,” Avery says.

  “If by simple you mean retarded,” Brooke says, picking up her chopsticks again, “then I absolutely agree. Did you get anything useful out of him?”

  “Two things,” Avery says. “One, as long as Kristen shows up within the next forty-eight hours, she gets her father’s inheritance. All fifty million dollars.”

  “Whoopie-de-doo for her.” Brooke slurps up a noodle.

  “Two,” Avery continues, “Daniel’s looked for her before.”

  “And with his fifty million dollars he couldn’t find her?”

  “Nope.”

  Brooke stops eating and looks at her sister. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously,” Avery says. “Third, if Kristen doesn’t come forward, Daniel’s current wife gets the entire estate.”

  Brooke finishes chewing her mouthful of noodles slowly. “So, a rich guy can’t find his estranged daughter.”

  “You see where I think this is going,” Avery says.

  “Kristen’s dead,” Brooke finishes.

  “It certainly seems that way,” Avery says.

  “Or she’s really good at hiding herself.”

  “Fifty million dollars isn’t anything to sneeze at,” Avery thinks out loud. “It could buy someone several very competent private investigators.”

  “And if all of those very competent private investigators come up empty handed,” Brooke adds.

  “Then maybe there isn’t anyone to find,” Avery finishes.

  Brooke finishes her noodles and rice. “You say any of this to the dead guy?”

  “Of course not,” Avery says. “Why would I do that?”

  “To crush his hopes and dreams so we can dump him off at the Waiting Room and collect our bounty,” Brooke says. “Why should we waste our time looking for somebody who’s probably dead?”

  “We don’t know for certain she’s dead,” Avery says. “And I want to help this guy.” she points at her sister, “You should, too.”

  Brooke grabs a fortune cookie from the bowl on the counter. “Well, maybe after this we can go on a quest to visit the wizard and see if he can spare me a heart. We’re asking for trouble, hanging onto this dead guy.”

  “The dead guy’s got a name,” Avery says.

  “No names. Then it’s like a pet,” Brooke says
. “I don’t want to get attached to it.”

  “We’ve got containment sigils around the door and the window,” Avery says. “Those’ll keep Daniel in place.”

  “And what if Russell comes around asking about why we haven’t dropped off the dead guy?” Brooke asks.

  “Russell is not going to come looking for some guy who happened to die of a heart attack,” Avery says. “There’s a forty-eight hour window for Kristen to claim her inheritance. If we don’t find her in twenty-four hours, we’ll drop it and get Daniel to the Waiting Room.”

  Brooke studies her sister for a minute. “And you’re worried about my bad habits.” She slides off the stool and Avery follows her back out onto the street. Brooke cracks open her fortune cookie. “A secret admirer will soon send you a sign of affection,” she reads aloud.

  “You forgot the ‘in bed’ part,” Avery says as they head back up the stairs.

  “A secret admirer will soon send you a sign of affection,” Brooke reads again. “In bed. Oooh, kinky.” She thinks about it for a minute. “I don’t know if I have any secret admirers right now.”

  “That’s what makes them secret,” Avery points out. “Besides, I would think your hands are kind of full with Steven the Bartender.”

  Brooke frowns. “Not as full as I’d like.”

  “Oh?” Avery asks. “Is he losing his shine?”

  “No,” Brooke says. “He’s just not as big as I’d like.”

  “You mean...?”

  “Yes, his dick,” Brooke says. “You shouldn’t be afraid of that word.”

  “I’m not afraid of it,” Avery replies. “I’m afraid of the way you make it sound.”

  “I like my men with a little more girth,” Brooke continues.

  “Please stop.”

  “He’s got a talented tongue, there’s no denying that,” Brooke says. “But a woman can’t live on oral sex alone, you know what I mean?”

  “I’ve stopped listening to you,” Avery says, opening the door to their office.

  There’s a nebbish fellow of an indeterminate age, somewhere between thirty and forty, waiting for the sisters as they enter their office. He’s got glasses that are always sliding down the bridge of his nose and a taste for button down short sleeve shirts.

  His name is Steve Russell and he’s the local representative for the Council of Reapers. He’s exactly the Russell they didn’t want showing up at their office.

  Avery covers a nervous check of the spare room door with a cough. The door’s closed.

  “You left your office unlocked,” Russell says. He’s got a dry, nasally voice.

  “Yeah, we ran downstairs for some food,” Avery explains.

  Russell wrinkles his nose and his glasses slide down a bit. “You really shouldn’t do that.”

  “Eat?” Brooke asks.

  “Leave your office unlocked,” Russell says. “It’s dangerous.”

  “It’s a pretty safe neighborhood,” Avery says, stepping forward to position herself between Russell and the spare room.

  Russell frowns. “I saw a woman get mugged three blocks from here.”

  “Well, it’s safe for us,” Brooke chimes in. “We’re the creepy grim reaper ladies.”

  “What can we do for you, Russell?” Avery asks.

  Russell pushes his glasses back up his nose. “I have another bounty for you.” He holds up the manila envelope in his left hand.

  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. “Apparently 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 an awkward frown.

  “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 us the leftovers,” Brooke says. “This way we would always be fed.”

  Russell’s frown deepens, adding a few more wrinkles to his face, but he 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 you didn’t think Russell was gonna come by.”

  six

  It’s a 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 sedan. 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 turn 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 manila envelope.

  “I brought it up because I wanted your advice,” Brooke says.

  “My advice is to close your legs,” Avery replies, looking over the paperwork.

  “That’s not what I was asking.”

  “I know,” Avery says. “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 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.