The Dead Girl's Stilettos

by Quinn Avery

  It would’ve been easier to track Eric O’Neil down during classes or on a game day, but the Manowars weren’t scheduled to play a home game until the following Tuesday, and Bexley wasn’t willing to waste that much time. Besides, if college was anything like it had been back in her day, she had an idea where she could find the star player, and an internet search wasn’t necessary to locate the row of fraternity houses lining the street directly across from campus.

  As it was still relatively early for a Saturday night party to start up, she hit the first bar she came across, and quickly befriended a group of juniors and seniors. Though she felt ridiculous in the cropped corset top and barely-there shorts, she received a handful of compliments from the young women, and more than one interested look from a few of their men.

  As her new friends engaged in a scholarly debate over who should be deemed “the greatest rapper of all time,” she guarded her watered down rum drink with her life. She even scolded a few of her new friends for not keeping a better eye on theirs, even if it was a “motherly” thing to do, and could've blown her cover. The whole situation made Bexley think of her little sister more than ever, and it was the type of advice she wished she’d a chance to tell Cineste before she went missing.

  Bexley kept an eye out for O’Neil, and finally located him after dark when her new pack of friends moved onto the most popular frat house. His towering height was a dead giveaway in addition to the sleeveless hoodie bearing the school mascot holding a basketball, and his last name in bold letters across the back. He was only somewhat attractive, but owned the room like he was the hottest trend since bubble tea and paper straws. Bexley rolled her eyes at his arrogance. There was no way to secure time alone with him without drawing unwanted attention.

  “You wanna hook up with Mr. Big Shot?” a female voice purred in Bexley’s ear. “Then get in line. Since he started sleeping around with that rich bitch Tehya Jensen at the start of the semester, he’s made every girl’s to-do list. It’s like sleeping with someone famous made him famous by proxy.”

  Interesting, Bexley thought. If he had a girlfriend that long, it meant either he was cheating on her with a hook up the night the murder was called in, or the blonde in the security footage was this Tehya girl. “I was actually looking for Tehya,” Bexley lied, turning to meet the young woman’s pursed, shiny lips. “Does she ever come to these things?”

  “I heard someone say a couple hours ago she was here, looked ready to pass out.” The woman shrugged before tossing her glossed hair over one shoulder. “Try one of the rooms upstairs.”

  Bexley started out in search of the stairway. She was all too aware of what went on in the residential floor of frat houses, and wasn’t thrilled at the idea of walking in on drunken hookups. Kismet seemed to be involved when she knocked on the first door, and subsequently discovered two naked bodies grinding together in the faint moonlight. They didn’t seem to notice or care that someone had joined in.

  “Carry on,” she squeaked, quickly closing the door.

  No one answered the second door, so she let herself in. With the sounds of low grunts and sloppy kisses she began to back out. Then she heard a sharp, “Please…don’t!” and Bexley reached inside her handbag, marching toward the figures on the bed with her stun gun in hand.

  4

  “Get off her, asshole, or I’m pulling the trigger,” Bexley warned, pressing the prongs against the base of the man’s neck. He was hunched over a much smaller woman. He’d pinned one of her wrists against the bed while he worked on releasing his zipper. Relieved to see they were both still dressed, Bexley let out a long breath.

  “What the hell did I do?” he grumbled, slowly raising his hands. “We were just having a little fun!”

  “Are you okay?” Bexley asked the woman, still holding the gun to the man’s neck.

  The girl wiped at her eyes. “I must’ve fallen…sleeping…I didn’t hear him. Who is he?”

  Bexley reached inside the man’s back pocket for his wallet.

  “Hey!” he cried out, spinning around. “What the hell?” When he lunged at Bexley, she pushed the switch, and he dropped to the floor. As he regained his senses, she dug around for his license and removed it from the plastic.

  “You in the habit of assaulting unconscious women, Blake Deverage?” She threw the wallet on his chest and tucked his license in her pocket. “I’ll hold onto this just in case she decides to press charges.” Then Bexley reached for the girl’s hand. “You think you can walk?”

  Head bobbing on her shoulders, the girl rose alongside Bexley, wobbling in ridiculously high heels. Once in the hallway, the young woman started crying in a whiny pitch that set Bexley’s teeth on edge. “I don’t know what…did he almost…oh god!”

  It was immediately apparent once in the hallway light that the girl came from considerable wealth. Glossed blond hair, several carat diamond studs lining both ears, and a designer dress that seemed like overkill for a college party. Even her perfume with a note of black licorice smelled expensive. And she perfectly fit the description of the woman spotted with Eric. Bexley mentally crossed her fingers when she asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Tehya Jensen.”

  Bexley smiled broadly. “Tehya, I think it’s time we got you outta here.”

  An hour later, Tehya scrubbed her tear-stained face clean in the pizza parlor’s bathroom while Bexley purchased a T-shirt sporting the parlor’s “Slice of Heaven” catchphrase. The girl was a natural beauty underneath the excessive layers of makeup, and her rich-girl personality wasn’t nearly as abrasive as Bexley had expected. Her mannerisms were so much like Cineste’s that Bexley’s heart ached. Had her sister been as naive as Tehya? Would she have been prone to a man attacking her if she had too much to drink? Was her father wrong? Had Cineste been abducted against her will?

  “Thanks for this,” Tehya said, adjusting the T-shirt over her skimpy dress. “I’m a little embarrassed. I'm also grateful that you came into the room when you did.”

  “Wasn’t there anyone keeping tabs on you tonight? Friends? Boyfriend?” Guilt for prying into Tehya’s business after what that Blake kid had put her through weighed heavily on Bexley’s shoulders, even though it had to be done if she wanted the funds to track Cineste down. Besides, she had no intention of including what had happened at the frat house in her article. She wouldn’t even mention the girl’s name.

  With a shaky smile, Tehya rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling. “My boyfriend was too busy hanging with his worshippers, and I’m not exactly friends with anyone around here. This isn’t my usual scene.”

  “Rule number one of attending frat-house parties? Make sure someone has your back. And this boyfriend of yours sounds like a Grade-A douche.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure he’s only with me because of my parents’ money. I took him to our condo on the beach for Thanksgiving, and he kept asking if we’re going back for Christmas break.”

  Bexley channeled the obnoxious girls who had driven her bat-shit crazy in high school. “Ohmygod, really? I’ve heard the beach around here is amazing. Isn’t that where a bunch of celebrities live? Wait. Isn’t that where they found that girl’s body? The one they thought Dean Halliwell might have killed?”

  A devilish smirk crept over Tehya before she leaned in closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Bexley’s instincts kicked into high alert. This girl knew something. Had she been the one who called 9-1-1? It would make sense, considering she just admitted she took Eric down to her parents’ condo over break. “Of course!”

  “My boyfriend and I—the douche—we saw the dead girl. We’re the ones that found her.”

  Bexley’s heart nearly leapt from her throat. She leaned in closer to mimic the girl’s excitement. “Holy guacamole! What was it like?”

  “Freaky as shit. Her head was busted open—I think we even saw a little grey matter. I’d never seen a dead person before. Eric first thought she was passed out, and took the stilettos she
was wearing right off her feet.”

  Bexley pinched her lips together. They had stolen evidence. Was it her duty to report them? Could she go to jail if she didn’t? “Did he keep them?”

  “Yeah, but only because we worried they’d find his fingerprints. We were both super high, and he couldn’t afford to lose his scholarship. The guy is dead-ass broke and always looking for ways to make a buck. So he decided we should do a video of me walking in them, call it ‘walking in a dead girl’s shoes.’ He thought if he could get a following online he’d get sponsored. You know, like that guy Logan Paul.”

  “You can’t be serious. Logan Paul was banned for posting that kind of thing, Tehya! Please tell me you didn’t agree to it.”

  “Of course not. That would’ve been tacky. They looked expensive, but they didn’t have a designer label—probably something from a thrift store.” She all at once appeared nervous, glancing over each shoulder. It was getting late, and there were more drunk students hobbling in for a late-night snack. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Eric would kill me if he knew I told you about the stilettos. But I’ve been dying to tell someone.”

  “Tehya, those shoes could help the police uncover that woman’s identity. You have to turn them in. She could have a family out there somewhere…one that’s worried sick. They deserve to have closure.”

  The girl’s eyes widened, quickly filling with tears. “I want to help, but what if they think we did it? What if they arrest us? I can’t go to jail! I’m not even twenty-one! We didn’t even do anything to that dead girl—not really!”

  With a long, calming exhale, Bexley nodded. “You’re right. So here’s what we’ll do. I’m spending the night at the Cyclone Lodge down the street. You can leave the shoes in a plastic bag under my rental car. I’ll tell the police someone must’ve heard me snooping around, and followed me to my car. I swear to you I won’t tell anyone about our conversation or that I ever met you.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I’m a criminal justice major,” Bexley improvised, hoping the girl was still too distressed and intoxicated to realize something was off in her story. “Something like this would guarantee a good grade!”

  “But what about Eric’s fingerprints? He’d kill me if I ruined his chance to play pro!”

  Annoyance ticked through Bexley’s jaw. Had she been that painfully superficial when she was that age? “A woman was murdered. If he’s truly innocent, a lawyer will be able to clear him of any charges.”

  “I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

  “I’ll give you my number. If you’re worried about someone seeing us together or catching you with the shoes, text me with a thumbs up before you head over and I’ll make sure no one else is around.” She dug for a pen from her handbag and scribbled the number on the corner of the paper menu while she spoke. “I’m driving a white Honda two-door with Florida plates.”

  Tehya’s fingers trembled as she took the scrap of paper. Bexley hoped the girl would remember their conversation once the booze had completely burned out of her system.

  Dim sunlight woke Bexley, exposing every distressing flaw of the motel’s forty-five dollar a night room. She’d decided to stay in the area just in case Tehya felt a sudden impulse to hand the shoes over. Anywhere else would’ve been preferable to the rat-hole, but it was the only lodging with an opening because of some annual celebration put on by the city. Between dark stains on the bed’s comforter and a suspicious looking hole in the headboard, she'd opted to sleep in the ratty armchair beside the window. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn something freaky had gone down in that room. In hindsight, she would’ve been better off sleeping in the clown-sized car.

  After checking into her room, she’d called Grayson to update him on her plans. “Why are you staying there?” he prodded. “Is something wrong? Did you connect with the witness?”

  “Everything’s fine. Except being around these kids brought out my maternal side. Next I’ll be getting brochures for AARP and retirement homes.”

  “I’m sorry. You, maternal?” The deep chuckle that followed warmed Bexley’s belly. “Am I speaking to the same girl who liked to eat Cheetos for breakfast, and skipped out of gym class to take naps?”

  They were soon reminiscing over better days in a way that reminded Bexley of a time when she’d doodle his name surrounded by hearts. She fell asleep shortly after he’d ended the call with, “Sweet dreams, Bex.”

  Every muscle in her body ached when she sat upright in the chair to peer across the parking lot. To her disappointment, there didn't appear to be anything stashed underneath her rental. By the time she escorted Tehya back to Eric’s frat house, watching from a distance as the couple were reunited, Bexley was convinced the delivery of the missing evidence was a done deal.

  As she exited the plastic shower, her phone vibrated from the dresser. Her pulse skipped a little with the thumbs up emoji on her screen from an unknown number. She quickly dressed into jeans and a tunic from her carry-on, then towel-dried her hair before heading out.

  It was quiet outside the motel. The only other patrons at a place that cheap were probably truckers who had logged in their max hours for the night, or serial killers who didn’t want to be seen by the light of day. She headed across the pavement with a spark of hope. Maybe she was better at this undercover stuff than she thought. If there was something on these shoes that could lead them to the killer—

  A strong arm hooked around Bexley’s waist, knocking the wind from her lungs at the same exact moment her attacker covered her mouth. Her back was pinned up against a hard body. “Who do you think you are, pretending you’re friends with my girl, asking her questions about me?” an angry voice rumbled in her ear. “Did you think I was just going to hand those fancy shoes over to the cops with my fingerprints all over them? They’re gone! Destroyed!”

  Panicked breaths exploded from Bexley’s nose. She remembered what Grayson had said, that Eric O’Neil was a man with a lot to lose. She could feel the tension coiled in his body when he squeezed her a little tighter.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are, lady, but if you’re smart, you’ll get the hell outta here and never come back!”

  It wasn’t until he spun her around and raised his fist that Bexley remembered her stun gun was still in the motel room.

  By the time she reached the city limits of Papaya Springs, the skin surrounding Bexley’s right eye was red and throbbing. She was beyond humiliated. Both Grayson and Dean had warned her of the danger she’d be putting herself in by confronting the witness. Not only were they right, but she had nothing to show for her efforts except a black eye. And Tehya had betrayed her in the worst way by sending Eric in her place. Was there no longer such a thing as girl-code? And what kind of college athlete punches a woman? He was lucky Bexley avoided knocking her head on the pavement when she went down, and someone hadn’t found her unconscious. They’d be hard up to find a jury who wouldn’t put the incident alongside the murder and suspect he was guilty of both crimes.

  Rather than return the rental car and catch a ride back to Dean’s, Bexley drove around her old stomping grounds to lick her bruised ego. She eventually parked near the busiest bay and plopped down in a sand dune just yards from where the waves lapped the shore. There was an unusually cold chill, and dark clouds in the distance threatened a rare storm. Nostalgia hit her when she remembered hanging in the same area with her small circle of friends in high school. They’d bring coolers filled with cheap beer, and either Grayson or one of the other guys would roll a joint to pass around. It seemed several decades had passed since Bexley was with the old crowd, living for any moments she was able to spend around Grayson without his pretentious girlfriend raining on her hormone parade.

  Bare toes buried in the sand, she contemplated her next move as she stared off into the same body of water where the victim had taken her last breaths. She was sure the woman’s shoes would’ve been the key to uncovering her identity. Why hadn’t she at le
ast asked Tehya for a description? The flighty blonde had said they didn’t have a label, but did that mean it had been removed or worn down? Fashion was a foreign concept to Bexley, and she wouldn’t have the faintest idea what qualified them as “expensive.” She'd never even owned a pair of stilettos.

  As she started for her rental with the intention of delivering the bad news to Grayson, she caught sight of a man in the parking lot looking through binoculars aimed in her direction. She stopped suddenly, taking a quick inventory of his appearance. Closely trimmed dark hair beneath a gray baseball cap with a logo too faded to read, worn T-shirt and board shorts, taller than average, fit but not muscular. Typical Californian. Until he lowered the binocs, she wasn't sure of his age. The trendy aviator sunglasses and smooth skin on his face made her believe he was somewhere between late twenties and early thirties.

  Bexley lifted her hand in greeting, wanting to alert the stranger that she was well aware of his presence. Had he been following her? As the man took off in the opposite direction and disappeared behind a row of cars, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.

  * * *

  I’m so sorry

  Wasn’t supposed to happen that way

  Didn’t know he got rid of them

  I feel like I owe you for what you did

  He doesn’t know I took these the night we brought them home