The Dead Girl's Stilettos

by Quinn Avery

  Once safely beyond the security guard’s sight, she took off running. Memories involving her carefree little sister ran through her mind with every step. Visions of her in a little pink onesie. Visions of her in pigtails, toddling through the sprinkler in their backyard. Visions of her laughing on the teacup ride until tears streamed down her fat cheeks. Cineste had wanted to become a pediatrician. Always the joker, and tough on the exterior, she had a big heart. And she tended to be painfully vulnerable to anyone who showed her kindness. Is that how she’d been tricked into working for this CP?

  If Bexley could run to the ends of the earth she would have. Anything to avoid pondering her sister’s fate. But her battered body had reached its limits. Her insides throbbed with pain, and her stomach threatened to return the bagel she’d eaten earlier. She stopped to vomit. When she finished, she wiped at her tear-stained face and retrieved her phone. She needed to hear her sister’s voice. She needed to hold onto the hope that Cineste was still alive.

  “Hey, it’s Cin! Leave me a message!”

  Bexley’s heart soared when a beep followed her sister’s voice instead of the same robotic response she’d been hearing for almost a solid month. “Cineste? I know you're in trouble. I’m here in Papaya Springs. And I’m working on shutting this thing down. Please, please, call me back as soon as you can. I need to hear your voice to know you’re okay.”

  Another beep cut her off from saying anything more. She hung up with a renewed hope. Her sister had to be the one who cleared out her mailbox. On her visit to New York last spring, she'd forgotten the PIN and had to call their father’s provider to have it reset.

  Hope that Cineste was alive burned in Bexley’s chest. She would do whatever it took to save her.

  Outside the double glass doors of Stronghold Investigations, Bexley threw up again. She wondered if it was an indication of a concussion, but she’d worry about that later. Inside the outdated building, mismatched armchairs lined a clean, bright room. Patriotic paintings of flags, eagles, and soldiers in battle lined the walls leading to the receptionist’s desk. An elderly receptionist with bright blue hair and a brighter smile took Bexley’s name before disappearing down the hallway. She didn’t seem to notice Bexley was a mess, or that urgency plagued her hoarse voice. But she only made Bexley wait a minute before she returned for her. “Follow me, sweetheart.”

  With the exception of a large oak desk covered in papers and pale green files, the detective’s paneled office reflected class and professionalism. A classic rock tune—Bexley couldn’t remember the name of the band though she could recite the lyrics—wafted from a speaker mounted in the corner. The combination of leather, dark wood, and a lingering tobacco odor gave the same warm, welcome feeling as the man in his late sixties reclining behind the desk. Feet crossed and propped on the edge of his desk, his reading glasses were perched on the edge of his nose as he scanned the laptop balanced on his legs. The wavy white hair dusting his shoulders, and soft wrinkles covering his face would’ve given him a kind, grandfatherly look if it weren’t for the Foreigner T-shirt and diamond stud in one ear. He looked the part of a retired rock star.

  “Mr. Stronghold, thank you for meeting with me. My name’s Bexley Squires…I’m the one who called you about my missing sister.”

  He peered up at her over the laptop’s screen. “My name’s J.J., and I know who you are. Grayson and me had us a little chat—he figured you’d be comin’.” He closed the laptop and set his folded hands on top of it. “Have yourself a seat, darlin’. Can I get you anything?”

  Her spirits sank when she realized Grayson was already one step ahead of her. Before he left, he’d made her promise that she would give him a heads up if she left the apartment. She didn’t want to lie to him anymore, but he wouldn’t have stood back and allowed her to break into Shane’s house.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” She sat down in the wooden chair across from him. “I have reason to believe my sister’s in grave trouble. I found evidence this morning that suggests she’s involved in something dangerous. I think she might still have her cell phone. I’ve been trying to call her every day since she went missing. Until today, her mailbox was full.” She stopped, dug her fingernails into the chair’s arms, and took a deep, cleansing breath. “Is there any way you can track her phone?”

  “Depends on whose name is on the bill.”

  “Our father’s.” Or at least Bexley hoped that was still the case. He’d cut Cineste off financially, but she’d mentioned in New York that she'd convinced him to keep her phone under his account as long as she paid her portion of the bill.

  “Tell me more about her last known whereabouts.”

  “Our father had arranged for her to babysit for a Commander—”

  Her mind raced as the conversation she’d had with her father about Cineste’s disappearance replayed in her head. “The Peachtrees hired her as a nanny…turns out she was involved with the Commander’s adult son…he held a gun to his father’s head…they absconded with all the Peachtrees’ cash.”

  CP. Commander Peachtree.

  Had Cineste been hired to babysit for the man behind the boys’ club? Is that how she got mixed up with Willow and Shane? For the third time that afternoon, her stomach lurched.

  The old man reached across the desk. “Sure you’re feelin’ okay? Grayson mentioned you were involved in a car bombing.”

  “I—I have to go,” she stammered, rising to her feet. She grabbed a pen from his desk and scribbled the information he'd need on a notepad. “Please call me if you find out anything on my sister.”

  Bexley didn’t remember giving the address to the driver, but she heaved a sigh of relief when they pulled up to the curb in front of Faith’s little blue house. A brown delivery truck sat in the driveway. As Bexley approached the front door, a delivery man with a 2-wheeled cart greeted her on his way out.

  Faith leaned up against the doorway, eyes narrowed on Bexley. She wore a feminine sundress, straps of a bikini tied around her neck, designer sunglasses nestled in her red curls. “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t the most welcome of greetings.

  “I thought of a few more questions. It shouldn’t take long. Mind if I come in?”

  Faith glanced into the house over her shoulder before she shrugged. “I guess.”

  When the front door shut behind them, Bexley pulled up a picture of Cineste on her phone. Bexley had taken it on her sister’s trip to New York, the night they’d gone to a five-star steakhouse. It almost pained her to see her sister so happy and vibrant.

  “Is this Willow’s friend with the green hair?”

  Faith took the phone away from Bexley, and zoomed in on the picture. “Yeah…I think so. She looks a lot better here. But I remember thinking her eyes looked like emeralds.”

  Although Bexley was already certain it had been Cineste in Shane’s picture, her spirits sank regardless. “Do you remember Willow ever mentioning where her friend was living?”

  “As bad as that girl looked, I wouldn’t be surprised if she lived on the streets.” She handed the phone back to Bexley. “I already told you, I was never introduced to any of Willow’s friends. I don’t know anything about this girl.”

  Bexley flipped back to the picture she'd found online of Commander Peachtree. In service khakis, he flashed the camera a wry smile. Bexley had almost thrown up again when she considered what the fair-haired officer may have orchestrated. “What about this guy? Could he be the clean cut man you said came around a lot before Willow died?”

  The girl leaned in. “Nah, that’s not him,” she answered quickly. She pushed the phone away, and her eyes skated across the room. “He was…uh…younger.”

  She was blatantly lying. “Are you sure?”

  “Is there anything else you wanted to ask?” Faith asked. She fidgeted with a lock of hair. “I have a flight to catch.”

  Bexley noted the suitcase behind her. “Where are you going?”

  Her eyes lit up. “I’m taking my boyfriend
to Hawaii.”

  That’s an expensive destination for someone who recently worried she’d be evicted, Bexley thought. She looked over to the right where Willow’s room had been. From what she could see through the open doorway, Willow’s belongings had been cleared out and replaced with a treadmill. Several large, unopened boxes were scattered around the room’s floor. “You must’ve decided against getting a new roommate.”

  “They’re too much of a hassle. I couldn’t deal with another Willow.”

  Fear pricked the back of Bexley’s neck. Someone had paid this girl a sizable amount to do their bidding. And the way she’d reacted to Commander Peachtree’s picture, Bexley suspected that she was onto the truth. Was he watching them in that moment? Was he the one who had bombed Bexley’s car, trashed her apartment, and sent someone to follow her?

  Faith started for the door, and held it open for Bexley. “Sorry, but you have to leave.”

  Bexley’s stomach plummeted as she stumbled from the girl’s house. She suspected she was in deeper trouble than she realized.

  Sunlight burning through a window woke Bexley from a hard sleep. After leaving Faith’s house, she had gone into the first seedy bar she came across and drank through her emotions. When the bartender cut her off, she’d called Grayson for a ride. The last thing she remembered was climbing into his Bronco.

  From the masculine touch of gray decor paired with black furniture and the familiar scent of his cologne on the sheets, she guessed she was in his bed…wearing one of his T-shirts. Throwing a gray, fresh-scented sheet over her head, she moaned.

  Sleeping with her old friend was another complication she couldn’t handle. Not with everything else coming down around her. She no longer suspected Grayson’s involvement in Willow’s murder, but what did she really know about him?

  He hires hookers, Bex!

  The idea made the tequila slosh through her stomach.

  “You awake?”

  Bexley flipped her sheet off with one arm.

  Grayson stood in the doorway of the walk-in closet, dark hair damp and wild from a recent shower, day-old stubble lining his defined jaw. She hadn’t been gifted a view of his naked chest since high school. Her insides fluttered, and her mouth became dry. He was in hella good shape, and his muscular arms—vivid tattoo included—were impressive enough to make her belly tight.

  He dangled a dress shirt in one hand. “You scared me last night. I’ve never seen you like that.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.”

  “The hell you shouldn’t. If you’re going to apologize for something, tell me you’re sorry for shaking the cop assigned to keep an eye on you and for refusing to answer your phone! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Someone is after you, Bex! It’s not safe!”

  She ran a hand over her hair. “Did you find the shoes?”

  “No. Tehya Jensen claims they made the video before you met with her. She said she’d been trying to keep him from uploading it, but he broke up with her and posted it the next day. Eric O’Neil swore up and down that someone stole them from his new apartment. We brought Tehya’s parents in for questioning, and they stated both Tehya and Eric were with them the entire night of Willow’s death. They claimed they dined at a sashimi joint until late, then returned to their condo and played card games into early morning. I even caught up with two waiters who remembered the Jensen family staying until closing.” He began to work on buttoning his shirt. “I don’t believe O’Neil was involved in the murder. I think he’s just as he seems—an idiot who was in the wrong place at the wrong time and tried to get his fifteen minutes of fame. We did a full sweep of his car, his apartment, and the girl’s house, so I’m inclined to believe the shoes are gone.”

  Something about that didn’t sit right with Bexley. Even if he’d already gained an online presence from the video, Eric wouldn’t have made that much money in a matter of days. “A week ago Eric was living in the dorms. His girlfriend said he was broke.”

  Grayson frowned. “Not anymore. His apartment was high-end with a prime view of the beach.”

  Bexley stood and nudged Grayson’s thick, fumbling fingers aside to finish the buttons. The gesture felt oddly intimate and undeniably right. “Someone’s trying to cover their tracks. Might be the same someone who trashed my apartment and blew up my car.”

  “I hate that you’re involved in this. There’s no talking you into walking away at this point, is there?” His jaw flexed when he dipped his chin. “Last night you told me about your sister. A lot of what you said didn’t make sense, but I think I got the gist of it. I’m going to see what I can find on this Commander Peachtree, maybe tail him a bit. I don’t have any reason at this point to bring him in for questioning, but if he’s involved the way you believe, you can bet your ass I’ll find something eventually.”

  Bexley’s lips quivered with emotion. The determination in his tone overwhelmed and soothed her at the same time. “What if I’m too late to save her?”

  “J.J.’s on it,” he assured her, placing a hand beneath her jaw. His thumb ran along her cheek. “We’ll find her, Bex. I promise.”

  The way he looked at her, filled with urgency and promise, pierced a hole right through her heart. He was the same thoughtful guy he’d been when they were kids, only now he was fiercely protective and determined to save the day. She reached out to wrap a hand behind his head, tangling her fingers in his damp locks. “Thank you, Grayson. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Then she leaned into him, softly brushing her lips over his. In that precious moment, her mind became a blank canvas, and her heart filled with optimism.

  20

  While shopping for a new laptop downtown with Grayson’s rent-a-cop within throwing distance, Bexley received a call from the private investigator. Her heart thudded as she swiped her phone to accept the call.

  “I found her, darlin’.”

  Bexley covered her mouth to muffle a cry. Could the nightmare really be over?

  “Before you get too worked up, I need you to prepare yourself for the worst. She’s in rough shape. I found her squatting in an old building near L.A. She’s gonna need our help. Is there someone available to drive you to my office?”

  Bexley trembled with the news. What had happened to Cineste that required their help? Her insides twisted as she eyed the young officer watching her. When he showed up at Grayson’s, she’d wondered if he had even hit puberty before he joined the academy. The irony in her judgment didn’t hit her until that moment. “Grayson arranged for a cop to watch over me.”

  “Good…real good. Your sister needs somethin’ clean to wear. Can you make that happen?”

  The electronics store was attached to a large mall with dozens of boutiques. “I’m on it.”

  “Alright. Try to keep a brave face when you get here. You’re gonna need enough strength for the two of you.”

  Sickness rose in Bexley’s belly. If anyone had hurt her sister, she would do everything in her power to make sure they paid.

  The young officer hadn’t shifted into park before Bexley sprung from the squad car. Though she tried to heed J.J.’s warning, her face must’ve reflected her surprise and horror when she sprinted into the investigator’s office.

  Cineste sat on the floor at a strange angle, as if her head was too heavy for her body to support. She clawed at her neck, tracing existing red lines that stretched across bruise marks. Her beautiful eyes were bloodshot, their pupils shrunk to pinpoints, and her dyed hair seemed one brushing away from becoming dreadlocks. Bexley could smell her sister’s unbathed skin and dirty clothing from the doorway. She couldn’t believe something had led Cineste down this path.

  “She appears to be on something,” J.J. explained, jarring Bexley from the living nightmare. “By her track marks, I’m thinkin’ it’s heroin. Saw a lot of men at the VA comin’ down from the stuff. Not gonna lie to you. It ain’t pretty.” He motioned to Bexley with a gentle smile. “Come on in, darlin’. Your
sister needs you.”

  “Bex?” Cineste slurred, sounding four-years-old again. Her eyes blinked back at Bexley in rapid flutters. “Is that re-ly you?”

  “Yeah, Cin, it’s me.” Bexley lowered to the floor, dropping the department store bag to embrace her sister. The rancid smell was almost too much to handle. “You scared me, sweet girl.” Backing away, she smoothed down her sister’s wild hair. “Who did this to you? Where’ve you been?”

  “I was…I was hidin’ out…heard they got Willow.” Her eyes drifted across the room, unfocused. Her words were so distorted that Bexley wasn’t sure she understood everything Cineste said. “They got Willow. She knew…knew ‘bout the game.”

  “What game?”

  “Money’ll buy anything these days…that’s what they say. Rich assholes. They’re huntin’ girls…huntin’ ‘em for fun…lives don’t matter when you’ve got daddy’s money.”

  A new level of dread whooshed through Bexley. “Are you saying they’re killing girls? As part of a game?” She exchanged a quick glance with J.J.

  “That’s why they…they pay a lot. Course you don’know when you sign up. No one knows but them. Alex…he knew…he was runnin’ from t-them. I didn’ sign up like the others. He tried to stop ‘em. Hisss dad wouldn’t listen… said he’d make ‘em pay.”

  Bexley held her sister’s sweet face, now marred from the effects of drugs. “Who’s Alex? Who are they, Cin?”

  “Them…the club.”

  “Commander Peachtree? Shane Fellows?”

  “I’m so sorry, Bex.” A rush of crocodile tears spilled down Cineste’s cheeks. “I’m sorry…they got me high…I didn’t wanna do it…I didn’t! But it hurt…it hurts so, so bad…”