Once Upon A Murder

by D E Dennis

  Once Upon A Murder

  A Fairy Tale Mystery

  D.E. Dennis

  Published by D.E. Dennis, 2019.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Beauty in Death | A Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  Preston Charming raced out of the house laughing his head off. He yanked open his car door, threw himself in, and peeled out of the driveway with a screech.

  “Whooo!”

  Music blasting, bass bumping, head rocking, and car swerving to avoid a crash as he drifted into oncoming traffic.

  “Whoops,” he said, chuckling.

  Preston lowered the music and reached for his phone. “One hundred fifty-sixth mile marker,” he read aloud with a grin. “On my way.”

  He weaved through the sleepy town bypassing all the normal people going about their normal lives. Eating at little hometown cafés, putting their children to bed, sneaking kisses on their walks home, all predictable and boring.

  Crowded squares, streetlamp-lit lanes, and adorable brick buildings gave way to woods and the dark of night. He kept driving further away from town, until he reached the hundred fifty-sixth mile marker.

  A lone figure stood beside it. Waiting for him.

  Chapter Two

  Michael could hear the little bugger, but he couldn’t see it. The persistent buzzing taunted him, laughed at him. The fly swooped drunkenly through the office crashing into things then soaring blindly into another direction.

  Michael heard a noise directly behind him and spun around with a shout—fly swatter at the ready. “Ah ha!”

  “Hey!” his sister cried, jumping a foot into the air. “What are you doing, you loon?!”

  She slammed a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream onto the desk and planted her hands on her hips.

  “Sorry, sis,” he said sheepishly. “There’s a fly in here somewhere and I—” His eyes landed on something over her shoulder. He darted around her. “There!”

  His newfound nemesis sat nonchalantly on Monica’s pencil holder rubbing its front legs together, much the way a villain twirled his mustache. Michael brought the swatter down with all his might and the pencils, along with the insect, went flying, scattering all over the office.

  Michael cringed.

  “Oops.”

  “Yeah, oops,” Monica said popping him over the head.

  “Hey.” He rubbed his now sore head. “You’re too much like Mom, you know. There is no need for violence.”

  “There’s also no need for you to start a war with a bug. Just let the thing be, it will fly out eventually.” Monica plucked the swatter from his hands and threw it on her desk. “You always get like this,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Get like what?” Michael asked bending down to clean up his mess.

  “Whenever we don’t have a case, you get bored and antsy, and when you get antsy you get hyper-focused on some small task and drive your sweet younger sister crazy.”

  His sweet younger sister pulled out the pencil that landed in her ice cream and tossed it at him. It slid down his arm leaving behind a sweet, creamy trail as it went.

  “Thanks for that,” he said mildly, “and name one time I’ve ever done that.”

  Monica laughed. “Okay. How about after the Bunyan case when you went on a redecorating craze? The bathroom sink is still waiting for those handles. Or after the Hooper case when you decided to redo our filing system, and I spent weeks cleaning up the mess you made of it. Or after the—”

  “I get the point,” Michael said holding up his hand. “I get a little stir-crazy, but can you really blame me? What else is there for us to do but look at each other all day?”

  Monica inclined her head. “It’s true. We were the dummies that decided to open a private detective agency in the most boring town in the country.” She heaved a sigh. “I guess I should just leave you to your projects, because if I have to look at that ugly mug all day, I’ll go blind.”

  “What was that?!” he cried jumping to his feet. “You have something to say, baby sister?”

  Monica abandoned the ice cream and tried to escape, but Michael was too fast. He got her in a headlock and peppered her captured face with kisses as she shrieked.

  “Something about me being the most handsome, kind, and loving brother in all of Castle Rock,” he teased. “That is what you meant to say, right?”

  Monica struggled, half laughing, half screaming. “Michael, stop! Stop!”

  “Yes, Michael, stop. You have work to do.”

  Michael jumped away from Monica and spun around turning to face his surprise visitor.

  I really need to put a bell on that door, Michael thought as his eyes met their soft-footed guest, who returned his gaze with a smile. A smile he hadn’t seen in years, but somehow still had the power to steal his breath.

  “I—” was all he managed to get out before his brain went offline.

  Samira Reddy’s grin widened. “Hello, Michael. It’s great to see you again.” Michael just gazed at her, trying to register what his eyes were seeing. She looked amazing. In eight years, she had only grown lovelier. Her long thick locks fell to her slim waist which had a holster strapped to it. Dark brown eyes danced playfully as she waited for him to get out an intelligible response. Her grin was wide enough to display her one imperfection, if you could call it that, Michael always did find that chipped canine endearing.

  “What—” He finally found his words. “What are you doing here?”

  Samira’s smile dimmed. “Eight years and that is what you want to start with?”

  No. Not even close.

  “Yes,” he said clearing his throat. “Monica and I are very busy right now.”

  Samira looked around, brows raised. “I can see that. You’re having breakfast...” She pointed at the bowl of ice cream. “Having a pencil fight and playing kiss attack,” she deadpanned.

  Michael felt his cheeks grow warm and he briefly thanked genetics for making it impossible to see him blush. “Just blowing off some steam,” he said lifting his chin. “We’ve been working a lot of high-profile cases, Reddy. The phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

  “Oh?” Michael couldn’t be sure, but he thought he picked up amusement in her tone. “What high-profile cases would that be?”

  He shrugged, crossing his arms. “You know I can’t reveal that to you. It’s PI-client privilege.”

  “I see.” She took a step back. “Well, then you clearly have a lot on your plate. I’ll just have to tell the Charmings you can’t take on any more cases right now.”

  “The Charmings?!” Monica squeaked while Michael’s eyes widened imperceptibly.

  She clicked her tongue. “They’ll be so disappointed. They asked for you personally, but if you’re too busy...”

  Michael had no warning for the hard shove that sent him propelling toward Samira. He stumbled cursing his sister under his breath even though her wish was clear. Do not lose this case.

  “You came all this way,” Michael said casually pulling himself up to his full height. “We’ll hear you out. What’s the case about?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she replied as a smile played at her lips.

  Michael sighed. “Seriously. What happened?”

  Samira quickly sobered. “It’s the son, Preston Charming. A couple of early-morning hikers found his body in the woods. They called us right away and the initial exami
nation confirmed blunt force trauma to the head. He was—”

  “—murdered,” Michael finished. He shook his head. “Someone killed the teenage son of the second wealthiest family in Castle Rock?”

  “Yes,” Samira said grimly. “I don’t have to tell you this, but I will anyway. My partner and I are under extreme pressure to solve this and fast. The parents demanded you be brought in, and even though my boss doesn’t like it, we could use all the help we can get. Will you take the case?”

  “Yes,” Monica said before Michael could open his mouth to reply. “We’ll take it.”

  Michael nodded along, this time giving Samira a grin of his own. “Grimm Investigations are on the case.”

  Chapter Three

  “This is our first murder case, Michael. You nervous?”

  Michael took his eyes off the back of Samira’s black police-issued car to look pointedly at Monica’s bouncing knee. “No,” he said honestly. “Why would I be? We’ve been in the business for two years now. We know what we’re doing. Are you nervous?”

  “Of course, I’m nervous. We’ve been failing in this business for two years now,” she shot back. “We haven’t had a client in a month and we’re probably going to have to close the doors if it keeps up.”

  “That is not going to happen,” he said calmly. “Besides, things are already looking up. Mr. and Mrs. Charming asked for us by name.”

  “Yes, and why do you think that is?” she jeered. “Our name must be the reason because it certainly isn’t our expertise in solving murder cases.”

  Michael’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Don’t go there, Mo. We’ve worked hard for what we have. We haven’t had many cases, but we have solved every one that has come through our doors. We’ve proved ourselves to be the best private investigators in Castle Rock and anyone who doesn’t know that already, will believe it when we catch Preston Charming’s killer.”

  Monica snorted. “It’s easy to be the best private investigators in Castle Rock when we are the only private investigators in Castle Rock.”

  Quick as a flick, Michael reached over and tweaked Monica’s nose.

  “Hey,” she cried, smacking his hand away. He laughed heartily feeling the weight of her glare on the side of his face. “You’re thirty-two years old, Michael Grimm. When are you going to grow up?”

  “Right after you, little sister,” he teased. “Right after you.”

  SAMIRA STOPPED HER car on the edge of the road parking behind the lines of cars already on the scene. Michael followed her lead and both he and Monica climbed out.

  “Siren Woods,” he said aloud even though he was mostly talking to himself. “What would bring a rich, pampered prince like him to this desolate place?”

  “A text message.”

  Michael turned his head, looking at Samira questioningly.

  “We checked his phone and found a message from an unsaved number asking Preston to meet them in Siren Woods at ten o’clock last night at this mile marker. There was no conversation between the two or if there was Preston deleted his responses, so we have no idea who this person could have been. All we know is that Preston kept their appointment and as a result...”

  Michael nodded. “He was killed. So, you are working the theory that the person on the other side of that message is the murderer.”

  “Unless you got a better one.” Samira waved them on. “This way. I’ll show you both the crime scene before we talk to the parents.”

  Samira took off expecting him to be right behind, but Michael stood rooted to the spot. “Actually, I think I’ll stay,” he called after her. “Monica can have a look around and fill me in.”

  Samira turned on him, frowning as she asked, “You still not over this, Grimm?”

  “Over what?” He forced a laugh. “I’m just saying you don’t need both of us to look at a crime scene. Monica has it covered.” He glanced at Monica and a silent conversation passed between them. She gave him a slight nod.

  Monica grabbed Samira’s shoulder. “He’s right. Let’s do this quickly so we can—”

  “Samira, there you are,” someone shouted. “What took you so long? We need to interview the parents.”

  That voice...

  A memory tickled at the back of Michael’s mind. His feet became unglued and he stepped around the car, joining his sister where she stood as Samira walked off to greet the newcomer.

  How do I know that voice?

  The man who owned said voice suddenly looked up and their eyes locked. His narrowed while Michael’s widened.

  “Grimm?” Spencer Gutierrez sneered. “What are you doing here, Ghoul?”

  And just like that Michael was transported twenty years into the past.

  A twelve-year-old Michael Grimm trudged through the halls, his head down and shoulders hunched. Not that it did much to hide the fact that he was at least a foot taller than everyone in his class.

  Michael tried to ignore the whispers, giggles, and staring eyes as he pushed through into the cafeteria. They were on him seconds after he stepped inside.

  “What are you doing here, Ghoul?” Spencer taunted, backed up by five of his mindless cronies. “I thought I told you servants eat in the toilets where they belong.”

  A hard shove sent Michael flying. He fell hard, his head smacking onto the door and making him see stars.

  “Don’t let me catch you in here again!”

  Michael’s hands tightened into fists.

  “Whoa, bro,” Monica said worriedly, elbowing him. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  “You don’t have to go in the woods,” she reassured him, misreading his apprehension. “I’ve got your back.”

  “I said what are you doing here, Ghoul?!”

  Michael made up his mind right there on the spot. “I’m going. I’ll be fine.”

  He and his sister left the safety of the road and slowly approached the area where grass became woods. They stopped just before the tree line and joined Samira who was hissing furiously at her partner.

  He ignored her. “I don’t care what the chief says,” he spat at Michael. “We don’t need you on this case, Ghoul. Get out of here.”

  Spencer looked the same as he did when they were kids. Same bronze skin, same spiky over-gelled hair, same sneer.

  Michael shrugged lightly, keeping a confident smirk on his face, though on the inside, he was burning with rage. “The family called us in. We’re here to find the killer. Same as you.”

  His eyes narrowed into slits as he advanced on Michael. “You’ll never be the same as me, Ghoul,” he hissed in his face, his nose inches away. “And don’t you forget it.”

  “Hey!” Samira snagged Spencer’s sleeve and tried to drag him away, but he didn’t back down and neither did Michael.

  Instead Michael sighed, rolling his eyes. “You still on that ‘Ghoul’ thing?” He laughed harshly. “I get it, man. I was an impossibly tall, weedy little waif with no friends and the last name Grimm. I get that Ghoul was the best thing an eleven-year-old could come up with but we’re in our thirties now. Grow up or come up with better material.”

  Spencer’s nostrils flared. “You want me to get more creative? How about I make music with your broken bones, you little—”

  “Back off, Froggy!” Monica moved quickly. One second Spencer was invading his personal space and the next, he was blinking up at Monica from the dirt.

  “Who the hell are you?!” he shouted while struggling to get back on his feet.

  “I’m the ghoul’s sister and”—she bent down and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye—“I’m quite the musician.”

  Samira sidled up to him. “Shouldn’t you do something about this?” she asked Michael out of the corner of her mouth. “Or are you going to let your sister go to jail for assaulting an officer?”

  Michael chuckled watching his sister shake Spencer like a ragdoll. “The better question is are you going to do something about t
his? That is your partner she’s manhandling.”

  Samira was quiet for a moment then she shrugged. “The guy could stand to learn some manners.”

  Michael blinked at her, surprised to see the rigid line of her jaw. It seemed she hadn’t liked Spencer’s taunts any more than Michael or Monica did.

  Spencer scrambled to his feet and over to Samira, strategically placing himself behind her.

  “We should get going,” Samira reminded them. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

  “Right,” Monica said. She turned her glare up to maximum, zeroing in on Spencer. “You. Stop hiding behind Mira and show us the way.” She snapped her fingers. “Now.”

  Spencer mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “yes, ma’am” and sulkily stomped off, leading the way to the crime scene.

  Monica marched off after him, while Samira and Michael followed at a more sedate pace. If anyone asked, Michael would say it was because he wanted to keep as much distance between him and Spencer as possible.

  Yeah, he thought while digging half-moons into his palms. Let’s go with that.

  “I’ve always liked your sister,” Samira mused as she casually strode along next to him, while he put every effort into putting one foot in front of the other. “She’s tough.”

  “That she is,” he said, his voice shaking only slightly. “She’s the brains and muscle of the operation.”

  “Oh?” Samira questioned, bumping his shoulder. “Then what does that leave you?”

  Michael chuckled. “That makes me the looks.”

  Samira threw her head back laughing. Michael looked off into the distance to see the crime scene tape and jumpsuit-clad crime scene investigators and his first thought was—

  Thank goodness we don’t have to go in any farther.

  Samira’s laughter ceased as they approached and the hardened detective returned.

  She held up the tape for him to pass. “Watch where you step.”

  He nodded, his mind turning to the case. “Tell us what you know.”