Avery stops and stares at her sister. “Do you have a point?”
Brook shrugs. “Not really. Just reminiscing. It’s a good plan,” Brooke says.
“Thank you.”
“Except for one thing,” Brooke amends. “What about me?” she asks, taking one of the cuffs.
“What about you?”
“You know, my thing with Steven the bartender.”
Avery gets out of the car. “I was just going to pretend that you never asked me that.”
Brooke snorts as she follows her sister across the street. “But this is it. Your golden opportunity to give me big sisterly advice.”
“I do that all the time,” Avery replies.
“Yes, but it’s unwanted when you do it,” Brooke says. “Here it’s wanted.”
Avery opens the gate and they walk up to the front door. “This doesn’t have anything to do with the theory that I want to live vicariously through you, does it?”
“It has everything to do with that.” Brooke gives a courtesy knock on the door. It’s painted white with a brass kitten knocker at the center.
“Please stop,” Avery says, trying the handle. It’s locked.
Avery steps back and Brooke pulls out her lock picks. Kneeling in front of the door she says, “I feel like I should be emotionally hurting from your words.”
The door unlocks and Brooke opens it as she gets back to her feet.
“That’s a distinct possibility,” Avery says, stepping past her sister and into the house.
“Oh, that’s nice.” Brooke follows her sister.
The front door opens to the living room. It’s small. There’s a sofa covered in brown pillows, one of those reclining chairs and an old TV. A floral print wallpaper border wraps around the room where the wall and ceiling meet. But more importantly, it’s a complete and utter mess.
seven
The Mason’s living room looks like it was the victim of a serial tornado. Moving boxes are everywhere, but they’ve been torn open and the contents are spread out along every inch of the room.
“Okay,” Brooke says finally. “What the hell?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Avery says, looking around the living room.
“Did they have a massive party before they offed themselves?” Brooke asks, wading through the mess. She kicks a cardboard box out of her way and a pile of papers fall out.
“Hey,” Avery says. “Come on.”
“Oh, like anyone’s going to notice,” Brooke replies.
“Maybe they were messy movers?” Avery suggests, peeking under the coffee table. She finds a couple of unopened boxes of crackers.
“I don’t know what they were, but I have a feeling it’s not going to bode well for us.” Brooke replies. “Hello? Any dead people home?”
Avery stands up. “What are you doing?”
“What does it sound like?”
“It sounds like you’re trying to embarrass me,” Avery says, pulling out a small black box with a switch on the side and two lights, one red and one green, on the front.
“There’s no one here to embarrass you in front of.” Brooke nods at the device in Avery’s hand. “Why are you still using that?”
“Because,” Avery says, “like Russell said, we’re still a month away from getting new tapping sticks. So we’re kind of stuck using this wonderful spectral analysis device that Messor & Decessus so condescendingly gifted us.”
“There are other ways of locating dead souls,” Brooke says, walking around the sofa.
“Oh, really?” Avery pauses, folding her arms “This I’ve got to hear. Tell me, oh great wise one, what are some of the other ways to find a dead soul?”
“Well,” Brooke sputters, waving her arms around. “There’s the times when you walk in and the soul is just sitting there.”
“Really?” Avery asks. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
“So I don’t go to bed every night reading the reaper manual.” Brooke throws her hands up. “You’re the genius.” She walks down the hallway. “You tell me. There’s got to be a better way than using hardware from our mortal enemies.”
Avery holds up the device. “One encounter with Messor & Decessus hardly qualifies them as our mortal enemies. Remember, they offered us a job.”
“Yeah, well, they did it ominously,” Brooke says. “So, you know...”
Avery flips the switch on the side. There’s a two second wait and then the red light flashes.
“Nobody’s here,” she says, pocketing the device. She walks down the hallway after Brooke. “Which is odd, because suicides aren’t normally runners.” She pauses at the first door. It’s the guest room. It’s just as messy as the living room is. “I’m wondering if they killed themselves because they couldn’t live with the fact that they were the worse slobs the planet has ever seen.” There’s no answer from Brooke. “Are you even listening to me?”
Avery reaches the master bedroom and finds Brooke splayed out on the bed. She’s got a satisfied grin on her face.
Avery frowns. “What are you doing?”
“This bed just looked so comfy,” Brooke says. “I had to try it out.”
“And?”
“It’s comfy,” Brooke sighs. “It’s like I’m lying on a cloud. Would anyone notice if we take it with us?”
The master bedroom’s painted a light green and the furniture’s all cherry wood oak. The bed’s a four-poster with a fuzzy blue comforter.
“Get up from there,” Avery says, checking the closet.
“I can’t,” Brooke closes her eyes. “The comfiness of the bed pulls you in and doesn’t let go.”
Avery grabs her sister by the ankles and yanks her off the bed. Brooke catches one of the posters before she’s pulled completely off.
“Hey!” she snaps. “Not cool.”
Avery holds up a photo from the dresser. It’s a picture of a dark haired man and a brunette woman. They appear to be in their early thirties. “Our couple.”
“Great,” Brooke picks herself up. “Now we know they liked having their picture taken. Thank you for interrupting my special moment.”
Avery puts the photo back on the dresser. “It’s not special moment time. Our suicides are runners.”
Brooke frowns. “Why would a couple of suicides run?”
“That’s a good question.”
They head back to the living room.
Brooke reaches into her sister’s jacket pocket and plucks out the paperwork. “Brian and Cindy Mason,” she reads. “Brian’s an out of work writer and Cindy’s a school teacher. Neither has a surviving set of parents and Cindy has one sister who lives in Connecticut.” She looks at her sister. “Maybe they went to go haunt the sister?”
Avery takes the paperwork back and steps into the dining room. There’s a small desk shoved in the corner. “Connecticut’s a little far for a haunting.”
“We found that guy from the burger thing in Alaska,” Brooke says.
Avery ruffles through the papers on the desk. Just a bunch of unpaid bills.
“No suicide note,” she says.
Brooke shrugs. “So?”
“Everybody leaves a suicide note.”
“I’m not going to leave a suicide note,” Brooke says, leaning against the wall.
Avery looks dubiously back at her sister. “You plan on killing yourself?”
“No,” Brooke says. “But if I was, I wouldn’t leave a suicide note.”
“Okay. I’ll bite.” Avery turns back to the desk, checking the drawers. “Why wouldn’t you leave a note?”
“Because then it would shroud the whole thing in an air of mystery,” Brooke says. “I like the idea of mystery surrounding my death. Plus, I know it’ll really irritate you.”
“It’ll probably upset Mom, too,” Avery points out.
“That won’t be my problem,” Brooke says, folding her arms. “I’ll be dead.”
“Why are we even talking about this?” Avery asks. “It’s really morbid.”
“Have you noticed what we do for a living? And besides.” She waves a hand around to encompass the living room. “Even if there was a suicide note, how exactly would we find it? There’s no rule that suicide notes need to be left on the desk.”
“No, but it’s certainly helpful when they are.” Avery finds a checkbook and a day planner. She tosses both of them to Brooke. “These might come in handy.”
Brooke flips through the checkbook. “Who uses checks anymore? It’s all debit cards and cash.”
“Like you’ve ever used a debit card,” Avery says.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen you use one,” Brooke says. “They’re just like credit cards.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Avery asks.
“You’re supposed to not talk to me like I’m retarded,” Brooke says.
“The checks have their account number,” Avery explains. “We might be able to access their account with that and find out what they were spending their money on.”
Brooke shoves the checkbook and planner into her pockets. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but they probably weren’t buying much,” she says, “considering they ended up killing themselves.”
Avery looks at her sister. “You know what’s weird?”
“Our lives?” Brooke suggests.
Avery ignores her. “Brian’s supposed to be an unemployed writer?”
“That’s what the paperwork says.”
“Where’s his desk?” She points to the desk over her shoulder. “This is all day-to-day stuff. Where’s Brian’s workstation?”
“Maybe that’s why he’s unemployed?” Brooke suggests. Avery gives her a look. “Maybe it’s somewhere else in the house.”
“It’s a small house,” Avery says, walking past her sister. “There’s the master bedroom, the bathroom and the spare room.”
“Maybe it’s under the world class hoarder’s mess in here,” Brooke suggests, following her, shaking her head. “I swear, you pick the weirdest things to focus on. Who cares where his desk is?”
“I care,” Avery says.
“Obviously,” Brooke says. “Which brings us back to my statement about how you pick the weirdest things to focus on.”
Avery reaches the front door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
She opens the door to find Thane Grym standing on the other side.
eight
Thane Grym is a tall, handsome man with a smooth smile and dark blue eyes. His hair is short and brown. He inherited his grandfather’s strong jawline. Dressed in a pair of faded casual jeans and a simple black t-shirt Thane manages to ooze raw sexuality with a simple look.
“Hello, ladies.”
Caught by surprise, both of the sisters forget how to talk for a moment. Avery’s caught up in his eyes, drinking them in. Brooke gets that familiar tingle between her legs and bites her lip to keep from moaning at the sight of him.
“Hi, Thane,” Brooke breathes.
“Hi, Brooke,” Thane replies with a smile.
“Thane,” Avery says, suppressing a girly giggle.
“Avery,” Thane responds. “What have you got here, ladies?”
“Suicides,” Avery replies a little breathlessly.
“Yeah?”
“Runners.”
“Suicide runners?” Thane asks. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”
“Yep.”
“Fancy running into you here,” Brooke says, running her eyes down his hard body.
“Yeah, well.” Thane clears his throat and Avery finally comes to her senses.
“Yeah,” she says. “It is awfully convenient running into you here.”
“I didn’t say it was convenient,” Brooke murmurs.
Avery folds her arms. “Are you poaching?”
Thane’s taken aback. “Am I what?”
“Oh, you heard me,” Avery says.
“No,” Thane replies. “I don’t think I did. Because it sounded like you were accusing me of poaching.”
“Why else would you be here?” Avery asks.
“Certainly not to poach,” Thane insists.
“Funny.”
Thane squints at her. “You don’t seem to be laughing.”
“Shirley Martinez poaches,” Avery says.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh boy,” Brooke mutters.
“Shirley Martinez,” Avery repeats. “I believe you’re familiar with her. In more ways than one, as I understand.”
“Wow,” Thane says. “I’m not really sure what’s going on here now. Me and Shirley Martinez?”
“Are you going to deny it?” Avery asks.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be denying...”
Avery looks at her sister for support. Brooke shakes her head. “Oh no.”
Avery turns back to Thane. “I know that the two of you have been dating.”
“Oh?”
“Are you going to deny that?” Avery asks.
“Yes, I am,” Thane replies. “Shirley and I aren’t dating. We dated, like, a year ago.”
“A year ago?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Oh,” Avery says with a nervous swallow.
Thane strokes his jaw. “I’m confused. Why is this a big deal to you?”
“It’s not,” Avery insists, forcing an indifferent tone into her voice.
“Kind of sounds like it is,” Thane says.
“I’m just concerned with the quality of people you’re socializing with,” Avery replies, shuffling her feet. “Shirley’s been known to poach. I didn’t want that rubbing off onto you.”
Thane holds up his hands. “Gorgeous, I’m not here to poach.”
Avery waves a finger at him. “Don’t call me that.”
Brooke edges past her sister. “You can call me that. In fact, if you should want, you can call me any time.”
“Down, girl,” Avery says to her sister.
“Okay,” Thane smiles again. “Why don’t we all calm down.”
“Oh no,” Avery says, shaking her head. “Wipe that smile off your face.”
The smile drops from Thane’s face and is replaced with confusion. “Okay, I’m a little lost here. What’s wrong with my smile?”
“It’s very intoxicating,” Brooke explains. “And Avery finds it especially irresistible.”
The smile comes back. “Oh, does she?” Thane says, looking Avery in the eyes.
Avery holds up her hands, breaking eye contact with him. “I have a boyfriend. Please stop this.”
“Stop what?” Thane asks innocently, still smiling.
“Thane, I’m warning you,” Avery starts.
“I don’t understand,” Thane says. “I was just flirting with Brooke a second ago. Am I not allowed to flirt at all now?”
“Yes,” Avery replies. “That would be preferable. No more flirting. With anyone. For you.” Avery takes a deep calming breath. “If you’re not here to poach, Thane, then why are you here?”
“I’m confused,” Thane says. “Are you now upset that I’m not here to poach?”
Brooke walks up to him and whispers, “It’s very complicated with her right now. Your best bet is to just wait Jack out.”
“I can still hear you,” Avery snaps.
“Sorry,” Brooke mouths and steps back behind her sister.
“Thane,” Avery says to him.
“Avery,” Thane replies, smiling again.
“Why are you here?”
He shrugs. “Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?”
Avery frowns. “No.”
Thane does a palms up. “Well, that’s actually the case.” He points to the left. “I was down off of sixty-third picking up a runaway that died in a car accident three weeks ago. I saw your lovely pink car and thought I’d take a moment to say hi to the most beautiful reaper in the world.”
Avery just stares at him. “You’re kidding me.”
Thane shakes his head. “I kid you not.”
>
“Just to clarify,” Brooke speaks up. “Which one of us is the most beautiful reaper in the world?”
“That man,” Avery says, drumming her fingers against the table. “That man.”
“What a man,” Brooke says.
“He’s got balls,” Avery continues, either not noticing or not caring that Brooke’s tone is more of awe than frustration.
Brooke smiles. “I’ll bet he does.”
They’re at Cafe Carva, sitting at an outdoor table. There’s a half-eaten salad in front of Avery and the remains of a BLT in front of Brooke.
“What?” Avery asks her sister.
“What are we talking about?” Brooke asks defensively.
“We’re talking about how much of an ass Thane is,” Avery says. “That’s what we’re talking about.”
Brooke tilts her head to the side as she thinks it over. “I don’t know about that.”
“The nerve of him to check up on us,” Avery continues.
“I don’t think he was checking up on us,” Brooke says.
“And Shirley Martinez!”
Brooke holds up a hand. “Okay, I think we need to clarify something here. Clearly, you’re holding a torch or something for Thane.”
Avery stares at her sister for a second. “I am not.”
“You are too.”
“I am not,” Avery insists.
“You’re angry at him for dating Shirley Martinez over a year ago,” Brooke points out.
“Because she’s a horrible influence,” Avery says.
“He’s not five years old, Av,” Brooke says.
“That’s funny because he behaves like he’s five years old.”
“I think you’re confusing yourself with him,” Brooke says. “Why don’t we just skip all the denial and get to the part where you admit you’ve got the hots for the hottest grim reaper ever.”
Avery frowns. “He’s not that hot.”
Brooke fans herself. “Oh, yes he is. There aren’t many men I would consider gorgeous, but Thane Grym is definitely one of them.”
“What he’s doing isn’t fair,” Avery says.
“What is he doing?” Brooke asks. “Flirting? Charming you? Please, all men should be like him. Thane should hold a class on how to be a charming man.”
Avery pokes herself in the chest. “I have a boyfriend.”
One Stiletto in the Grave Page 4