One Stiletto in the Grave

by Jason Krumbine

  Brooke thinks about it for a minute and then says, “I didn’t say it was a perfect solution.”

  “Well, it’s nice that you gave yourself that out.”

  “Who commits suicide and then doesn’t go to the afterlife?”

  “Other than Brian and Cindy Mason?” Avery asks.

  “Not specifically,” Brooke replies. “It was more of a general, rhetorical question.”

  Avery pulls out the spectral analysis device.

  “Besides, how likely is it that both souls are hanging around here?” Brooke waves her hands around the classroom.

  Avery flips the switch and the red light comes on.

  “Told you so,” Brooke says.

  “It’s called being thorough.” Avery pockets the device.

  “I don’t think they committed suicide,” Brooke says.

  “I didn’t ask,” Avery looks around the room one more time.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to look into this Philip Brown guy,” Brooke says.

  “Never said we weren’t,” Avery replies. “We just have to find him first.”

  “Are you anticipating this being a problem?”

  “The man’s name is Philip Brown,” Avery says. “Yes, I think it’s going to be a problem.”

  Brooke just shakes her head. “Come on. How many Philip Browns can there be?”

  ten

  Turns out there are 23 Philip Browns in Century City. But the sister’s get lucky and find the one they want on the third try.

  Philip Brown, former boyfriend of the now deceased Cindy Mason, is an unassuming young man. He’s short, but not too short, probably just a hair over five feet. His face is round. His cheeks look chubby, like he’s still hanging on to some of that adorable baby fat. He walks with a slight limp, hardly even noticeable, and has dark hair that’s kind of just sitting on his head in no particular style or fashion. Philip’s apartment is small and there’s an absence of photos anywhere.

  “I’m sorry,” Philip says. He’s soft spoken. “What did you say were again?”

  They’re sitting at his kitchen table. It’s the only spot in the apartment that’s large enough for three adults to meet. The table’s a square and sisters are on either side of him.

  “We’re grim reapers,” Avery says, going for the truth this time.

  Philip’s holding a hot cup of tea in a mug that seems a little too girly for him. It’s got a sparkly princess on it. He’s gripping that mug tight enough to warm his whole body. “Huh,” is all he says. “There’s a job.” Philip takes a sip from his tea. He doesn’t offer anything to the sisters.

  Avery and Brooke share a quick look. Philip seems very unflappable about the entire situation.

  “You are aware of what happened to Cindy Mason?” Avery asks.

  Philip slowly nods. “Yes, I just heard about it this morning. Horrible thing to happen.” He takes another sip of his hot tea.

  Avery waits for a second, but Philip offers nothing further.

  “That's certainly one way to describe it,” Brooke replies.

  “You'll have to forgive me,” Philip says, blowing on his hot tea. “Suicide isn't exactly new to me. I lost my father and a co-worker to suicide years ago. It doesn't hold the same punch as it used to.”

  “So, what you're saying is that you're not upset that your ex is dead,” Brooke says.

  Philip looks at her. “We all deal with our grief in different ways.”

  “And yours happens to be drinking hot tea and being kind of an ass?” Brooke asks.

  “Okay,” Avery cuts in. “I'll handle the talking.”

  “I'm not offended,” Philip says simply. “Very little offends me these days.”

  Brooke rolls her eyes.

  “Philip,” Avery says. “Yes, we’re here because Cindy and her husband, Brian, committed suicide. But, more importantly, neither of them arrived in the afterlife.”

  No reaction from Philip.

  “Do you know what that means?” Avery asks him.

  “It sounds fairly self-explanatory,” Philip responds.

  “It does, doesn’t it,” Avery agrees.

  Brooke steps back in. “Here’s the deal, Philip. We’re trying to figure out where Cindy and Brian might have gone.”

  Philip takes another sip of his hot tea, letting his gaze drift back and forth between the sisters. “And you’ve come to me?”

  “Well, it’s been pointed out to us that until quite recently, you and Cindy were in a serious relationship,” Avery says.

  “Yes, we were,” Philip replies. “But like you just said, Cindy’s married-” He catches himself and says, instead, “She was married to somebody else.”

  “In our line of work,” Brooke says. “That's not usually much of a deterrent.”

  “For what?” Philip asks.

  Brooke opens her mouth, but Avery silences her by kicking at her under the table.

  “What happened?” Avery asks Philip.

  “For Cindy and Brian to kill themselves? I don't know. I never met Brian, but Cindy grew up Catholic. Suicide was a mortal sin for her. If you're asking what happened in regards to Cindy leaving me,” Philip shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea about that one either. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself. One day I came home and Cindy was just gone. There was a note, but it was hardly an explanation. It simply said she had found her true love.” He stares into his hot tea for a moment. “I tried calling her a few times but she wouldn’t answer her phone and soon the number was disconnected. I heard from a mutual friend that she had gotten married a few weeks later. We had been together since high school. Ten years with each other and in the end, I didn't even warrant an explanation.”

  Philip falls silent. He seems sadder, but there's no real change in his expression.

  “What was Cindy like?” Avery asks him.

  “What was she like?” Philip mulls it over for a minute. “Cindy was everything I could ever hope for in a woman. She was kind, loving, never cross and always thoughtful.” He sips his tea again. “At least, that’s what I thought she was. Then she left me. Now…” He shrugs. “I’m not sure who she was.” He looks soulfully at Avery. “What kind of person just ups and leaves like that?”

  Avery doesn’t have an answer.

  “I’m not going to say that was a waste of time,” Brooke says as they step out on the sidewalk.

  “That would be a nice change of pace,” Avery comments. “Especially considering it was your big idea that he kidnapped Cindy’s soul in the first place.”

  Brooke points her thumb over her shoulder back at Philip’s apartment building. “That sad sack couldn’t hurt a fly, much less kidnap someone’s immortal soul.”

  “I used this while he was in the kitchen,” Avery holds up the spectral analysis device. “The red light came on.”

  Brooke reaches their pink sedan and waits for Avery to unlock the car. “I want to know what happened.”

  “I'm sure Philip would like to know that, too,” Avery agrees, opening the car.

  “I mean, I'm all for female empowerment, Lipstick Feminism, as it were.”

  “Not a real thing,” Avery says getting into the car.

  Brooke follows her. “But just walking out on your boyfriend like that without any explanation? That's pretty mean.”

  Avery shrugs. “Maybe it's just like she said in her note. Cindy found her true love.”

  “And couldn't be bothered to at least tell her boyfriend of the last ten years that it was over in person?” Brooke shakes her head. “No, I'm sorry. I don't buy it. No excuse.”

  “This is an interesting side to you,” Avery says. “The romantic side.”

  “I'm hardly being romantic,” Brooke says. “I'm being human. Walking out on a guy like that isn't very humane.”

  Avery starts the car. “Well, we can add it to the list of questions we're going to ask them when we find them.”

  Brooke's ph
one goes off as she receives a text message. “Ricky got us info on Brian's two brothers.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, look at this,” Brooke's reading the message. “One of them runs a bowling alley. Spare Strikes.”

  “I think I know that place,” Avery says, checking the street signs. “It's, like, fifteen minutes away.”

  Brooke smiles. “How fortuitous.”

  eleven

  Spare Strikes is a pigsty of a building. It looks like it should have been condemned years ago and torn down. Instead someone slapped another coat of brown paint over it. It’s an effort in futility, like trying to use a band-aid to cover a gunshot to the chest.

  “Wow.” Brooke holds a hand to her mouth as they step inside.

  “I know,” Avery agrees. She tries to breathe through her mouth, but the stench burns her throat a little.

  The place smells like two dead rats met, fell in love and had a dozen dead rat babies.

  “This is disgusting,” Brooke says as they look around. “No. I take that back. Disgusting would be a compliment. This is something beyond disgusting”

  It’s early evening, but the alley isn’t quite busy yet. The afternoon crowd is still lingering. But the degenerate drunks are slowly drifting out and the hardcore bowlers are drifting in. The lighting is bad and there are more shadows than there are patrons.

  “Is it possible to die from a smell?” Brooke asks, making a gagging noise. “Because I’m seriously concerned about whether or not I’m going to make it out of here alive.”

  Avery pulls out the spectral analysis device. The red light comes on.

  “Another dead end?”

  Avery shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s talk to somebody first.”

  “Can we talk to somebody outside?” Brooke suggests. “Maybe over the phone?”

  Avery walks up to the counter. Brooke follows her, making gagging noises.

  The guy behind the counter is large and scruffy looking. Brooke tries to peek around and figure out how somebody that large ever got back there.

  “Is Ben Mason in?” Avery asks.

  The big guy just nods and jerks his head over to the open office.

  Avery and Brooke walk around to the office. Avery knocks on the open office door.

  “Hello?”

  The man behind the desk is in his forties. He’s got a bald patch in the middle of his head and there are heavy crease lines running through his face. He’s dressed in a dark polo shirt and slacks.

  “What the hell do you want?” he asks, looking up from his desk. He closes the folder he was looking through as he sizes Avery and Brooke up.

  “Benjamin Mason?” Avery asks, stepping into the office.

  “Who wants to know?” the man asks. There’s a defensive tone in his voice.

  Avery makes a quick judgment call before continuing. Sometimes it didn’t pay to give someone the run around.

  “Avery Graves, grim reaper,” she introduces herself. Avery points to her sister, “My sister, Brooke.”

  The man behind the desk doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at them. His jaw works back and forth.

  “Grim reapers, huh?” he drums his fingers on the desk. “You got some proof?” he asks finally. “It’s kind of a bold and outlandish statement.”

  Avery nods as she pulls out the brass badge. In the badge’s case there’s an official reaper’s license.

  The man looks at it closely before handing it back to Avery.

  “You can’t be too careful,” he says, by way of an explanation.

  “I wasn’t aware that grim reaper impersonators were a thing,” Brooke says.

  The man glares at Brooke. “Everything’s a thing these days and grim reapers are always a pain in my ass.” He smiles like the dirty old man he’s going to become. “Although, you two are certainly the prettiest grim reapers I’ve ever seen.”

  Brooke frowns. “Okay, well, now I feel like I’ve been eye raped.”

  Mason turns back to Avery. “I assume you’re here about my brother?”

  “And his wife, Cindy.”

  A sneer quickly passes across Ben Mason’s face.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “The police haven’t contacted you?” Avery asks.

  “The police,” Ben speaks with a disgusted tone in his voice, “have spoken to me. But, obviously, they left something out. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now.” He settles back in his chair. “So what happened?”

  Avery hesitates before answering. Ben Mason doesn’t seem like a man in working his way through the grieving process.

  “The police didn’t leave anything out. Your brother and his wife committed suicide late last night,” Avery says. “They never arrived in the afterlife. My sister and I are trying to find out what happened.”

  Ben looks back and forth between them. “And you’ve come here?”

  “We’re tracking down all the leads we have,” Avery says. “It’s unusual for suicides to run from the afterlife.”

  Ben snorts and smiles humorlessly. “You don’t know Brian.” He coughs. “My brother was fond of running away from his obligations and responsibilities. That he ran from the afterlife doesn’t come as a shock at all.” He tilts his head to the side. “How exactly does this work?”

  Brooke folds her arms. “The same way it always works. You said you’ve dealt with reapers before. You should be used to the routine.”

  “You got yourself a pretty little face, sweetie.” Ben glares at her. “But I don’t like you very much.”

  Brooke smiles sweetly. “Well, what a coincidence. I don’t like you very much either.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Avery says, “but you don’t seem particularly upset over your brother’s death.”

  Ben shrugs. “My brother and I didn't get along real well.”

  “Sounds pretty bad,” Brooke observes. “You’re not even taking the day off from work.”

  “I’m dedicated to my job,” Ben replies dryly.

  Brooke arches an eyebrow. “Have you smelled this place?”

  Ben turns back to Avery. “If you’ve got something to say, say it already. I’ve got work to do.”

  Avery casts a sideways glance at Brooke. “Dead souls aren’t very creative,” she explains to Ben. “If they’re not in the afterlife, they tend to stick to places that they’re most familiar with.”

  “And you think my brother’s here?” Ben points to the floor, indicating the bowling alley.

  “Actually, we know he’s not,” Avery says. “We were hoping you might have some other suggestions.”

  “Right,” Ben shakes his head. “Grim reapers.”

  “Is that supposed to mean something?” Brooke asks.

  “Yeah, it means you’re bunch of lazy asses,” Ben says. “I don’t know where my brother and his wife might be haunting.”

  “You sure about that?” Avery asks.

  Ben looks her straight in the eye. “Pretty damn sure.”

  “We heard Brian was a writer,” Avery says, switching tactics.

  Ben laughs, but it’s devoid of any real humor. “Yeah. A writer,” he nods. “You could check that crappy bar he was always hanging out in, where he did his ‘writing.’ I think it was called the Rusty Nail.”

  Avery pauses a second. “You really didn’t like your brother?”

  Ben clears his throat, stroking under his chin. “You have a brother?”

  “Just the two of us,” Avery replies.

  “You’re lucky,” Ben says. “Brothers are a pain in the ass. Especially the baby ones.”

  “You have a second brother,” Avery points out.

  “Ralph,” Ben says. “Him, I like. He takes after me.”

  “Well, it’s good your parents had three of you,” Avery comments.

  “Isn’t it.”

  “So, would you say that Brian was on the outs with you guys?” Brooke asks.

  Ben snorts. “On the outs?” he repeats.

&
nbsp; Brooke frowns. “I'm gonna assume you're being sarcastic and I don't actually need to explain that term.”

  “My baby brother was my baby brother,” Ben replies. “I didn't like him very much. Neither did Ralphie.” Ben rolls his neck and there's the sound of bones cracking. “Brian had the ability to bring out our easily irritated sides.”

  “What about Cindy?” Avery asks.

  Ben shrugs. “She was a nice piece of ass.”

  “Wow, that's sounds like a pretty high compliment,” Brooke says dryly.

  Ben smiles and the sisters feel like they need to take a shower. “It's about as high as you're gonna get from me. Brian liked a particular kind of woman. The kind that's big on the sugary sweetness and low on the brains. In that way, they were the perfect match for each other.”

  “You give them a nice wedding present?” Avery asks.

  “I gave them the best thing I could,” Ben replies. “I stayed away from the whole affair.”

  “We heard it was a whirlwind affair,” Avery says. “Brian and Cindy met and pretty much got married the next day.”

  Ben nods. “Yep. That's pretty much how it happened.”

  “Was Brian a hopeless romantic?” Brooke asks.

  “Brian was just hopeless,” Ben says.

  “Why do you think they killed themselves?”

  Ben is silent for a minute, there's a piece of paper on the desk that suddenly has his attention.

  Brooke and Avery look at each other, wondering if they needed to say something else.

  “My brother had a lot of problems,” Ben says finally. “He wasn't very focused. He wasn't very loyal to his family. He was pretty damn flighty.” Ben looks at the sisters. “But the one thing he didn't have a problem with was wanting to live. I don't know why my idiot brother would kill himself.” Ben nods at the doorway. “I trust you know the way out.”

  Outside the bowling alley, Brooke rubs her eyes, suddenly more tired than she thought she was. “Wow, he was an asshole.”

  “Yes, he was,” Avery agrees.

  “Makes me almost believe the story we sold the Principal,” Brooke says.