Grim Business

Chapter Two

The house stood at the top of a hill, looking down on the town of Raven’s Landing. Moss and ivy grew up the sides, its dark gray stone façade peeking out through the overgrown foliage. By all accounts, it was a spooky looking house. Maybe that’s part of the reason that the Death Girl jokes had lasted as long as they had. But to Phoebe, the dark house with its old windows and its overgrown yard was home.

She stepped onto the walkway leading up to the house, counting the stairs the same way she had when she was a little girl—13 steps—and stepping up to the bright red door. The door was made of wood and had a golden knocker on the front of it, a raven with the loop used for knocking hanging out of its beak. The door was Phoebe’s favorite part of the spooky old house she called home. She and her mother had painted it before the accident that took the lives of both Phoebe’s mother and big brother, Derek. Phoebe remembered laughing as they spent as much time painting each other as they had painting the door, her big brother coming up the steps and pushing down their heads jokingly before going inside to watch football with their dad.

Shaking off the memory, Phoebe reached for the handle and pushed open the door. The interior of their home was much warmer and inviting than the outside. The entryway she had stepped into was painted a dark salmon color, a Spanish tile mosaic leading further into the house. She dropped her bags on the floor and hung her dark brown leather coat on one of the golden hooks on the wall, then toed off her boots.

Silence echoed throughout the house, and Phoebe hated it. She made her way into the living room, reaching for the remote and switching the television on. Some boring news show came alive on the screen, but Phoebe didn’t think about it—she just needed some noise, something to make her feel a little less lonely in the large house.

Phoebe’s father was often away on business, leaving her to take care of herself. She didn’t mind too much, but she missed him a great deal when he wasn’t at home. He was all Phoebe had left, but sometimes, it felt like he was just as gone as her mother and brother.

The kitchen was attached to the living room by a massive archway and a dining room, so she made her way through the dining area and stepped into the kitchen. She enjoyed cooking, and she would often make large meals when she got home—probably due in part to her Greek heritage—even though there was nobody to share it with. It filled the time between getting home and doing homework, something that she could control and do for fun.

As she reached up to the cabinet to begin, however, she heard something to her left. She paused, her heart racing. She had no pets, and there was no reason for anything or anyone else to be in the house. “Hello?” she called.

Instinctively, she knew that saying hello probably wasn’t going to be much help if there was a burglar or some kind of rodent infestation, but maybe she could scare whatever it was off with her voice. At first, there was nothing, and Phoebe began to breathe easier, thinking that maybe she had just been hearing things again. But then, something else stepped into the kitchen.

“Boo!” he shouted, and Phoebe screamed, turning to face the intruder only to find that it was no intruder; it was her father.

“Dad!” she said, laughing with relief and running over to him. She wrapped him in a hug, which he returned, squeezing the air right out of her lungs. Phoebe didn’t mind though; she could breathe any old time, but getting a hug from her father was something special. “You’re back early!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” he said. Christopher Thanatos was a handsome man, with his green eyes, salt-and-pepper hair and olive skin. All of the ladies at her school’s PTA meetings wanted to jump his bones, and half the men did, too. Phoebe never understood it—to her, he was just her dad. It was strange to imagine anyone but her mom finding him attractive. That wasn’t to say she would hate him if he started dating again; her mother had been dead for three years and it was about time that he started moving on.

“How was the trip?” Phoebe asked, moving to continue her preparations of before. It was doubly more exciting to make food for other people. Her dad moved to help her, seeming to know instinctively what she wanted.

“It was alright,” he said, pulling down some plates and mixing bowls. “Kind of boring, actually.”

Phoebe scoffed. “You always say that.”

Christopher planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Well, it’s always boring when you’re not there, kopela mou.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes briefly; he always got all mushy and started calling her Greek pet names when he first came home from a trip. She didn’t really mind, but they always made her feel like she was five years old again. “I’m seventeen, Dad,” she said.

“So?” he responded, and darted around her to start the stove. “You’re still my baby girl.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, and poured a healthy amount of olive oil into the pan before setting it on the stove her father had just started. They spent the time cooking together, tripping over one another in the kitchen and her dad singing awful songs from the seventies. It almost felt like home again, having him there. Days like this were what really made her thankful she still had her dad—she couldn’t imagine how kids who lost both parents made it through.

Once dinner was done cooking, they sat down in the dining room and began eating. The dining room was a comfortable homey space, with deep maroon walls and embroidered drapery on the massive windows that looked out on their back porch and yard. Phoebe sat close to her father, enjoying his company (and the delicious pasta he’d made). “I’m really glad you’re home,” she said after a moment of chewing went by.

“Me too, sweetie. Work can be a real drag.”

“Tell me about it. What do you even do for work, anyways? You never talk about it,” Phoebe said, allowing curiosity to creep into her voice.

Her father paused, almost as if he had been frozen.

“It’s nothing illegal, is it?” Phoebe was half-joking, but the expression on her father’s face was far from reassuring.

“No, no, nothing illegal. I was just trying to think of a way to best sum it up,” he said, his eyes darting to the left briefly. It was almost as if he were afraid someone were listening, and Phoebe’s fears grew.

“Do you promise?” she asked, “I won’t judge you; I know things have been kind of difficult since Mom died, but, Dad—“

“Phoebe, it’s fine! I promise, nothing illegal. I just keep things in order, ensure that a balance is kept.”

“What, like a janitor?” Phoebe found that hard to believe. Who sent their janitor to places like Prague and San Martin? Plus, he was paid too much to be a janitor. Phoebe had at least five high-end electronics sitting up in her bedroom that very minute.

“No, I’m not the janitor. Look, your pasta is getting cold. Finish up; I’m going to go finish the dishes.” Christopher stood swiftly, grabbing his dishes and making his way to the kitchen.

Phoebe watched him go, chewing on her bottom lip. Concern for her father grew; she had never really thought about what he did for a living before. She just assumed it had something to do with bureaucracy and business type things, but the cagier he got about it, the more she wondered if there was something more to this than met the eye.

Still, he was her father; it wasn’t like she could question him directly about stuff like this. He would just clam up, go all dictator on her, and send her to her room. No, when it was time to find out about it, she would. In the meantime, she had Calculus homework to finish.