Casey looked at Death, who stood beside the desk, arms crossed. She sighed. Death was right. Again. That was getting old.
She caught the eye of the man at the next terminal—he was staring at her some more, and she wondered just how soon he’d be calling security. Casey quickly wrote down the information for the job, gave the man a way-too-brilliant smile, and went back to the front desk.
“Done already?” the librarian asked.
“Just needed one thing.”
“Let me get your bags.”
A minute later Casey was on the street.
“Now what?” Death squinted into the bright afternoon.
Casey headed back the way they’d come. “Now we find a way to Raceda. Guess we should’ve kept that rental car.”
“If we do the rental car thing again, make sure it’s not a compact this time. You’ve got cash, you should be riding in style.”
So Casey picked a hybrid, with even less room for passengers than a compact.
“You know,” Death said, squished between Casey’s two bags in the front—and only—seat, “you could use the trunk for your baggage.”
“Okay,” Casey said. “Go on back.”
“Ha, ha.” Death wiggled around, trying to get comfortable, but couldn’t find a position that allowed a line of sight over knees or feet. “Oh, fine. I’ll see you there.”
And Death was gone in a puff of irritated mist.
Casey turned on the radio. It was playing Pink’s, “So What.” She turned it up as loud as she could bear it, and sang along.
Chapter Five
The Flamingo Apartments lived up to their namesake. Tall, skinny, and pink, with white and lime green highlights, and palm trees surrounding the parking lot. Behind the building Casey could see the ocean, sparkling and blue, lined with white sand. A pelican perched on the dock, and seagulls flitted about, calling to each other. Sailboats floated past, their sails taut, probably headed toward the marina Casey had passed on her way in. The docks there had been lined with more boats than Casey could count, from the smallest sailboat to the huge kind you could live on for a year. Casey was rested, and had eaten a good breakfast after staying overnight in a hotel.
“I’m glad I dressed appropriately.”
Casey glanced at her companion, who wore all white, and held a walking stick with a brass handle. “Who are you trying to be?”
“The cool, southern citizen.”
“You can do cool?”
Death glared at her. “I am the epitome of cool.”
“Whatever.” Casey looked up at the building through the windshield of the car. “I guess we go in the front. I wonder how tight security is?”
“Doesn’t matter. You could take ‘em.”
“I don’t want to take them. I want to act like a normal human being.”
Death snorted. “Good luck with that.”
Casey got out of the car and slammed the door.
“No need to get huffy,” Death said, appearing suddenly on the sidewalk.
A guard in typical guard-style clothes met them just inside the entrance. He sat behind a large desk and smiled, his teeth shiny in his dark face. “Good morning. How may I help you today?”
“I’m here to see Mrs. Williams, please. I have an appointment.”
“Oh,” Death said. “That kind of normal human being. You have manners, and everything.”
The guard looked at his appointment book. “Ms. Gray? Ten-o’clock?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir?” Death choked out a laugh.
Casey took a deep calming breath, knowing it would look very bad if she tried to slug someone the guard couldn’t see.
The guard picked up a phone and spoke into it. “Ms. Mendez? A Ms. Gray is here to see Mrs. Williams.”
“Ms…Mrs…” Death said. “It looks like we may have joined polite society, at last.”
The guard set down the phone and gestured toward the second set of double doors. “Mrs. Williams is expecting you. Right through there, please.”
Casey gripped her purse—which still felt very strange. How long since she’d carried one of those?—and went into the main building. She was greeted by the smell of tropical flowers. Live palm trees reached toward the glass ceiling. Sunlight shone through the panes, lighting up the large room, and Casey almost pulled out her sunglasses. A bar took up the entire right side of the space, and a lounge with a dozen comfortable chairs and sofas were scattered—in a planned, casual sort of way—throughout the area. The bar was closed, but a little coffee shop on the left side of the hall was open, and a few people sat at small tables in front of it, one man with a newspaper, and one woman, about Casey’s age, working on her laptop, with a cup of coffee and