the nannies. The most memorable moment was when Death hovered inches from the screen, yelling at the mother of an out-of-control five-year-old that she should “shut the bugger up in the closet for a day with no food or water and see how he liked that.” Somehow Casey didn’t think Death would make the greatest parent.
It was a very long week later that Casey’s query at the front desk brought a positive response.
“Oh, yeah,” the icky clerk said, sucking on her cigarette. “Package came for you yesterday, Miss Meade.” She said the name with a sneer.
“Yesterday?”
“I hid it under the counter so no one would take it. Guess I forgot about it.” She inhaled again, her cheeks caving and her eyes regarding Casey with smug satisfaction.
“Thank you for taking care of it so well.” Casey wanted to knock the woman out with a quick punch to the nose, but she restrained herself.
It didn’t look like the old hag had tampered with the envelope, but Casey gave it a good once-over, to be sure. The seal seemed unbroken, and the postmark was the right one, so Casey would have to believe the best. The woman’s eyes flicked from Casey’s face to the package, and Casey could see the desire there. She wanted desperately to know what was in there. She’d probably studied it up and down to find ways to open it without Casey knowing.
She’d have to live with the disappointment.
Casey gave her a bright smile and took the plain brown package back to her room.
Daisy Gray had a Florida driver’s license with a Tallahassee address, a motorcycle endorsement, and a birth date thirty-two years earlier. She had dark hair—still dyed from Casey’s time in Kansas—and brown eyes. The heavily layered make-up made Casey’s messed-up face from a week ago look surprisingly normal. The license would expire in two years.
Casey took a deep breath, closing her eyes. This driver’s license was the beginning of a new life. When the cops came looking for Casey Kaufmann Maldonado or Smith or Jones they would find only air. Casey was about to disappear.
“So, can we finally blow this repulsive joint?” Death said, standing in the middle of the room, not touching anything. “Although I have to say you did at least make it livable.”
Casey packed her bags, leaving the cleaning supplies, the new linens, and the extra lock she was sure the motel’s usual clientele would appreciate. “Let’s go. And let’s never think about this place again.” She smiled, and for the first time in months, she meant it.
Chapter Four
Florida was hot. Hot and muggy and miserable.
“Why did we come here again?” Death waved a fan made of feathers, which did nothing but move the sultry air from one place to another.
“I’ve always wanted to live in Florida.”
“Why? It’s hotter than hell down here.”
Casey laughed, and Death preened at her response to the semi-witty joke.
“Well, thank goodness for that. Where are we, anyway?”
“Tallahassee.”
Casey and Death had walked away from the rental car shop and headed into town. “I need a newspaper. Or a library.” Casey brightened. “I can use a library again. Ms. Daisy Gray, library patron.”
Death made a face. “Do I have to call you Daisy?”
“Only around people who can see you.”
“And how are we supposed to know who they are?”
“How do you think? They’ll look at you. People who can’t see you look only at me, remember?”
Casey had discovered a couple weeks earlier that only those who aren’t afraid of death could see the physical embodiment of it. Those who were afraid—and those people far outweighed their opposite—had no idea Death was anywhere in the vicinity. So far those who had the ability to see Casey’s companion had been limited to very young children, a man with Down’s Syndrome, a deeply religious woman, and a woman who had lost her husband in a tragic accident. Sort of like Casey.
Casey glared at Death.
“What? Why look at me like that?”
“We’ve met other people who see you. Why can’t you go bother them for a while?”
“I’ve told you. You’re far more interesting than anyone else I’ve come across.”
“I have a hard time believing that. What about Queen Elizabeth? John Dillinger? Jesus?”
Death winced and looked around like someone might hear. “Now don’t go joking about him.”
“Fine. But there have to be others who would be more interesting, like…” She thought. “Like William Shakespeare?”
“Okay. Fine. You’re more interesting than anyone I’ve come across in the last two hundred years. That