“Things have been happening.” She told Death about the note from Richie.
“I don’t understand how that could involve me,” Death said.
“It doesn’t. Not everything is about—Oh. Right. Andrea’s dead. But here, you might be interested in these.” Maria had left in such a rush she’d forgotten to turn off the computer. Casey went around the desk and clicked around until she found Richie’s picture again. “That’s Richie Miller. Isn’t he cute? He and Andrea would have made an adorable couple.”
“Adorable. But why are you showing me?”
“Because I thought you’d be interested to see who came before me. Let’s see if I can…” She searched some more. “Here he is. This is Brandon Greer. What do you think? Kind of disappointing, isn’t he?”
But Death didn’t answer. Instead, Death went pale and made a choking sound.
Casey looked from Death to Brandon’s picture, and back again. “What’s wrong?”
“Who is that?”
“Brandon. You know, the guy right before me. The blackmailing Don Juan.”
“It can’t be.”
Casey stopped breathing for a moment. “You mean you know this guy? You’ve seen him…before?”
Death swallowed. “His name is not Brandon Greer. This guy’s name is Wayne Pritchfield. He died last night in an apartment a couple towns over from here. He’d been stabbed to death with a kitchen knife.”
A cold chill ran down Casey’s spine, and she shivered. “Brandon Greer is dead?”
“No, Wayne Pritchfield is. Murdered.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Nope. Didn’t ask. He wasn’t real talkative at the time.”
A noise came from Sissy’s office, and Casey clicked away from Brandon’s—or Wayne’s — photo. She jumped up and practically ran to the service stairs. She flew into her apartment and right to the bathroom, where she stood over the toilet for a few moments, afraid she was going to throw up. Nothing happened, except she got covered in cold, clammy sweat.
“Wow, you look nasty.”
Casey slammed the door in Death’s face, and when Death’s face poked through the door, she threw a bar of soap at it. Death retreated.
Casey stood under a hot shower until she stopped shaking, then washed her hair twice and scrubbed her body, as if she’d been sullied somehow. Brandon Greer was dead. Murdered. That changed everything. No wonder the folders were still in the bank. He’d still been around, all along. No one had known it, apparently. They’d thought he’d cut all ties, but he must have had other reasons to remain silent. Now he didn’t have a choice. He’d be silent now because he was dead.
She had to tell Binns.
She turned off the shower, wrapped up in a towel, and went out to the living room to get her phone. She got Binns’ voice mail.
“Call me,” Casey said. “It’s urgent.”
Casey scrabbled through the desk and found an old phone book. She dialed the police department.
“Raceda Police.”
“Detective Binns, please.”
“She’s not available right now, may I take a message?”
“How about Officer Gomez?”
“You should have his number, anyway,” Death said. “For when you get that yearning in the middle of the night.”
“He is also out of the building.”
Casey ground her teeth. “Have Detective Binns call Daisy Gray, please. It’s important, about the murder at the Flamingo.”
“Of course. I’ll get her the message right away.”
Casey hung up and stood, still dripping, in her living room.
“Um, you might want to put on some clothes,” Death said.
Casey dried herself off, yanked on some jeans and a blouse, and brushed her hair. “Good enough?”
“Hope so, ‘cause Dylan’s just about here.”
“What?”
“Your date, remember?”
A knock came from the door. Casey strode to it and swung it open. Dylan stood there, with an entire bouquet of roses this time.
“What are you doing here?” Casey said.
“Um, dinner, remember?”
“Yes, and we’re meeting in the lobby at six-thirty.”
“I couldn’t remember. And I couldn’t find my phone to call and ask.”
“Didn’t you ever pick it up in the gym this morning, after Tamille scared you half to death?”
“Oh. Duh. I couldn’t think of where I’d left it. All that terror must have erased my memory.”
Casey shook her head. “Well, come in, then. I’m almost ready, anyway.”
Casey went to put on some shoes, making sure she had her phone for when Binns called back. When she got back to the living room, Dylan was looking out her window. “Nice view.”
“Would be nicer if I actually saw the ocean, but then these wouldn’t be the cheap seats.”
“I have a view of downtown from my place, which isn’t all that exciting, believe me. I’d much rather see the pool and palm trees.”