Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,12

blackened hull of what had been her car. They didn’t see her coming, or they would have stopped her from barging through, from seeing the melted upholstery, the steel frames of the seats, and her husband, still clasping the steering wheel, even though he could no longer see where the car was headed. His hands, charred and exposed, were the last part of him she’d ever see.

The firefighters had wrestled her away, kicking, screaming, and biting, before she could see into the back seat, where her baby had died. The coroner all but refused to let her see him once he was in the morgue, and in her shock and despair she didn’t realize most of what was happening during the next week until it was too late. Her son was buried without her being able to say a last good-bye. She would be thankful after it all that her final image of Omar hadn’t been of his broken, blackened body.

The guardrail must have been repaired some time later. Now it shone silver in the sun, brighter than the sections to the right and left. The burned grass had replenished itself, and the gravel along the shoulder looked the same as all the rest. There were no crosses or plaques or any other outward sign to show that this was where Casey’s life had changed forever. Where she had lost everything.

Except she hadn’t lost her brother. He was something. A big something. And he needed her.

“Okay. I’m ready to go.” Casey turned, expecting Death to be waiting.

But Death was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Seven

The house looked the same as it always had as Casey was growing up. A pleasant enough white two-story on a small, winding street, with an attached garage, brass numbers on the door, and a cast iron lamppost at the end of the sidewalk. The mountains stood magnificently in the background, and the neighborhood gave off the feeling of comfort and stability.

What was different about the house was the state of repair. It wasn’t horrible. It didn’t look empty. But the bushes had become overgrown, and the flowerbeds lay dormant and brown. The lawn was a mixture of too-long grass and leaves, and weeds grew up in cracks in the driveway.

A stab of worry sent Casey a little faster up the walk. Her mother had always been meticulous about the yard. Flowers in every season but winter—and then the poinsettias bloomed inside—mown grass, cleared driveway. One of the shutters hung crookedly, and several shingles were missing from the roof. Had this really all happened in the last week since Ricky had been in prison?

It wasn’t possible.

Casey felt a flood of shame. Ricky had been so busy keeping track of her place during the past couple of years, making sure it was up for realtor walk-throughs and prospective buyers, that he hadn’t been able to help their mother. Had her mom really gone downhill so much since Casey had seen her that she couldn’t even maintain her place on her own?

Casey stood at the door, her hand raised, as if to knock.

“You don’t just walk into your mother’s house?” Death waited beside her, twisting over the railing to see in the window.

“I used to.”

“And now is different because…”

“I’m a bad daughter.”

“I see. Only good daughters get to go in unannounced? Then I will go out on a limb and say there are a lot of women who shouldn’t have keys to their parents’ homes.”

“You mean there are more people who have abandoned their mothers, and left their little brothers to rot in prison?”

“He’s been in for a week, Casey. That’s hardly rotten. A little ripe, maybe, but that’s about it.”

Casey took a deep breath through her nose. It wasn’t worth getting angry with Death. Death had a mouth that flapped a lot, but she couldn’t exactly slap it.

“So?” Death gestured to the door.

Casey slowly turned the doorknob. It didn’t budge.

“You could kick it down,” Death suggested.

Casey didn’t bother replying. Instead, she rang the doorbell. And then she knocked. There was no answer.

“Back door?” Death hopped over the rail, already on the way around the corner. Casey followed, trying to look past the drawn curtains to the interior, but all she could see was fabric. When she got to the back, Death was coming out the door. Actually, coming through it.

“What’s going on?” Casey said.

“Your mom’s just sitting there. Staring into space.”

“You were not invited in.”

“Tell me about it. I’m never invited. But it’s not like I’m a vampire