Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,19
I’m sure of it. She liked it here better than anywhere else.” A little color stole into his cheeks, indicating his hope that he was the reason for her contentment.
“What about her past?”
“What about it?”
“Did she talk about it, other than just where she’d lived? Houses, friends, jobs? You know. Actual details?”
His eyes slid away.
“Ricky? What is it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“But—”
“Forget it, all right, Casey? Please?”
Casey watched as his face went through a change from sad and depressed to stubborn, his mouth a thin line.
“Okay,” she said. “Fine. What about her childhood?”
“Her childhood?”
“Sure. You’d been going out for a few months. It would be normal for you to talk about your childhoods. You would see things around here that you remember, so you’d tell her, and that would trigger her memories. You know. You share stuff when you’re dating.”
“She didn’t talk about her childhood.”
“Not even—”
“At all.”
“Casey,” Don said, “perhaps we should just let him tell us what he wants to tell us.”
Casey looked at her brother, who suddenly resembled a sullen teenager. Too bad he was actually ten years past that.
Ricky closed his eyes. When he opened them, the despair was back. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just…” This time the tears overflowed onto his cheeks, and he swiped at them with his sleeves.
Casey leaned forward. “It’s okay. Just remember I want to help you. The more I know about her, the better chance I have of figuring out who did this to her.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Of course it wasn’t. I never thought so for an instant.”
Death swooshed around, then hovered up by the ceiling, checking out the jail’s video camera. “This isn’t on. Just wanted to make sure.”
Casey ignored the interruption. “Did Alicia have any other friends?”
Ricky frowned. “Not really. There was one other waitress at the restaurant who was about her age, but she kind of drove Alicia crazy. Ali said she never shut up.”
“Would this be Bailey?”
“You know her?”
“I stopped by The Slope before coming here. She was working. And very eager to talk.”
“You can’t believe anything she says.”
“Then I guess you are guilty.”
“What?”
“She’s one of the few people in this whole town, apparently, who thinks you’re innocent. She’s going to help me. So I wouldn’t go bad-mouthing her right now if I were you.”
“She’s going to help you? But she always hated—” He stopped.
“Hated Alicia?”
“Look, I don’t think she killed her, okay? She just never thought…She always said…”
“That you should be with her instead of Alicia? I know. She told me the same thing. It’s not exactly a secret.”
“So if she wants to help it’s not because she wants to help Alicia.”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters! She doesn’t care that Ali got killed. She just wants to use this to prove she was right. Or something.”
“It doesn’t matter why she wants to help. We’ll take whatever help we can get.”
“I don’t want her making Alicia look bad.”
“Ricky.” Casey grabbed his hand. “You said it before. Alicia doesn’t care anymore. She’s gone. But I care. And you should. You don’t want to be in here the rest of your life for a murder you didn’t commit. Accused of killing the woman you loved. I mean, you did, right?”
“Did what?”
“Love her.”
“Of course I did.”
“And you didn’t kill her?”
He yanked his hand away and stumbled from his chair, hanging onto the back. “I already told you—”
“Then we’ll take Bailey’s help. Won’t we?”
He thrust out his chin, but then his shoulders drooped again, and he sank back into the chair. “You’ll be careful what you believe?”
“About Alicia? Or about you?”
“About any of it.”
She studied him. “So, what should I believe?”
“The only thing that really matters is that she was a good person. She really was.”
A good person who had lied to him about such a basic thing as her name, and hadn’t shared the slightest detail about her past except a list of multiple, gigantic states. Never a good sign.
“So tell me why someone would kill her.”
“It wasn’t her. I mean, it wasn’t because it was her. It was a random break-in. It had to be.”
Don cleared his throat. “I really don’t think it was random, not from the way they—”
Casey glared at him, and Don stopped talking before he said anything too upsetting.
Ricky didn’t seem to have heard, anyway. “She didn’t have anything worth stealing. There was no secret stash of money—”
“And you know this how?”
“Because she wasn’t the kind of person to hoard cash, or even care about it. She wore hand-me-down clothes. She never ate out on