Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,23
mix of blues, hip-hop, rock, and opera while sweeping, scrubbing, refilling drawers, and organizing photos. She spent almost an hour in the kitchen before moving on to the rest of the first floor, and finally upstairs. Those rooms were just as bad, except for what looked like the guest room. There had only been minimal tossing and dusting there. Probably because there wasn’t much furniture in the first place. She had finished that bedroom and moved on to Ricky’s and the master bath when she sat heavily on the stripped bed. Even the mattress pad was gone.
“Tired?” Death said.
“Exhausted.”
“Why don’t you take a nap? You could put sheets on the guest room bed.”
“I want to finish cleaning. Then I’ll take a nap.”
Death eyed the bedside stand and the dresser in the corner. “Think the cops took everything?”
“You mean, Ricky might have hidden something they didn’t find?”
“What if he did have questions about Alicia? What if he wasn’t telling you—or her—the complete truth? You saw how he hesitated when you asked him about her past.”
Casey looked around the room. Where might Ricky have hidden something? She looked under the mattress, but that was a clichéd hiding place, and the police had certainly checked there. She looked for false drawers in the bedside table, extra walls in the closet, and behind the toilet in the master bath. She went through what shoe boxes were left in the closet—which actually held shoes—and each one of his dresser drawers. She found nothing but clothing, toilet articles, and condoms, which made her squirm. She threw them back in the bedside table.
“Casey,” Death said. “I’m disappointed in you.”
“Because seeing my brother’s birth control makes me queasy?”
“No.”
“Because I couldn’t find something trained law enforcement missed?”
“No. Because you’re not using your noggin.”
“My noggin.”
Death knocked her head with a cold knuckle that didn’t knock so much as hiss.
“What? Am I missing something?”
“I think so. You remember how you knew exactly where to look for the house key when we got here?”
“Yeah, because it’s the same place we hid it when we were—Oh. Duh.”
“So where did Ricky hide his private things when he was a kid?”
“You mean stuff he didn’t want me to find?”
Death smiled. “That’s what private means. Don’t tell me you never found his stash.”
“Of course I did. But he doesn’t know that, so don’t tell him.”
Death made a zipping motion. “My lips are sealed.”
Casey took off downstairs.
“Not in his room?” Death slid past her, down the bannister.
“First place I would have looked. He knew better.”
“But you found it.”
“Eventually. It took me a while, and then I had to be careful when and how often I’d check it, or he’d know.”
She walked into the office, where Ricky had a desk—empty now of a computer or anything else useful—a reading chair, and—ta da—shelves lined with books.
“He hid stuff in the library?” Death said, then giggled. “He did it in the library with the reading lamp.”
Casey scanned the books, and found it on the second shelf. The Chronicles of Narnia. The boxed set that was released when she and Ricky were kids. She pulled the whole set down and sat in the chair.
“I love those books,” Death said, and held out the ereader, which displayed the cover of Prince Caspian. “Which one was your favorite?”
Casey didn’t answer. She was too busy sliding the books out of the box.
“How could he fit anything in there?”
“Doesn’t have to be much.”
Casey set the books gently to the side and picked at the back with her fingernail. The cardboard stuck for a moment before coming free. When it did, a paper fluttered out.
Death swooped in. “What does it mean?”
“I have no idea.”
It was a scrap of paper, obviously torn from a larger one. Two lines were written on it, each in a different color pen, like they’d been put there two separate times.
Fine as cream gravy.
Sharp as mashed potatoes.
Death’s forehead furrowed. “He’s keeping track of clichés?”
Casey didn’t answer, but dug in the back of the book box to peel one more thing from the hiding place. Another copy of that photo. The one of Ricky and Alicia at the restaurant.
“Must be the only shot they had,” Death said. “Seems everybody’s got a copy.”
Casey slid the photo into her pocket and left the dismantled book series to go to the kitchen. Death followed.
Casey opened the pantry where the cleaning supplies were kept and dug around until she found a box for dustrags. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this when I was in here