Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,39
through her nose and let it out her mouth, centering herself. “The first step is really the hardest?”
“I promise.”
So Casey let go of the doorjamb, clenched her jaw, and took that first step.
She didn’t collapse.
She didn’t break down into a sobbing mass.
She didn’t pass out.
“He’s not here,” she said.
Death smiled sadly. “Of course he isn’t.”
Casey turned on the light and spun in a slow circle, taking in the details of the room. Most of the personal effects were gone. No dobaks were draped over the footboard. No dress shoes sat in a perfect line under Reuben’s side of the bed. No messy pile of books and magazines lay on the nightstands next to the matching lamps. But the quilt was still the same, since it went with the walls and the curtains. The blown-up photo from their trip to the Grand Canyon still hung over the headboard. And the antique toy ferris wheel, the one that had belonged to Casey’s grandmother, sat on top of the dresser, the clown on the axle smiling insanely.
Casey ran her hand over the bed, feeling the handmade stitches, so lovingly sewn there by her mother, before…well, before everything.
“Go on,” Death said. “You’re exhausted.”
“But—”
“Sleep, child.”
Casey pulled down the corner of the quilt on her side of the bed. And she crawled in. And she went to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
Someone was pounding on the front door. Casey dragged herself from sleep and looked at the clock. Eight o’clock. Crap. Again, where was Death when she could actually use some help?
She stumbled down the stairs and flung open the door. Eric stared at her, apparently not sure whether to smile or run screaming.
Casey looked at him for several seconds before backing up and gesturing for him to come in. “Weren’t you supposed to come later?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe you couldn’t, either.”
Should she tell him just how little sleep she’d gotten? No. “Fine,” she said instead. “Give me a minute. Or ten.”
He held up a bag and some coffee from one of the local coffee shops. “Got breakfast.”
“Awesome. Make yourself at home in the kitchen. Not that there’s much there.”
She left him standing in the foyer and went upstairs to take a shower. Fifteen minutes later she was back down, unfortunately still wearing the same clothes as the day before. She threw the rest of her clothes in the washer and joined Eric in the kitchen.
He set some coffee in front of her, along with creamer and sugar packs. “So you got some sleep, then?”
“I guess. Some. You?”
“Few hours. Your brother’s place is nice. I used the guest room. Found some sheets in one of the closets.”
She sipped the coffee black and pointed at the bag. “What’s in there?”
He pulled out a couple of scones, two hot egg and sausage biscuits, and some cherry Danishes. “Take your pick.”
Casey picked one of each and ate them all. The burrito hadn’t exactly been satisfying the night before.
“So tell me where we’re going,” Eric said.
“A crappy restaurant, where Alicia worked.”
“She’s the woman who was murdered?”
“Raped, tortured, and murdered. Yes. And she was my brother’s girlfriend.”
Eric had paled at her description, but asked, “What do we know so far?”
“That my brother didn’t do it.”
“Assume I’m not an idiot, okay?”
“Sorry. We don’t know a lot. Alicia McManus wasn’t her real name, and we don’t know where she came from when she showed up this summer.”
“How do we know about the name?”
Whoops. Back-pedaling time. “Law enforcement can’t find her anywhere in the system, so it makes sense that she didn’t exist under it.” Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
“Any ideas on that?”
“They’re looking into it. Trying some new combinations.”
He looked at her over his Danish. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“There’s a lot I’m not telling you. I haven’t had time.”
“Fair enough. So keep going.”
She took him through the basics—that Alicia was running from a dangerous past, she carried almost nothing with her as she ran, and she supposedly loved Ricky. She told him about Ricky’s neighbor Geraldine and what she’d seen, and about the stash of sayings, candy, and books that Ricky had hidden away.
“Carol Burnett?” Eric said. “Is he a fan?”
“Not that I ever knew of. Maybe Alicia was.”
“Weird.”
“Tell me about it. And other than those bizarre offerings, we’ve got nothing.”
“What about this restaurant? What are we looking for there?”
“I want to talk to the other employees, in case Alicia told them anything. I doubt she did, since she barely even talked to Ricky, but she might have let something slip.