Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,42

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“She was very different from the other girl, you know,” Ring woman confided.

“Not so…how might I say it?” said Red Hat, tapping her mouth with her fingers. “Forward.”

“Bailey is forward with you?”

The smallest, oldest woman cackled from her seat beside Death. “Hardly, honey. But with those working men…she doesn’t leave much to the imagination, if you know what I mean. But then, she’s got to use what she’s got, doesn’t she? I find her entertaining. I thought at first she was all hat and no cattle, but I was wrong. She’s got spunk.”

“I like this one,” Death said with a hoot. “Bet she was just like Bailey in her day. I mean, look at that hair.” The shellacked hairstyle was dyed black, as in midnight, darkest of dark. It made the woman’s wrinkled face seem ghostly white—except for the red spots she’d rouged onto her cheeks—as white as the huge, pearl clip-ons hanging from her stretched out lobes.

Blackie wasn’t finished. “I’m sure your young man here would agree. Bailey certainly has something that keeps the men interested.”

They all swung to look at Eric, who went beet red.

“Well?” Blackie said.

He cleared his throat. “She’s very…” He stopped and looked to Casey for help because he obviously didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t exactly say “busty” or “sex-riddled” to a group of female octogenarians.

“Anyway,” Ring Woman said, saving him, “we liked Alicia. She was very sweet.”

They chorused agreements, except for one woman who hadn’t yet said anything. She huddled in the seat by the wall, her thin hair pulled back in a tight bun, causing her cheekbones to poke out in an almost skeletal manner. Despite the hair and skull-like appearance, she was probably the youngest of the clan, a mere eighty or so, and her teeth—or dentures—were bright white. Casey could see them, because the woman was wrinkling her nose so hard her upper lip left them exposed.

“Oh, don’t mind her,” the librarian said. “Eleanor never likes anyone. Even us.”

Eleanor pinched her lips shut. “That is unfair, Rita. I have been a part of this group as long as the rest of you, haven’t I? If I hated you all so much I certainly wouldn’t have kept coming to breakfast.”

Rita patted her hand. “Of course, dear.”

Eleanor yanked her hand away. “Don’t patronize me. We all know that woman was hiding something.”

“You do?” Casey said.

“Well, of course. Why else would she change the subject every time we asked her a question other than the name of the daily special?”

“As if any of the food here could be special,” Death muttered.

“Not like that Bailey girl,” Eleanor continued. “I know more about her and her goings-on than I want to know about anybody. Why the rest of them encourage her, I’ll never know.”

There was collective eye-rolling around the table, but no one actually responded.

“So did you get any information from Alicia?” Casey asked. “Besides the food stuff?”

Ring woman sighed. “Not anything we could use.”

“Use?”

“To make up our scenarios. Not with any detail, anyway.”

Casey glanced at Eric, who shrugged.

“You see,” Ring Woman continued, “we love to come up with stories. Like after you leave we’ll talk all about you two and why it is you stand five feet away from each other, even though you’re together, and why you, honey, are wearing clothes that obviously haven’t been washed in some time, while he looks neat and clean. Even shaven. And you didn’t eat breakfast here, which makes us think you probably ate it elsewhere, and probably together, but that doesn’t add up with the awkward way you behave around each other. If you’d spent the night together, you would be much more comfortable.”

Casey was feeling anything but comfortable under the scrutiny—and imagination—of such a crew. Eric had gone from his reddish blush to almost as white as Blackie.

“So what kind of scenario did you come up with for Alicia?” Casey asked, for multiple reasons.

Ring Woman shook her head. “She was like one of those formula romance novels. She came out of nowhere, no history, no friends, nothing she would share with us. She could have been an exiled Romanian princess, for all we knew.”

“Except she had light hair,” Red hat said. “Romanian princesses wouldn’t have light hair.”

“The only clue we ever got about her personal life,” Ring woman continued, “was that sweet boy who apparently found out more than we ever did.”

Ricky.

“And,” Red Hat said, “that made for some good discussion because obviously the other girl—” she glanced toward the kitchen again “—felt like