Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,43
he should be with her. They certainly were opposites, the girls, I mean. Alicia the cold, silent type, and Bailey the…well, you know. Warmer type.”
Casey sighed. “So you’ve got nothing for me. I guess Pearl and Ethan do know as much as you.”
“Hold on now!” Ring Woman sat up, her expression almost panicked. “I’m sure we have something. Girls? Huddle.”
They leaned in toward the center of the table and began talking all at once. It was hard to pick out anything specific—Casey could only hear snippets.
“What about that horrible haircut?”
“I still think those circles under her eyes meant something.”
“Pinto beans and hot links, remember?”
“Working those double shifts for Bailey.”
“Sweetest smile when she flashed it.”
“Like a long-tailed cat in a room of rocking chairs.”
“Hid those tips away like they were pure gold.”
“What about that time she…?
They went silent, and Ring woman sat up, triumphant. “We know something.”
“Will you share?”
She looked smugly over at Pearl and Ethan, who were tucking into their biscuits and gravy, seemingly oblivious to the battle that was being waged. Rings cleared her throat, but still the couple ignored her.
“Go ahead,” the librarian said. “Tell her.”
Rings leaned forward. “She called him Wayne.”
“Who? Ricky?”
Rings blinked. “You know her young man’s name?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. But anyway, it wasn’t him. The one she called Wayne. That was the dishwasher.” They all very obviously didn’t look back toward the kitchen. Casey did, though, and she caught a glimpse of the kid through the window. He saw her, and went back to work, acting like he hadn’t noticed her looking.
“That’s not his name?”
“Hardly. This one’s name is Samuel.”
“Sammy,” Red Hat corrected.
“He’s worked here since he turned fourteen. He’ll come bus our tables sometimes, when we want to stay for coffee and the girls are busy.”
Blackie’s eyes sparkled. “Alicia didn’t even realize what she’d done until she asked why he was looking at her funny. He’d followed her out with a dish tub, you see.”
“And what did she do when he told her?”
“Looked like she’d swallowed an orange. Went all white, and closed her eyes for a second. I thought she was going to faint.”
“We all did.” Rings was back in charge. “Samuel wasn’t sure whether to put down the dish tub to catch her, or go running for someone bigger.”
“He’s kind of little,” the librarian explained.
“Did Alicia tell you why she called him that?”
“Nope, although we did ask her.”
Of course they did.
“So.” Casey looked at Eric for affirmation. “I guess the name Wayne must have meant something to her.”
He nodded. “Doesn’t help us a whole lot, though, since we don’t know his last name.”
“Unless—”
“Nope,” Rings said. “We have no idea. But it’s a start, right? Better than Pearl and Ethan.”
“A hundred percent.” Since the old couple had given them nothing.
“Hey.” Bailey was gesturing to them from the kitchen door. She glanced down the little hallway that led to the back and waved harder. “Karl’s in the back. Come on, quick.”
Eric nudged her and whispered, “Your relationship to Ricky.”
“Oh.” Casey pulled her wrist from Ring Woman’s grip. “So you know how I knew the name of Alicia’s boyfriend before you mentioned it?”
They nodded and leaned forward, as if one body. Eyes sparkling, mouths slightly open.
“I know his name because he’s my brother, and he’s been arrested for her murder. I’m going to prove he’s innocent.”
Ka-ching.
Her debt was paid.
Chapter Eighteen
Casey and Eric followed Bailey into a dark room with some hooks on the wall, and a few plastic bins. A tiny bathroom was tucked into the corner.
“This is where we change, if we need to.” Bailey pointed at a small Rubbermaid tub. “We generally just hang stuff up, but I was looking for something in the pantry this morning and found this. It must have been Alicia’s, because nobody else recognizes any of it. I guess I’m supposed to show it to the cops, but I thought you might want to see it first. Not that there’s anything much in there.”
Casey squatted beside the box and took off the lid. Bailey was right—there wasn’t much. A brush, some tampons, a paperback novel…and a photo of a man. He was in his thirties or forties, probably, and was putting something into the back of an old station wagon. His face was turned toward the camera in a