Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,50
was determined to be miserable. “Another question. Why were you hiding weird little things about Texas?”
He went completely still. “What do you mean?”
“Candy. Southern sayings. Carol Burnett.”
He breathed through his mouth, then swallowed. “How did you find those?”
“Go on,” Death said from the next cubicle, where a skinny black inmate had sat down to wait for a visitor. “Tell him you were snooping.”
“I was looking for anything that might help get you out of here,” Casey said.
“By going through my house? My private things?”
Casey gripped the phone. “How am I supposed to get you out of here if you don’t tell me what you know?”
He looked away, dropping the receiver to his shoulder.
Casey banged on the window. “Ricky. Come on. Talk to me!”
The family to Casey’s left stopped their yammering and looked over, all eyebrows raised, as if they were attached to a string.
“Sorry,” Casey said.
They lowered their eyebrows and went back to their conversation, except for the youngest boy, who still peeked out from under his older sister’s arm. Casey decided he’d get bored eventually, and rapped on Ricky’s window again, more gently this time.
Ricky lifted the phone, but stayed silent.
“Come on, bud. What’s the deal with Texas?” And then she understood. “Alicia was talking in her sleep again, wasn’t she?”
He closed his eyes. “It’s like I’m betraying her. Telling her secrets.”
“It’s her secrets that got her killed, Ricky.”
He blanched. “You mean if I would have betrayed her before, she might still be alive.”
“I didn’t say that.”
His arm drooped again.
“Ricky,” she said quickly, before she lost him. “Tell me about Texas. Please.”
“It could help?”
“Yes.”
He let out a breath and shook his head, face toward the ceiling, like he was arguing with himself. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “She was sleeping. Real restless, you know? She never slept peacefully, at least not the few times I was with her. It was hard to understand exactly what she was saying, but it was something about not wanting to go to Texas.”
“So you started collecting Texas knick-knacks? That’s kind of a big leap.”
“It was just—I wanted to know more about her. And when she’d mention something that seemed unusual I wanted to check it out, and then I kept the stuff so I wouldn’t forget. Those expressions she used that people around here don’t say, like the one about cream gravy, she wouldn’t do it real often, but when she did I wrote them down. They were cute, you know? Then she mentioned that candy one time, those Chick-O-Sticks? They’re pretty good, actually, and she said something about liking Carol Burnett—we were watching a birthday party for that old lady, Betty White, and Carol Burnett was there. When I asked Alicia why she liked her she just said she was funny, but I could tell it was more than that. So I got the biography so I could try to understand, but realized it was just about her being from the same place as her.” He shrugged. “At least, I thought it was. Maybe I’m taking the whole thing out of context and she was talking about something else altogether and it had nothing to do with her being from Texas.” He practically spat the word, then sagged. “I didn’t know her at all, did I? Was anything she told me true? Her birthday? Her favorite color? Her name?”
Casey kept her face neutral and put her palm against the window. “Hey. We can’t know everything about anybody. Especially if they don’t want to share it. I’m sure you did your best.”
“Like that did a whole lot of good.”
“Ricky. Even when you do know a lot about someone, it doesn’t always stop bad things from happening.”
He looked at her, his eyes dark and wet. “I know. I’m sorry.” He put his hand on the other side of the glass, his fingers only slightly longer than hers.
“We’ll find who did this, Rick. I promise.”
His lips twitched, like he was trying to smile. “Sure. Because that’s what big sisters do, right? Get their little brothers out of messes.”
“That’s right.”
“Only thing is…when you do get me out of here…what will I do then?”
Casey flexed her fingers against the plexi-glass, wishing she could interlace her fingers with his. “You’ll just have to do what I’ve been doing for the past couple of years.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to live on the road, Casey.”
“Of course you don’t. You’d be miserable. What I meant was you’ll just have to go day to day, trying