Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,54

when they aren’t really doing anything, but want to avoid a conversation.

“What? I have what?”

“Never mind. If you need me to tell you, it’s pointless to even bother.”

“But—”

Death disappeared so suddenly it was like Casey had been alone all along.

“Casey?” Eric was calling up the stairs.

She grabbed her sneakers and headed down.

“Going somewhere?”

“Out.” She walked past him, toward the front door.

“Do you want me to come?”

“No.”

“Okay. So I take it this is you being nicer?”

She stopped, her hand clutching the doorknob. Nicer. Right. “I’m sorry, Eric. I guess I’m not used to…people…anymore.” She let go of the door and turned around. “I’m going to work out. Would you like to come?”

He gave a tight smile. “If it’s all right, I think I’ll stay here and wait for a call from one of the Elizabeth Manns. But thanks for asking.”

Not sure whether to say it was all right, sorry, you’re welcome, or anything at all, Casey kept her mouth shut and walked out the door.

She really needed to go kick some ass.

Chapter Twenty-two

The dojang was housed in an old warehouse almost three miles from Casey’s place. She left the bike and Eric’s car at Ricky’s house and jogged over. She could feel the miles she’d run in the middle of the night, but it was a good burn. It had been too many days since she’d had a chance to exercise properly.

The building looked the same as it had the last time, except for a fresh coat of blue paint on the door. The parking lot was half-filled, but that would represent rides for the different businesses housed within.

Casey walked up the stairs, passing the ground floor pottery, the family counseling center on the other half of the floor, and the second-floor dance studio and dancewear boutique—along with the dance moms and girls Casey had always tried to avoid. Avoiding them was always pretty easy, as the moms kept their precious darlings far away from the martial arts thugs. Casey always thought it ironic that the children—and their mothers—would be far safer with the martial artists than just about anybody else in town, and the crazy moms chose to alienate them. It was just as well. Casey had never been sure how to respond to all the ribbons and lipstick.

The door to the dojang was open, releasing the humid workout air into the stairwell. Casey stood for a moment just outside, breathing in the smells and sounds that instantly found a home in her body. Apparently you could take the woman out of the dojang, but couldn’t take the dojang out of the woman. Wasn’t that how the saying went?

Casey went left in the hall, toward the workout room, away from the lockers. A class was in session, and she could hear someone calling out instructions. Not Master Custer. Someone younger, most likely one of the current black belts. It was what she used to do, back when she was the highest-ranking belt, other than the master.

She checked in the small room that served as the office—windowless and damp—but no one was there except the very out-dated computer, so she made her way to the open door of the workout room. An array of students stood barefooted on the mats, ranging in age from young teens to thirty-somethings, men and women. A black belt stood at the front of the classroom facing the students, who displayed every color belt, with the lower belts in the far back corner. Two other black belts worked out in the front row, one a dark-skinned woman about Casey’s age, the other a white guy younger than Casey, and the thirty-year-old at the front.

Casey’s teacher stood only a few feet from the doorway, his back to her, arms crossed as he surveyed his class. His gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his posture was straight, but relaxed. His feet were bare, and his own black belt had been tied around his waist. The gold bars on the edge of the belt, indicating his rank, gleamed against the black fabric. Three on each end, showing he was a sixth-degree black belt. As always, Casey felt a little in awe just to be in his presence.

She watched from the doorway as the class finished the kata and the black belt resumed his place in the front row.

“Casey,” her teacher said without turning around. “Sword Form Number Two. Everyone else clear the mat.”

Of course he knew she was there. Of course he knew she was already