Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,60
but, as you said, between the two of us we’ve got more than enough money, plus—” he held up his hand to stop her from arguing “—I couldn’t really see you sitting knee to knee with some annoying businessman from Boulder, wanting to sell you life insurance. Violence is usually frowned upon when flying commercial.”
He had a point.
“I’m going to see if the flight attendant has an extra blanket,” Eric said, standing up. “I can’t get over this chill.” He moved down the aisle, toward the attendants’ supply area.
“You could’ve reserved one more ticket.” Death remained in Eric’s seat, which Eric had unknowingly been sharing. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“Baggage? Overhead compartment? Hell?”
“I don’t spend time in Hell, and you know it. It’s very…unpleasant. And hot.”
“You have to take people there, don’t you?”
“Way out of my job description, my dear. You know that. My thing is to pick up and deliver to…you know who. After that they’re on their own. Or not.”
She looked out at the clouds, floating far below them. “So tell me, is Saint Peter really guarding the gate?”
Death grinned. “Come now, you don’t really want me to spoil the surprise, do you?”
“Got one for you, too.” Eric was back, and handed her a folded blanket. “She’s also going to bring me some coffee. I need something. I hope I’m not getting a cold.”
Casey looked at Death, who grudgingly gave up Eric’s seat. She smiled. “I think you’ll be warmer now.”
Eric sat down in his empty place, and Death hovered for a moment in the aisle. “Fine. See how you feel when someone leaves you out.” The attendant was coming down the aisle with a tray of hot drinks, so Death gave Casey one more glare and disappeared, sucked up into the neighboring row’s air vent. The older couple in those seats shivered, fiddled with the knobs, and went back to what they were doing before.
Eric warmed up eventually, then wondered why he’d even worried about body temperature once they hit the ground in Dallas. “It must be eighty-five degrees down here.”
“At least.” Casey enjoyed the sun on her face as they walked out to their full-size rental car. “You driving?”
Marshland, Texas, was a sleepy town literally, as well as in a manner of speaking. It was past midnight by the time they had stopped for a very late dinner and pulled up in front of the only motel in town, which was a one-story, park-at-the-door type place. Eric wrinkled his nose, but Casey had slept in worse. Far worse.
“I got this.” Casey went into the office and asked for two rooms.
“How many nights?” The kid behind the desk was probably in high school. He wore a Skillet T-shirt and jeans that hung off his practically nonexistent butt. His hair was sandy brown and hung in his eyes, making him look young and sort of clueless. What he was doing manning a night desk was a mystery, but also not any of Casey’s business, so she didn’t ask.
“Not sure how long we’re staying. Can we let you know day by day?”
He shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. It’s not like we’re full up.” He took her cash and handed her two keys. “Rooms are around back. Quieter back there.”
“Thanks.” She put her wallet away. “Any chance you know Betsy Lackey?”
He nodded as he put her money in the cash drawer. “Sure. She’s Billy’s mom.”
“Know where they live?”
“Right downtown. Blue house on the corner by the stoplight.”
The stoplight. Not a specific stoplight. Just ‘the’ stoplight.
“She work days?”
“At the pharmacy, last I knew. Not sure exactly what she does there.”
“Married?”
“Well, yeah. He’s the physics teacher at the school.”
Again with the singular ‘the.’
“All right. Thanks.”
“How come you’re looking for Mrs. Lackey?”
“We called her today about her cousin.”
“Which one?”
Casey deliberated, then finally decided there was no reason not to tell him. “One from way back. She disappeared in the nineties.”
He went still, and his eyes opened wide. “Seriously? That one? She went to school with my dad. Did you find her?”
“So you know about her?”
“Do I—I mean—Sure. She’s the local legend. Well, her and Cyrus, you know, her old man. There’s all kinds of stories.”
“Like what?”
He leaned forward, his fingers spread on the counter. “They lived in a car, for one thing. And they were mixed up with bad folks.”