Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,62
works second shift, so the best time to catch him is early afternoon.”
They found the diner, had a good breakfast, and were in the middle of “downtown” by eight-thirty. The pharmacy was open, so they walked down the street and into the store.
“Can I help you?” a woman said.
Casey turned to reply, but was struck dumb. The woman at the counter was the spitting image of Alicia McManus.
Chapter Twenty-six
“Can I help you?” the woman said again.
Eric glanced at Casey, then stepped forward. “Yes, you and I talked on the phone yesterday. I’m Eric VanDiepenbos. This is Casey Maldonado.”
The woman’s face went blank for just a second, until recognition hit. “About Lizzie? But…weren’t you in Colorado?”
“Yes, we flew in late last night.”
“You didn’t email me the photo you promised.”
“Sorry, we headed out as soon as we could get plane tickets. We thought we should come and see what we could find out.”
“But what if it’s not even Lizzie? You made the trip for nothing.”
“We didn’t.” Casey found her voice. “You look just like her.”
Betsy Lackey paled and sat down on a high stool behind the counter. Her mouthed worked, and she pressed her hand against it.
“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “Here she is.” She pulled out the picture of Alicia, and Ricky and laid it on the counter.
Betsy’s eyes filled. “Oh, God. Even after all these years.” She touched the photo gently. “She looks the same. She looks…like me.” Tears dribbled down her cheeks. Eric found a tissue carton on the counter and handed her a Kleenex. She held it scrunched in her hand as she stared dumbly at the picture.
“Betsy?” An older woman appeared in one of the aisles, and walked toward the counter.
Betsy slid the photo into her lap and turned it over.
The woman looked from Eric and Casey to Betsy. “Is everything all right?”
“I…” Betsy shook her head. “May I have a few minutes?”
“Of course. Do you need me to do anything? Are these people bothering you?” She looked suddenly afraid. “It’s not Billy, is it?”
“No, no, Billy’s fine.” Betsy managed a wobbly smile. “It’s something else. Can I talk with them somewhere?”
“Use the lunch room.”
Betsy nodded and came out from behind the counter. Eric followed. Casey felt the woman’s eyes on her, and hesitated. “I’m sorry to disturb her.”
The woman’s concern seemed genuine, her eyes reflecting only care for Betsy, plus maybe a little anger that Casey had caused her pain. “Is there something I can do?”
“I’m sure she’ll let you know.” Casey followed the others to the back of the store, into a cheerful room with a table, refrigerator, and sink. Betsy was already sitting, and she looked up as Casey closed the door. Finally, she wiped her face, and sat straight.
“Tell me, please.”
Eric looked at Casey, and she sighed. It really was her story to tell, more than his. Casey sat down across the table and explained that her brother had been Alicia’s boyfriend, and that’s how she’d gotten involved. She recounted what she knew about Alicia’s death—downplaying the torture and rape—and everything she and Eric had found out about her life, including the fact that Ricky was in jail for her murder even though nobody in her personal life believed he could be responsible. She left out the part that that circle of people could be counted on one hand.
Betsy listened with obvious confusion. “She was using the name Alicia McManus? Why?”
“Weren’t the cops looking for her in connection with her father’s death?”
“Not for years, and never really seriously. She was a kid, not a killer. A sweet kid, too. Funny, smart. She always got good grades, even though—” She made a face.
“I was wondering about that,” Casey said. “How you could be so close to her, and yet she and her dad lived in a car.”
Betsy’s eyes flicked up to Casey’s. “Listen, we offered lots of times. Told Uncle Cyrus we had plenty of room—he was my dad’s brother, you know. He knew they were welcome in our house. My dad used to say at least Uncle Cyrus should let Lizzie stay, even if he didn’t want to. I think he would have let her, but Lizzie didn’t want to leave him.”
“Why wouldn’t he just move in?”
“Pride, I guess. Didn’t want to take charity. Not even from his own brother. My dad about went crazy trying to convince him. After he got…after he died, my dad couldn’t forgive himself for not insisting. We kept telling him he’d tried. He’d done everything he could. Uncle