Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,7
you here in the morning, at…what time does your office open?”
“Eight.”
“Seven-thirty. And then we’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“We’ll go to the police station, and I’ll turn myself in.”
Chapter Four
Casey found a cheap motel on the edge of town, far from her old haunts, far from anything familiar, and in the morning she showed up at Don’s office, showered and wearing her last set of clean clothes, which, unfortunately, was a pale blue warm-up suit with white tennis shoes. Not exactly what one would choose to wear to confront the cops, but at least it was comfy, and she could move freely, should she need to.
Don was already at his office, and the front door was unlocked. He met her in the reception area, briefcase in hand, wearing a dark suit. At least one of them would look professional.
Death sat in Don’s waiting room, nose in a book, or, more accurately, in one of those new electronic tablets you can use to download things to read. Instead of a suit fit for court, Death wore footie pajamas with dancing bears on them.
“You ready?” Don said.
Casey stared at Death. “Seriously?”
Death blinked up at her. “What?”
“Um, yes,” Don said. “Look, I understand you’re nervous. But I believe it will be all right. Really.” He opened the door. “Shall we go?”
Only after they were in Don’s car with the doors shut did Death appear in the backseat, wearing a slightly more appropriate tan leisure suit and waggling the little computer beside Casey’s head. “This is amazing. Have you seen these things? It’s like a whole book in this skinny little pad.”
Casey looked out her window.
“Or, actually, it’s like hundreds of books. I’m never sure how to choose which one to read. This morning it’s that one about the girl, what’s her name, Scout? Her dad’s a lawyer, and there’s this guy they all think is guilty, and a weird neighbor who never comes outside and—”
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Casey said.
“What?” Don flicked his eyes toward her.
“That’s it!” Death said. “It’s a pretty good story.”
“Why are you talking about that?” Don said. “Because you think they’ve arrested an innocent man?”
Casey glared at Death, who settled back into the seat. “They have arrested an innocent man. Anyway, why else would I be talking about it?”
Death gave a little cough, and Casey felt herself go hot. She knew she was grumpy. Knew it wasn’t Don’s fault.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not exactly the world’s best company today.”
“To be expected.” Don smiled grimly. “It’s not every day you have to turn yourself in to the cops.”
She watched the houses go past. “You really think this will work?”
“I do. It was self-defense. You have a witness. The victim was a criminal.”
Casey closed her eyes and practiced some deep breathing she’d learned from her hapkido master. Speaking of whom, she wondered if he knew she was in town. He probably felt it somehow. He was like that.
“It was self-defense?” Don sounded casual, but Casey opened her eyes and could see how he was gripping the steering wheel.
“I swear. It was going to be me or him. And I didn’t mean to do it. It was his knife. Not mine.”
Don nodded once, sharply. “What I thought.”
The police station was gray and built onto the side of a hill. The perfect back wall for a building with a lock-up on the first floor. No way would anyone be getting out that way. Not unless they were half groundhog. Don pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. “Try to relax. Tell the truth, and it should be over soon.”
“Don, who are you trying to convince? I think you’re more worried than I am.”
“Could easily be.” He straightened his shoulders and gathered up his things. “Ready?”
They made their way to the building, Death walking right through the front doors, since the book—or reading device—was so fascinating. Casey, however, hesitated just outside, trying to picture Ricky’s face. That was all she needed to convince herself she was doing the right thing. Her little brother did not deserve to be in prison with a murder rap hanging over him. He’d never hurt anyone, let alone a woman he loved, either for self-defense or intentionally. All violent tendencies seemed to have manifested in his older sister.
The police receptionist looked up, and immediately punched a number on her phone. Casey stiffened. Was she about to be arrested? She looked at the posters on the walls, expecting to see a “wanted” sign with her face on it.