Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,8

and a heavy door to the left swung open. Casey spun around, instinctively balancing on her back leg, arms loose, ready for a pack of officers to charge through with drawn guns, or maybe they’d just go for a full-fledged SWAT team. Instead, a middle-aged man in a dark blue suit jacket and gray pants strode casually through the door, while a young, uniformed officer held it open. The suit jacket on the older guy didn’t look as good as Don’s; it was just a little bit shiny, and had gold buttons on the cuffs. It was wide, too, like the man had lost weight but hadn’t had the chance or the money to update his wardrobe. The pants were baggy, strengthening that theory, and his black shoes were scuffed. But he was clean and shaven and wore a tie—even though it was a little too fat and yellow.

The other cop was your typical young policeman. Dark blue uniform over a fit twenty-something body, shiny nameplate and shoes, wary eyes that couldn’t hide his curiosity. The sort of look that could make Casey want to either pinch his cheeks or just appreciate the view, if he hadn’t been waiting to arrest her.

“Don.” The man in the cheap suit held out his hand, and Don shook it.

“Thanks for seeing us, Lloyd.”

The man’s eyes sparkled, and his mouth twitched. “You’re welcome, I’m sure. Glad we could make the appointment.” He turned toward Casey, and the half-smile stayed on his lips. “Hello, Casey. Mrs. Maldonado. It’s good to see you again.”

Casey frowned, still thinking an armed take-down team must be hiding in the background. “Do I know you?”

“We met just after your accident. Detective Watts. I helped with the investigation, but wasn’t lead on it, since it took place outside the city limits.”

“I don’t remember.”

“There’s no reason you should. You had plenty of other things on your mind those days. I’m very sorry you had to go through that.”

Casey held still, not sure how to respond. He didn’t exactly sound like an arresting officer, or like he was even thinking of her as a potentially violent criminal. He sounded like he was giving her real condolences from a real person. Imagine that.

“Um, ‘thank you’ would probably be the appropriate response,” Death said, glancing over, a finger on the e-reader to keep a spot.

Casey swallowed, but didn’t get her voice to work before the detective was moving again.

“Shall we go through?” He held a hand toward the open door, where the uniformed cop made no secret of staring at Casey, like she was some specimen in the Crazy Wanted Killer Zoo. He apparently wasn’t sure if he should be ready to defend himself, or to chase her if she ran. Obviously not in the same camp as the detective. Casey felt like saying, “Boo!” but instead leveled her eyes at him, and he ducked his head, looking at the floor. Casey preceded the others through the door, then waited on the other side, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she stared at the scuffed gray walls.

“Punk,” Death said, pausing to look the young cop up and down. “Bet he doesn’t read at all, except for maybe Men’s Health.”

Casey thought that was probably true, but wasn’t ready to give the cop even that much credit.

“Right down here.” Watts led them to an interview room where there was a table bolted to the floor, four plastic chairs, and fluorescent lighting. Very flattering, Casey was sure. Her pale blue warm-up suit, along with the light, would be leaching any color from her face that might have found its way there overnight. But then, she wasn’t there to look good.

“Coffee?” Watts asked after Casey and Don had taken seats.

Don accepted, but Casey shook her head. Hot caffeine wouldn’t do anything for her rumbling stomach. Watts sent out the cop, who hurried back with two coffees, creamer, and sugar packs, along with water for Casey. Casey nodded her thanks, and the cop nodded back. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, after all. Just young, and inexperienced with dangerous criminals.

Watts took a sip of his coffee and made a face. “Terrible. Sorry about that, Don.”

“It’s fine.”

Watts grunted a laugh. “Whatever you say.” He pulled some of the creamer and sugar toward him, and took his time picking out a few packets.

“Ricky didn’t kill that girl,” Casey said.

The young cop jerked his head around, and Don widened his eyes, like he was trying to tell her to shut up. Watts picked