Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,80
went through the car they couldn’t think of anything that was missing.”
“So when she ran, she was really doing just that. No coming back for stuff.” It wasn’t hard for Casey to imagine the fear, or the grief. Watching her father die, knowing her own life was at risk. Running away with his blood on her clothes. “I wish we could go back. Protect her. Protect them both.”
“World would be a different place if we could do that.”
Casey felt suddenly chilled, and slipped her hand into Eric’s. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He squeezed her hand, and his warmth flowed up her arm, until she was ready to leave that place. Soon, without having to discuss it, they let go of each other and walked back to Eric’s car.
Nobody tried to keep them within the town limits, and no one followed as they drove. Eric’s phone stayed quiet while they had a pleasant dinner at a family seafood restaurant, and they didn’t talk much until they’d finished eating and were back in the car.
“Now what?” Eric pointed the car back toward Marshland.
“Nap?”
“I wish. Bed sounds good.” He immediately went red, and Casey felt herself go hot, as well.
“Sleep will come soon enough,” she said, trying not to show her discomfort, and failing miserably, she was sure. “How about Betsy? Should we go by her place and see if she was able to get a hold of any relatives?”
“Sure. Sounds great.”
They drove in silence until they parked in front of Betsy’s house.
“Casey—”
But she couldn’t talk about what was happening between them. Not then. Maybe not ever. She got out of the car and walked up to Betsy’s door. Once she rang the doorbell she heard Eric’s car door close, and his footsteps come up the walk.
A man answered the door. “Oh, you must be Casey and…Eric, is it? It’s them, honey!” he called toward the back of the house. “I’m Scott, Betsy’s husband. Well, that’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” He laughed. “Kind of weird if I wasn’t, huh? Come on in.” He wore khakis, a light blue, button-down shirt, and slightly crooked wire-rimmed glasses. He was in stocking feet, and his dark hair stuck up in the back, cowlicks gone wild. “We’re just finishing up dinner. Are you hungry?”
“Just ate, thanks.”
“Come on back, if you don’t mind watching us eat. It’s not always pretty.” He grinned and led them back through the dining room to the kitchen. Amusement lit Eric’s eyes, and Casey herself found it hard not to laugh. It didn’t seem exactly kosher to be giggling, what with Betsy’s long-lost cousin being dead and all, and Casey’s brother in prison, but Scott exuded a cloud of good cheer. Her heart lightened—in a completely different way from when she looked at Eric—and she wondered what Scott would be like on a normal day. They’d probably all be on the floor, clutching their sides.
Betsy sat at the table with a teenage boy and a young girl. Casey couldn’t remember their names, but just from looking at them it was obvious they were related to Elizabeth. The girl looked just like her mother—and, therefore, her aunt—and the boy was basically a younger version of Cyrus. It was eerie how familial characteristics could hop from great-uncle to great-nephew, and she wondered if Betsy even saw it.
Scott pulled a couple of chairs in from the dining room and made room at the small table. The remnants of baked spaghetti and garlic bread looked good, even though Casey was full, and she wondered how long it had been since she’d had an actual home-cooked meal.
“So you’re the ones who found Aunt Lizzie?” the boy said.
“Billy!” Betsy went to touch his arm, then jerked her hand back and clenched her hands in her lap.
Billy. Casey remembered now. And the girl’s name was something different. Julie? Janie? Junie.
Casey looked into the boy’s face and saw some of the same strength—and uncertainty—she’d met in a whole group of teens a couple of weeks earlier. Those strong-willed Kansans had proven to her that young people deserved answers. And truth. Even if they were a mess of rampaging hormones. “We didn’t actually find her, Billy. Her landlord did. But we figured out who she was.”
“And she’s dead?”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “She was gone before I was born.”
“Yes, I know. I never met her, either.”
“Then why do you care who killed her?”
Junie was listening with wide eyes, her mouth slightly open, as if it was taking all her