Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,89

no fun, and I don’t even live in a house.”

“You have a house.”

“In Colorado. What is that? A thousand miles from Ohio?”

“A little more, actually. But I don’t care. I can leave Ohio.”

“To live with a crabby, damaged woman you’ve known for less than a month, and who you had to get out of police custody? Twice.”

“Yes.”

She stepped back. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe. But I’m also right.”

“About what?”

“You could be nicer, sure. But that’s fixable. You need me to tag along.” His lips tightened, like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure he should. Or even could.

“Eric…” Casey put her hand up, to rest it on his chest, but at the last second she dropped it and turned to her room. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m no good for you. Not long-term.”

She unlocked her room, fumbling with the key and almost dropping it.

“Casey, please—”

“Goodnight, Eric.”

She finally got the door unlocked and practically fell into the room, bolting the door behind her and leaning against it, pressing her hand against her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.

“You really are a mess, aren’t you?” Death turned on an old reel-to-reel projector. “Look. I got that whole scene on tape. You can analyze it and see where you went wrong.”

Casey stared at the images on the wall, of her and Eric, standing so close together just moments before. She strode forward and thrust her hand through the projector, causing it and the image on the wall to waver.

“Can’t you ever leave me be? Can’t I ever have a moment to deal with my emotions on my own?”

Death looked at her, not without kindness. “Apparently not, my love.”

Casey ran into the bathroom, where she locked herself in until she woke up on the floor several hours later, cold, and with a crick in her neck.

Chapter Thirty-seven

It was quiet in the bathroom, but really, really uncomfortable. Casey sat on the side of the tub, rolled her neck a few times, and decided she ought to find a better place to sleep. Her room was empty, thank God, and the stupid projector was gone. She undressed and climbed into bed.

And lay there, awake.

Where was Wayne? And why on earth did he disappear all day? Had someone taken him? Or worse? Or had this all become too much to deal with, the history, and his wife’s jealousy, and now the death of someone he had once loved? Or perhaps still loved?

Casey squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force herself to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, she was no longer thinking about Wayne, but about Eric asleep in the next room. Or possibly not asleep. That certainly wasn’t going to relax her.

She got up, put on running clothes, and slipped out into the night. She began jogging without a destination, glad simply to be on her own. Her feet pounded the pavement, and her body loosened up quickly in the warmth of the night. It had cooled since earlier in the day, but still she was slick with sweat within minutes. She ran up and down the residential streets, passing Betsy and Scott’s, and then the Greers’. She wondered if Wayne had returned; there was a light on in an upstairs room. Either he was home and they were hashing out the implications of the past twenty-four hours, or his poor wife was waiting up. Casey considered stopping to check, but decided it really wasn’t any of her business, and Wayne’s wife—whatever her name was—was capable of calling the cops if she thought it necessary. She wouldn’t welcome another intrusion on her life by people who were concerned with the fate of Elizabeth Mann.

Casey ran through downtown, past the pharmacy, the bank, the school. And then she found herself retracing the path to the park, where Elizabeth and her father had lived for those last months, before Elizabeth’s life was turned upside-down and his had ended. The park was quiet now, no parents and toddlers, no dogs, no school kids arguing over who would be on which team. The lamps along the path shone brightly, and Casey felt almost like she was being followed by a spotlight.

She was glad when she neared the relative privacy of the spot where Cyrus Mann had bled out. She ducked off the path toward the broken-up asphalt, where enough light found its way through the trees that she could see at least the outlines of her surroundings. There was still no sign, of course, that the Manns had ever been there. No bloodstain on the gravel,