Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,92
But nothing could happen quicker than if she just waited until everyone was awake—Betsy, Chief Kay, her lawyer Don, even Ricky. “Okay, in the morning. I guess now you should let your wife know you haven’t skipped town.”
“She wouldn’t think that.”
“Great, so she thinks you’re dead.”
He yanked his arm from her grip. “Can I go now?”
“You need to tell the cops tomorrow morning.”
“I will.”
“First thing.”
“I said I will.”
Casey let him go, watching as he flickered from lamp to lamp along the path, until he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Casey ran back toward the motel, every fiber in her being wanting to make a detour past Betsy’s house to scour the blueprints. No one had ever considered the blueprints, because no one knew they were there, except Betsy, and she just figured they were old portfolio type things for Cyrus. She’d gotten them after the investigation was over and had stuck them in the attic. Billy didn’t know. Robbie didn’t know. And, most importantly, the three men didn’t know.
But Casey knew. And she was going to be at Betsy’s door at the break of dawn, demanding to be shown the thing that could get her brother out of prison. She shook herself. No, the blueprints couldn’t get him out of prison—they wouldn’t say anything about the murder up in Colorado. But they were going to point her toward the people who killed Elizabeth Mann. She knew they would. Somehow.
With each footfall, Casey felt something within her rising up. Something foreign. Something new. Something almost like…hope.
No. It couldn’t be that.
Could it?
By the time she arrived at the motel it was almost two. She remembered in time to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake Eric, and shut her door quietly.
“Where have you been?” Death stood in the middle of the room, fists on hips.
“Like you couldn’t have found me.”
Death frowned. “I couldn’t find you.”
“What?”
“I was going to see what you were up to. Join you, hang out, help with clues, like always. But it was like…like you’d closed me off.”
“Seriously?”
“Casey…” Death was like a statue. “Do you want to live?”
Casey took a long, deep breath. Did she? Did she really feel like living another day would be a good thing? Something she should look forward to?
“I don’t know. I think…maybe.”
“Casey…what does this mean?”
“You tell me. You’re the supernatural being.”
“I couldn’t find you. How supernatural is that?”
“It’s not. It’s just weird.”
Death flickered, like a bad hologram in a science fiction movie.
“Oh, God,” Death said. “Are you deserting me?”
Casey stepped forward, reaching for Death.
And Death disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Casey woke Eric at six. He came to the door in a wrinkled T-shirt and shorts.
“Come on,” Casey said. “We’ve got things to do.”
He blinked. “Can I have a few minutes?”
“Make it quick.”
Nine and a half minutes later, during which Casey was completely alone except for the cars passing on the other side of the motel, they were walking very quickly downtown.
Eric smoothed down his still-wet hair. “Where are we going?”
Casey explained what she’d found out the night before. Eric listened, then said, “What do you think we’re going to find?”
“What could we find in designs for houseboats?”
“I think it’s obvious. Hidden compartments for smuggling. We’re right across the Gulf from Cuba, and that was the early nineties. All kinds of stuff went down then with smuggling. People coming over illegally, cops taking down boats full of drugs, causing tons of deaths on both sides, all sorts of violence and betrayal and theft. Nasty stuff.”
Casey remembered Robbie talking about smuggling when they’d first gotten to the hotel, although he was talking partly about human trafficking. “I guess it depends how big the boat is.”
“Or how big the inventory is. Could have been anything. Drugs. Cigars. Diamonds. Even cash. You could squeeze a lot of those things in small spaces.”
“But don’t they usually use speed boats to smuggle? Or bigger yacht-type things? Houseboats aren’t exactly fast, or even seaworthy, not out in the middle of the ocean.”
“Guess we’ll have to see what’s on the plans.”
They arrived at the Betsy and Scott’s house. A light was on in one of the upstairs rooms, so they wouldn’t be waking everyone. Casey rapped lightly on the door, and listened for footsteps. When they didn’t come, she tried again, a little louder.
The door opened, and Scott stood there, looking much like Eric had twenty minutes earlier, in shorts and a stretched-out T-shirt. “You’re up already?”
“So are you.”
He smiled. “True.”
“Can we come in? Is Betsy up?”
“Sorry, of course, come in. I’m not quite awake. I’ll go get