Dying Echo: A Grim Reaper Mystery (Grim Reaper Series)

by Clemens, Judy

  “Tired?” Death said.

  “Exhausted.”

  “Why don’t you take a nap? You could put sheets on the guest room bed.”

  “I want to finish cleaning. Then I’ll take a nap.”

  Death eyed the bedside stand and the dresser in the corner. “Think the cops took everything?”

  “You mean, Ricky might have hidden something they didn’t find?”

  “What if he did have questions about Alicia? What if he wasn’t telling you—or her—the complete truth? You saw how he hesitated when you asked him about her past.”

  Casey looked around the room. Where might Ricky have hidden something? She looked under the mattress, but that was a clichéd hiding place, and the police had certainly checked there. She looked for false drawers in the bedside table, extra walls in the closet, and behind the toilet in the master bath. She went through what shoe boxes were left in the closet—which actually held shoes—and each one of his dresser drawers. She found nothing but clothing, toilet articles, and condoms, which made her squirm. She threw them back in the bedside table.

  “Casey,” Death said. “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “Because seeing my brother’s birth control makes me queasy?”

  “No.”

  “Because I couldn’t find something trained law enforcement missed?”

  “No. Because you’re not using your noggin.”

  “My noggin.”

  Death knocked her head with a cold knuckle that didn’t knock so much as hiss.

  “What? Am I missing something?”

  “I think so. You remember how you knew exactly where to look for the house key when we got here?”

  “Yeah, because it’s the same place we hid it when we were—Oh. Duh.”

  “So where did Ricky hide his private things when he was a kid?”

  “You mean stuff he didn’t want me to find?”

  Death smiled. “That’s what private means. Don’t tell me you never found his stash.”

  “Of course I did. But he doesn’t know that, so don’t tell him.”

  Death made a zipping motion. “My lips are sealed.”

  Casey took off downstairs.

  “Not in his room?” Death slid past her, down the bannister.

  “First place I would have looked. He knew better.”

  “But you found it.”

  “Eventually. It took me a while, and then I had to be careful when and how often I’d check it, or he’d know.”

  She walked into the office, where Ricky had a desk—empty now of a computer or anything else useful—a reading chair, and—ta da—shelves lined with books.

  “He hid stuff in the library?” Death said, then giggled. “He did it in the library with the reading lamp.”

  Casey scanned the books, and found it on the second shelf. The Chronicles of Narnia. The boxed set that was released when she and Ricky were kids. She pulled the whole set down and sat in the chair.

  “I love those books,” Death said, and held out the ereader, which displayed the cover of Prince Caspian. “Which one was your favorite?”

  Casey didn’t answer. She was too busy sliding the books out of the box.

  “How could he fit anything in there?”

  “Doesn’t have to be much.”

  Casey set the books gently to the side and picked at the back with her fingernail. The cardboard stuck for a moment before coming free. When it did, a paper fluttered out.

  Death swooped in. “What does it mean?”

  “I have no idea.”

  It was a scrap of paper, obviously torn from a larger one. Two lines were written on it, each in a different color pen, like they’d been put there two separate times.

  Fine as cream gravy.

  Sharp as mashed potatoes.

  Death’s forehead furrowed. “He’s keeping track of clichés?”

  Casey didn’t answer, but dug in the back of the book box to peel one more thing from the hiding place. Another copy of that photo. The one of Ricky and Alicia at the restaurant.

  “Must be the only shot they had,” Death said. “Seems everybody’s got a copy.”

  Casey slid the photo into her pocket and left the dismantled book series to go to the kitchen. Death followed.

  Casey opened the pantry where the cleaning supplies were kept and dug around until she found a box for dustrags. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this when I was in here earlier.”

  “You’re going to dust now?”

  She opened the box and dumped out the rags to discover a Ziploc bag underneath. There were two things inside. One was a wrapped candy bar called a Chick-o-Sticks. The description under the name said it was a “Crunchy Peanut Butter and Toasted Coconut Candy.”

  “Ricky is a secret candy stasher?” Death said. “Was this a favorite or something?”

  Casey shook her head. “Never heard of it.”

  The second item was even more curious. It was a biography of Carol Burnett.

  Casey squatted and slumped against the wall. “I don’t get it.”

  “You will.”

  “You do already? Tell me!”

  “I have no idea. But I have faith in your power of deduction.”

  Casey was ready to give a smart reply when the doorbell rang.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Uh-oh,” Death said.

  Casey held her breath. Perhaps if she pretended she wasn’t there, the person would go away. But less than ten seconds later the doorbell rang again, followed by loud knocking. Death disappeared for a moment, then returned, trying not to laugh.

  “She knows you’re in here.”

  “Who?”

  “Ricky’s neighbor, from across the street. And she is a picture, let me tell you.”

  “Have I met her?”

  “Can’t tell you that, sweetheart. But if you did, it was before you and I started hanging out together. Here.” Death pulled out a digital camera and showed Casey a photo of a very colorful woman on Ricky’s front step. As she watched, the photo moved, presenting an image of the woman leaning over the side rail of the front steps to try to see in the front windows, as Death had at Casey’s mom’s.

  Casey sighed. “I guess I’d better go see what she wants before she falls on her noggin.”

  She stashed the candy and biography back in the dustrag box and stopped in the office to put the Narnia series back together. She left the photo and the slip of paper with clichés in her pocket. The doorbell kept chiming all the while, alternated with vigorous knocking. Casey opened the door during one of the lulls to receive a view of the woman’s rather large backside as she again bent over the rail to see in the window. The woman almost toppled over when she heard the door, but righted herself and turned to Casey with her hands outstretched. Casey recoiled. The woman’s fake eyelashes were so huge and thick it looked like she had spiders on her face. Her hair had been dyed a brilliant orange, and her lipstick was the color of a ripe tomato. Her caftan-like blouse-dress thing was a mixture of the brightest colors imaginable, and her feet were bare, with several rings on brightly painted toes. It was like a circus has landed on the doorstep.

  “Are you the cleaning lady?” she asked Casey.

  Death laughed.

  “No,” Casey said.

  “Oh, I thought…” the woman gestured at Casey’s pale blue warm-ups and the dustrag she’d stuck in her pocket during her search. Casey had to admit she saw her point.

  “Police?” the woman tried again.

  “No, I’m—”

  “Another girlfriend?”

  “I’m Ricky’s sister.”

  The woman stopped short. “His sister? He has a sister?”

  “I haven’t been around much lately. I don’t live here.”

  “And where do you live?”

  Casey frowned. “Who are you?”

  The woman clapped a hand to her mouth and laughed uproariously. “You must think I’m terrible. I am. I’m awful. I’m also Geraldine, and I live
over there. I moved in last year, came from Vegas, can you imagine?” She pointed a long, crimson fingernail toward the house across the street, where pink flamingoes and oversized whirligigs filled the small lawn. The house would have been normal otherwise, except for the bright orange shutters and the life-sized buffalo statue in between the house and garage. “I’ve just been devastated about what’s happened, and wanted to know if there’s anything I can do to help. That’s why I came over. There hasn’t been anybody here since the police—those horrible people!—left yesterday. They took things out, you know. Ricky’s computer and his phone and sheets and who knows what else. Like they really think he could have done anything to that sweet girl.”

  “You knew her?”

  Geraldine opened her mouth to say something else, but then stopped and peered over Casey’s shoulder into the house.

  “You know what she wants,” Death said. “Might as well go with it, if you’re thinking of getting any information out of her. If she has some, she’ll share it if the circumstances are right. Which basically means she needs to feel a part of things.”

  Casey wanted to shut the door on the woman’s face, but instead she said, “Would you like to come in?” with what she hoped was a welcoming voice.

  “I hate to impose,” Geraldine said as she shouldered past. She lumbered right through the foyer into the kitchen and around the side to the living room where she plopped herself down on the sofa. She situated herself where she had a view of the side and front yards, then crossed her ankles and placed her hands in her lap, like a genteel southern belle. “I only met the girl once, you see, and it wasn’t here. The two of them were at the grocery store, picking out fruit, and I went right up and introduced myself. She was a pretty little thing, wasn’t she, and Ricky looked so happy!”

  “Did she tell you her name?”

  “Of course, which is more than you’ve done.” She looked at Casey knowingly.

  “Casey.”

  “Well, Casey, Ricky introduced her as Alicia and said they were getting snacks for watching a movie that night. Now, isn’t that romantic?”

  Sounded pretty normal to Casey, but what did she know?

  “I never saw her here,” Geraldine continued. “I’m not sure why. I pretty much know everything that happens on this block, and why Ricky never brought her home is a mystery to me. They were holding hands and looking at each other all lovey-dovey when I ran into them at the store. It’s not like she was hideous or deformed or anything. She looked like a nice, normal girl.”

  “Most girls do.”

  “Well, that’s true. But the things I’ve seen!” She fanned herself with her hand. “Delivery men staying longer than they should, girls out running with hardly a stitch on, people, you know, doing it, in their yards at night. It’s enough to make a grown woman blush.”

  The thought of this woman adding one more color to her palette made Casey shudder.

  “But Ricky and his girl—woman, I suppose I should say, you know, to be what they call politically correct—they acted in love, not in lust, if you know what I mean. Very sweet, actually. It made me remember my young days, when I first met my Arthur.”

  Casey groaned inwardly. Was this woman really going to go on about her past? But no…

  “I saw Ricky come home that night, you know. The night the girl was murdered. Late, of course. But he looked completely normal. At least, what I could see through his car window, and when he got out of the car before the garage door closed. I really think I would have noticed blood or torn clothing or even if he looked upset.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Geraldine smiled, her expression going all dreamy. “Happy.”

  It was like a punch to Casey’s solar plexus. Her poor brother. He might have been happy then, but the next morning it was like his world had exploded. But that’s how life worked. One moment you were content, feeling like nothing could touch you, and the next…

  “Relaxed,” Geraldine said again. “Like those nights when Arthur and I had been, you know, intimate—”

  “Aah!” Death screamed.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Geraldine?” Casey said, hoping she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

  “Oh, you don’t need to do anything for me,” Geraldine said, not even fazed by the interruption. “But I think there’s something I can do for you.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She smiled mysteriously. “I can tell you about the man who showed up here at your brother’s house the day after she died.”

  Casey gripped her chair’s arms. “What man? And do the police know about him?”

  “Of course they do. I told them right away. He was a bad man, I could tell. He had that look in his eye.”

  “You saw him up close?”

  “Of course I did. He was over at Ricky’s house after Ricky went to work. This was before we knew anything had happened to his girlfriend, you know. The man was wearing a uniform, like from a home repair place or something like that. Hometown Interiors, the patch said. I wasn’t able to find them anywhere in the phone book, but you know how things are these days, with cell phones. If you don’t have a landline you have to move heaven and earth to get your name in the yellow pages.”

  “What did the man say?”

  “Well, I watched him go right around the back of the house, and when I didn’t see him for a while I went over. He was just coming out, and I asked him what he was doing. He was very polite, I must say, but like I said, his eyes were all wrong. He said he was fixing something in Ricky’s bathroom, that Ricky had left the back door open for him, which I suppose could be right because we live in a very safe neighborhood, and people do that sort of thing.”

  “What did the police say?”

  “They checked on him, said it was a legitimate business, and there was paperwork and on-line correspondence to corroborate what he said.”

  Ricky hadn’t said anything about a repairman. But then, when Casey had seen him that afternoon he wasn’t exactly in the state of mind to be talking about his bathroom. And she hadn’t known to ask.

  “I called again the next day to ask the police about the man,” Geraldine said, “but they brushed me off, said they’d already gone down that avenue. I told them—”

  Casey got up and walked to the bathroom on the first floor. Geraldine skittered along behind, watching over Casey’s shoulder. There was no sign of any recent work. No stickers on the window, no unmatched wood or fresh paint. And when she had cleaned the room there hadn’t been any sawdust or dirty footprints. Nothing but regular bathroom grime and fingerprint dust.

  They trooped upstairs, but there were no signs of new repair or construction in that bathroom, either.

  “That man wasn’t working on anything,” Geraldine gushed. “But he spent quite some time in here. What do you suppose he was doing?”

  There was no way to be sure, but Casey figured she had a good idea. He was planting things. Things like bloody shirts and paper trails.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Time to hound the cops?”

  Geraldine had gone back home—after Casey gave several varied and right-out blunt hints that she really should—and Death held out a phone that now looked like a Droid.

  Exhausted, Casey lay on the couch in Ricky’s living room, feeling grimy and dusty. “It doesn’t sound like speaking to law enforcement would do any good. Geraldine’s already told them everything I could.”

  “Not about Ricky’s stash.”

  “Like they’d care about a few scribbled sayings, stale candy, and a biography of a comedienne. What I need is hard evidence, not stuff that has no meaning to anyone but Ricky.”

  “So you need to ask Ricky what it means.”

  “Don’t you think I realize that? It’s not like I can just call him up and ask.”

  Death stepped away, hands up. “Just trying to be helpful.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven-thirty. Why? Hu
ngry?”

  “Well, yes, but it’s also about time for Bailey to get off work. She said I could check with her about Alicia’s faked job application.”

  “Perfect. You can grab supper while you’re there.”

  “Not. I’d rather go hungry. You coming?”

  Ricky’s car had been taken away by the cops, so Casey strapped her bag onto her back, jumped on Ricky’s bicycle, and headed to the other side of town, Death keeping pace on an airborne Segway. Casey made it to the Slope just before closing and waited outside. When Bailey appeared, it took Casey a moment to recognize her. She’d changed into a different tight shirt, this one with open buttons revealing cleavage, and a clean pair of skinny jeans. She’d obviously made a stop in the bathroom to put on fresh make-up, and her hair was loose, falling around her face.

  She headed for her car, confident in high heeled boots, and slid into the driver’s seat. Casey got into the passenger side just as Bailey inserted her key in the ignition.

  Bailey yelped and laid her hand on her chest. “Geez, you scared me.”

  “Sorry. Didn’t think you’d want your manager to see you talking to me.”

  “Yeah, he was awfully crabby this afternoon. I think it’s all getting to him.”

  “Did you find it?”

  Bailey looked blank for a moment before understanding lit her eyes and she dug in her purse. “It’s been a long day. I forgot for a second what it was you wanted. But here it is.”

  Just one side of one sheet of paper. Alicia’s job application. “You need it back?”

  “Nah. I made a copy while Karl was out.”

  Casey scanned the form. It was everything she feared. All lies, nothing that would help. At least not at first sight.

  “So did you get in to see him?” Bailey’s hand waved in front of Casey’s face, like she’d been trying to get her attention, but had failed.