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

by Clemens, Judy

  The waitress came with their lunches, hamburgers and fries for everyone but Betsy, who got a small salad that she didn’t even touch. Wayne picked up his burger, then set it down and wiped his hands absently on his napkin.

  “So you don’t think Cyrus was into anything illegal?” Casey asked.

  “I can’t imagine it. He was a straight shooter. Wouldn’t take charity—wanted to pay his own way, which is supposedly why they lived in a car. He didn’t drink, didn’t do drugs, there weren’t any other women…” He looked down at the table for moment, but then shrugged. “Liz didn’t seem to mind too much, about the car. She’d spend nights at Betsy’s sometimes, and I know he and Liz went to the church to sleep when it got super cold that one week.”

  Betsy started. “Really? I didn’t know. Oh, why wouldn’t they come stay with us?”

  “You know why. And like I said, I think Liz was okay with ‘camping out’ most of the time. She used the showers at school, and only slept in the car. She could study at one of our houses, or the library. She was okay. I think she felt like she sort of had to take care of her dad, ever since Vivian died. That pretty much destroyed him.”

  Betsy frowned and crossed her arms, shaking her head.

  “Back to these men,” Casey said. “Any idea what work Cyrus was doing for them?”

  “Something temporary. He kept telling Liz it was just for a while, then those men would be gone. It was something he was good at, probably to do with woodworking. He was a master craftsman, people were lucky if they got something built by him.”

  “Woodworking? That doesn’t sound criminal.”

  “I told you, it wouldn’t have been. Not with Cyrus.”

  Casey spun the photo around and looked at it again. Elizabeth—Alicia at the time of her death—had said it was the Three. It had to mean these three men, didn’t it? “Were these guys questioned after Cyrus was murdered?”

  “Maybe. I hadn’t seen them around for a while. Cyrus went out of town sometimes, I guess to work, and Liz seemed to think Cyrus’ time with them was almost done. I’ve never seen them since Cyrus died.”

  “She’d stay with me those nights Uncle Cyrus was gone,” Betsy said. “He told her she wouldn’t be able to hang out at the work site. I was always glad when she came, but it wasn’t often enough.”

  Eric pulled out his notes. “We didn’t see anything in the newspaper articles about these guys, or about the cops even questioning anybody but Elizabeth. In fact, the media got on the Marshland cops for not knowing what they were doing.”

  “Yeah, well.” Wayne frowned. “That was the big time folks thinking they knew more than people they considered hicks. The cops here did everything they could. They knew Cyrus and Liz, so it’s not like they didn’t want to catch whoever did it. They talked to all of us, all of their family, everyone Cyrus ever worked for. But there was nothing to go on. Forensics weren’t the same then as they are now, and the stuff they had just took them nowhere. The bullet couldn’t be matched to any guns, there weren’t any unknown fingerprints on the car—”

  “How do they know that?”

  “We all got fingerprinted,” Betsy said. “All their friends and family. And there weren’t any prints they couldn’t match to people who had a reason to be in or around the car.”

  “Like people they knew couldn’t have done it,” Death said. “You humans are so loyal. Or stupid. Any luck finding that quarter?”

  “There were tons of calls from people who thought they saw Lizzie after that,” Betsy continued. “You know, like on cop shows when they set up a line for information. But none of them ever panned out. They were mostly cranks. After a few months the calls stopped coming, and the cops stopped looking.”

  “They didn’t stop look—”

  “Wayne, they stopped.”

  He picked at the placemat that was now sodden from his glass. “What else were they going to do? They put her photo all around, all over the Internet, you know, at least as much as there was. Facebook wasn’t around yet—there really wasn’t anything like social media, unless you count faxing her picture to cops all over the country. But what else were they going to do? They couldn’t buy space on milk cartons for the next however many years it’s been since she left.”

  Like he didn’t know the exact number of years—or perhaps months, or even days. The knowledge was there to read in his eyes, and in the lines beside his mouth.

  “But that begs another question,” Casey said. “She wasn’t here, but she was obviously alive.”

  Wayne looked from the photo of Alicia and Ricky to Betsy. “She really did look just like you.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  They had a sad moment together as they gazed at the picture.

  “So where would a fourteen-year-old go?” Casey said. “She would have no license, no vehicle, probably not much money.” It sounded, in fact, a lot like Casey’s first days on the road, before the settlement had loaded her bank account. Except she’d been a grown woman with resources no teenager would have. “Relatives? Friends somewhere else?”

  “They would have told us,” Betsy said. “You don’t take in a girl and not tell her family where she’s gone. Especially not when her father has just been murdered.”

  “Or maybe that’s exactly why they didn’t tell,” Casey said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We don’t know where Elizabeth was the night Cyrus died. What if she saw the whole thing? What if Cyrus’ killers knew she was there? She wouldn’t be safe anywhere. She would have to stay completely hidden. Even if that meant someone not telling.”

  “But after all this time? Surely they would have said something by now.”

  “Because the danger had passed? Somehow I don’t think it had.” She met Betsy’s eyes, and Betsy stifled a sob. Obviously the danger hadn’t passed. Not if Elizabeth’s death was connected to whatever had happened in Marshland back in the 90’s.

  “We don’t know that her…her murder had anything to do with this,” Wayne said. “It could have been something else. Some random killer. After this many years she couldn’t have been afraid of them anymore. Why would they still be looking for her? It’s been so long.”

  “So why didn’t she come home?”

  “Any number of reasons. She’d found somewhere better. She’d found someone.” He used a finger to flick the photo of her and Ricky across the table. “I don’t know. Maybe she just didn’t want to come back to the place where her father died. Or maybe she was glad for a new start and was happy to be rid of us all.”

  His voice rose, betraying his anger and hurt. His old girlfriend, whom he’d been grieving for years, had been alive and well—and hadn’t told him. Casey could only imagine how much that would sting.

  Eric broke the awkward silence. “Betsy, would you have a list of family or friends she might have run to after Cyrus’ death?”

  She nodded, her face white and tired, as if the past few hours had aged her. No doubt she was feeling the same betrayal as Wayne.

  “What about the police who worked on the case?” Eric asked. “Are any of them around anymore?”

  Wayne and Betsy looked at each other. “I suppose,” Wayne finally said. “Not all of them, of course. I guess the chief was here—but was just an officer. And there were only a few others. Like the papers made very clear back then, this isn’t a huge department.”

  Betsy got up. “I’ll go home and see what I can find. Should I call you at the motel?”

  “My cell phone,” Eric said. “Do you still have the number?” He wrote it out for her, just in case, and also for Wayne. Wayne reciprocated with his own, then scooted out after Betsy, leaving his hamburger and fries. “I should go to work in a couple of hours, but I can skip if there’s something I can do. Want me to go by the police department?”

  “No,” Casey said. “Thanks. What is the chief’s name, though?”

  “Kay. Chief Kay. Been around since I was a kid. What else?”

  “No
t sure at this point. We’ll be in touch.”

  Betsy was standing quietly beside the table, almost as if she were in a trance. Wayne touched her back, and she jerked, instantly alert. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just…” She stopped talking and walked out the door.

  Wayne watched her go. “It’s been hard on Betsy. She waited for Liz for a long time, they were best friends, you know, besides being cousins. She always believed. Never could quite accept that Liz was gone for good.” He tapped the table with a finger, and followed Betsy out the door.

  “Well?” Eric said.

  Casey waited until Wayne had walked past the window, head down, hands in pockets. “I guess I believe them both. Betsy acted like the three men were complete strangers, and Wayne didn’t seem to think much of them.” She paused. “They’re both hurt and angry.”

  “That’s what happens when people you love disappear with no explanation.”

  Casey scooted sideways. “I had an explanation.”

  He looked at her innocently. “Oh, were we talking about you?”

  Casey shook her head and finished up her food. When they were both done they eyed Wayne’s burger. “Want it?” Eric asked.

  “I already feel like a bucket of grease.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  Casey looked around, expecting Death to put in the usual whining bid for food that was earthly and unattainable, but the booth behind them was empty. The mini juke box, however, was lit up, playing Sarah McLachlan’s song I Will Remember You. The song wasn’t even on the playlist.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Eric paid the bill, beating Casey to the punch, and they left the little restaurant. The heat hit them like a wave, and Eric pulled his shirt from his stomach. “You didn’t want Wayne to give us an introduction at the police station?”

  “We go in there, they’re going to contact the police in Colorado. Then what happens?”

  They meandered down the street, discussing their next move.

  “We need to let the cops in on it sometime,” Eric said. “They have resources we don’t. They could make these connections. They might even be able to find those men.”

  Casey stopped and watched a mockingbird pecking at something in the grass. “I know you’re right. It’s just, cops and I, we haven’t exactly…”

  “Been on the same side for a while?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Do you feel the same about retired cops?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If one of the cops from back then became chief, that must mean—”

  “—that chief would be retired. Unless he’s dead.”

  “Nice.”

  Casey looked around, hoping to be able to ask Death if the former chief had crossed Death’s path, and she went still. She’d seen a man just for a moment before he’d ducked into a doorway. He wore jeans, a gray sweatshirt, running shoes, and sunglasses. He was about Eric’s height, fair-skinned, with blond hair, and he was trim. Late twenties, maybe. And he was obviously spying on them. She turned back toward the mockingbird, although she was not really interested in watching it, anymore. “Don’t look around, Eric. I mean, act normal, all right?”

  Eric tensed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Casey turned up the sidewalk and resumed walking the way they’d been going. “Come on.”

  Eric trotted to catch up. “I’m not looking. What is it?”

  “We’re being followed. Don’t look.”

  “Followed? How do you know?”

  Casey didn’t answer, instead taking Eric’s elbow and leading him down the street that headed to their motel. She tried to make it look like they were just out for a walk, with her hand on the crook of his elbow, but in reality she had an iron grip on his arm so he wouldn’t be tempted to turn around. It wouldn’t be a secret where they were staying, not in a town that size, so having someone follow them to the motel wouldn’t matter.

  “Who is it?” Eric’s voice was tight.

  “Don’t know.”

  “But what if it’s one of them? One of those three men?”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Seriously? Don’t worry? That’s why you’re cutting off the blood circulation in my arm?”

  “It will be fine.”

  The pharmacy where Betsy worked sat at the end of the block. A safe place. Casey eased Eric in that direction, and they went inside.

  The woman who had given Betsy the afternoon off was behind the counter. It took her only a second to recognize them. “Is Betsy with you?”

  “No, she needed to go home and check something.”

  The woman frowned. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Maybe, thanks. We’ll let you know.”

  Casey pulled Eric down an aisle, and heard the woman greet someone else and start talking. It was a one-sided conversation. Casey peeked back and saw she was on the phone, probably calling Betsy.

  “Stay here a minute,” Casey told Eric. She snuck back toward the front of the store and looked out the window from a protected space in the aisle. No one passed the window or entered the store, so Casey figured whoever was following them had settled in to wait. Casey went back to Eric. “Distract the woman when she gets off the phone, okay?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  But Casey was already walking to the back of the store. She made sure to keep shelves between herself and the cashier, and looked for another way out. There had to be a second door for fire codes, even if it wasn’t used as a public entrance. A tall counter ran the width of the store at the back wall, with a gate to the skinny hallway on the far right side. A man with white hair and a lab coat peered over reading glasses at a computer screen, holding a medicine bottle in one hand and poking at the keyboard with the other. He gave a little grunt, then swiveled the other way and disappeared behind a rack of bottles and boxes.

  Casey stepped over the gate and walked quickly back the little hallway, past an empty office, a tiny bathroom—“Employees Only”—and the break room where they’d sat before. Beyond that was an exterior door that said, “Emergency Exit.” She pushed the bar, and went out. No alarms sounded. Typical.

  She eased the door shut and walked down the alley, back in the direction they’d come. The pharmacy was part of a bank of brick buildings with no opening between them to the street, so hopefully no chance of being seen by their stalker. When she got to the end of the row, she looked around the corner, but the side street was empty except for two moms talking to each other while one toddler pulled on her mom’s hand and another leaned over to spit very slowly onto the sidewalk. Casey didn’t want to take a chance of still being in front of whoever was following them, so she continued across the street, walked behind a row of houses, and cut back up to the street at the next crossroad. She hoped the women hadn’t noticed her, or, if they had, they hadn’t wondered too much about what some strange woman was doing in the alley.

  A man was standing in front of the bank, not moving, not looking like someone with a check to cash. Casey spotted him immediately, even from that distance. He stood across from the pharmacy in the lee of the bank’s awning, facing the big front window of the bank, holding a phone to his ear. The pharmacy would be reflected in the glass. He was very obviously—to Casey, anyway—using the phone as a prop, because he wasn’t talking into it, and from his expression he wasn’t listening, either. Casey moved closer, wishing she had a phone of her own, so she could call Eric and have him come out so the man would follow him, and Casey could follow the man. But maybe the man would wait for her, instead of going after Eric. No telling. It was irrelevant, anyway, since she didn’t have a phone.

  The man switched his phone from his left ear to his right—his arm was probably getting tired since she and Eric been in the pharmacy so long—which partially hid his face. When Casey got to the crossroad, the two women with the toddlers were walking away from the main street, so Casey didn’t have to worry about them giving her away. She used the man’s new hand position
to get closer to him, crossing the street when she arrived at the angle at which she would start to be reflected in the bank’s window.

  She walked up behind the man and grabbed his upper right arm, pinching a pressure point to keep him from moving. “Looking for me?”

  He jumped, fumbling the phone and dropping it onto the sidewalk, where it landed with a loud crack. His voice was tight with pain. “What do you want?”

  “I think I should ask you that.”

  He glanced around, as if afraid someone would see them together. Or maybe afraid they wouldn’t.

  “I’m not going to assault you,” Casey said. “I just want to talk.”

  “You are assaulting me.”

  “No, I’m keeping you from reaching for your gun.”

  “What gun?”

  “Please. Who wears a sweatshirt in Texas on a day like this?”

  “Don’t take it.”

  “I’m not going to touch it. Like I said, I want to talk.”

  “About what? I don’t know you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What?” He licked his lips and glanced at his phone, where it lay on the ground.

  “No one’s there,” Casey said.

  “What?” He was like a broken record.

  “You weren’t really talking to anyone on the phone. So there’s no one there.”

  A flush crept up his neck, and blotchy red spots stained his cheeks. Up close he looked younger than Casey had originally thought. His lips were a dark pink, and pale freckles were scattered across his nose and cheekbones. He blinked rapidly and straightened his shoulders as much as he could while she still held his arm. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “That’s really the way you want to play it?”

  He glanced around again, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t understand.”

  Casey sighed. “Look. You were following us. I caught you. Now is the time when you tell me why you were doing that.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.” He clenched his jaw, reminding her of those toddlers she’d seen.