Embrace the Grim Reaper (6 page)

“You know where to take it.” Her lawyers. The only ones who ever knew approximately where she was.

“Sure you won’t come home?” Ricky asked. “Or at least let me come to you?”

Casey swallowed hard. “I can’t. You can’t. Not yet.”

Ricky sighed. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You’re already doing it.”

“But, Casey. What are you doing? Are you really…are you okay?”

“I’m traveling. I’m looking.”

“For what?”

“God only knows.” She looked up, and almost jumped off of the bench.

“I know, too,” Death said. This time, rather than popcorn, Death licked a melting chocolate ice cream cone.

Casey frowned. “Love you, Ricky. Thanks for everything.”

“But Casey—”

“I gotta go. I’ll call again soon.”

“Soon as in tomorrow? Or soon as in next month?”

“As soon as I can, Ricky. Take care of yourself.” She pushed the off button on the phone, keeping her eyes on the screen for a few more moments, as if she could keep her brother there with her. “What do you want now?”

Death waited for Casey to lift her eyes. “Just checking in. Seeing what’s going on.”

“You’re not afraid you’ll scare the children?”

Death licked the ice cream and glanced over at the playground, which now held a small playgroup of kids. “They aren’t scared of me.” Death waved at a small boy in the sandbox. The boy waved back.

“He can see you?”

“Of course. Only people who aren’t afraid of me can actually see me.”

Casey studied the parents. “So to the grown-ups, I’m sitting here talking to myself.”

“They’re probably as scared of you as they are of me.”

“But they can see me.”

“Of course. You’re not a mythical figure.”

“Mythical?”

“Legendary. Supernatural. Call me what you like.”

“A pain in the ass.”

The corner of Death’s mouth twitched up. “Not to everyone.”

“You realize you interrupted a perfectly good phone conversation with my brother.”

“Nothing keeping you from calling him again.”

Casey licked her lips and looked at her phone, caressing the screen with her thumb. Nothing but homesickness, which would only get worse the more she spoke to him. She shoved the phone into her jacket pocket.

“So what now?” Death asked. “You going to hang out here in the playground all day?”

Casey glanced over at the mothers, seeing that one held a baby in her arms. Casey jerked her head away. “No. I’m done here.”

“What I thought. But this town? You’re going to stick around here for a while?”

Casey shrugged. “You got a better idea?”

Death ate the last bite of ice cream and gestured all around. “Clymer, Ohio. Who knows? It could be interesting.”

Interesting. Casey sighed. That word again. When all she really wanted was a spate of plain old ordinary days.

Chapter Eight

The Nesting Place was beautiful. Casey wouldn’t have been surprised to see flocks of birds fighting for control in the canopy of oak, maple, and sycamore trees. As it was, the yard—at least a double lot—was filled with shady woodland paths, and the freshly painted Queen Anne house sat like a blossom among the flowerbeds. Casey looked down at herself, glad she’d taken that shower at The Sleep Inn, no matter how quick and unsatisfying it had been.

A four-door Honda Civic sat by the curb, its keys in full view on the driver’s seat, so Casey figured someone was home. Or the inn had a guest who was about ready to check out.

Up on the porch the inside door to the house was open, with a screen door allowing a view into the heavily decorated foyer. Casey listened for any sound signifying that someone was home, and hearing nothing, pushed the doorbell. No response. Casey held her hand over her eyes and peered into the dark hallway. “Hello? Anybody home?”

Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor. “Coming, coming!” Casey heard the voice, but no person became visible until a few seconds later, when a swath of red billowed toward the door. “Is it locked? No? Come in, darling, it’s open.”

The vision in scarlet swept the screen door open, her smile wide as she pulled Casey in by her wrist. “No need to ring, our door’s always open.”

Casey stood frozen, speechless at the sight of this woman in a voluminous blood-red robe, her hair almost as bright, but much more orange. Her lipstick matched her hair, and heavy black lines outlined her eyes.

“Uh,” Casey said. “Thank you.”

“Were you looking for something, dear? Or someone?”

“Well, I was looking for a room.”

“This early in the morning? You’re done hiking for the day?” She took in Casey’s burden with a practiced glance.

“Actually, I just came from a hotel and would like something…cleaner.”

“Ah. The Sleep Inn? Whoever steered you there…” She waved a brightly manicured hand. “But no matter, we certainly have a place for you. No one else staying at the moment. Follow me and I’ll take you there directly. Lillian!” She yelled into the recesses of the house, startling Casey.

“My partner,” the woman said in explanation. “Keeps the books, you know.” She led Casey toward the winding wooden staircase in the central hall. “Oh, well, you can do the paperwork later, when you’ve had a chance to settle in. I’ll take you up.”

The second floor was as grand as the first, with shiny oak trim, high ceilings, and brocaded wallpaper. Casey struggled not to feel hemmed in, and was heartened by the natural light allowed through the tall windows. The woman led her down the hallway to an open doorway.

“Here we are, darling. How would this suit you?”

Casey stepped into the room. Decorated in dark greens, the room appeared surprisingly open, with a large window on each of the two outside walls, and a skylight in the slanted ceiling. The queen-sized bed was covered with pillows and a ruffly cover, and a roll-top desk graced the corner. A comfortable looking chair sat by a small table at one window, with a full bathroom on the other side.

“It’s lovely,” Casey said. “How long is it free?”

“As long as you want it. How long do you think that will be?”

Casey set down her bag and walked over to a window, peering down into the yard. “I’m not sure. It could be just a night or two. Or it could be several weeks.”

The woman blinked. “Well, I must say that’s refreshing. A young woman with a mind of her own. You just let us know day by day if we’re to freshen up your room, or if you’ll be leaving us. We tend to be pretty flexible here.”

“Thank you.” Casey turned to the woman. “If your partner’s name is Lillian, what’s yours?”

“Oh! I never said, did I? It’s Rosemary. But you can call me Rosie, or Rose, or even Mary, if you like. I’ll answer to anything, almost. Just don’t call me crazy!” She gave a loud, hearty chuckle and placed her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll leave you to make yourself comfortable. Whenever you feel like coming down we can take care of the messy signatures and those awful money matters. Take your time.”

She swung the door closed behind her, and Casey was alone.

Except not completely alone.

Casey put her hands on her hips. “And who are you?”

The fat, long-haired cat on the bed blinked sleepily, stretched, and lumbered off the mattress to go stand by the door. Casey walked over and unlatched the door, opening it wide. “Go on, then.”

The cat stared at her a few more moments before sauntering into the hallway. Casey shook her head. A cat. Like she needed to be dealing with one of those.

Casey turned around, and sighed with frustration. “What?”

“This place is much nicer.” Death sat exactly where the cat had been.

“So glad you approve.”

“Are you making a commitment?”

“To what?” But she knew.

“Clymer, Ohio.”

Casey stalked to her bag and yanked the zipper open, spilling the bag’s contents onto the floor.

“Eww,” Death said.

Casey turned her back and began throwing laundry onto a pile. “I’m not making any commitments. I’m just…seeing what happens.”

“Eric’s cute.”

Casey jerked up. “I do not care if Eric Jones is cute.”

“VanDiepenbos.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. Or what his last name is.” She grabbed her bag of toiletries from the floor and marched into the bathroom, where she plopped it onto the counter.

“He’s nice, too,” Death called from the bedroom.

Casey stalked back in and flung a pair of socks onto the dirty clothes. “So what? There are all kinds of nice people.”

“Ellen was nice.”

Casey stopped, sinking down onto her heels, running a hand over her face. “That poor woman. I wish…” She shook her head.

“What? That you could’ve taken her place?”

“Of course not.”

Death hesitated, but let it go. “Eric seemed surprised she killed herself.”

“He did, didn’t he?”

“Said he didn’t think she would’ve done it.”

Casey grabbed her bag and stood up. “No one likes to think someone they know would commit suicide.” She took the backpack and stashed it in the wardrobe.

“No. No, they don’t. Sometimes it’s even hard for me.”

Casey snorted. “Right.”

“Hey, who do you think I am?”

“Death.”

“Well, yes, but who else?”

“You mean, like, the Grim Reaper?”

Death nodded.

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve studied it.”

“Uh-huh.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “Okay. Azriel, the Angel of Death.”

“Also known as the hand of God.”

“Whatever. Thanatos? Isn’t that one? And La Muerte. And the Fourth Horseman of the Apocolypse.”

Death’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t like horses. Any others?”

“L’Ankou?”

“Very good. But I’m thinking of nicer names. Like Eternal Rest. Or the Gatherer. Or the Help of God.”

“Trying to make yourself into something good?”

Death smiled gently. “But Casey, I am something good. Maybe I’m not always welcome, or arrive always at the right time, but I’m not ultimately bad.”

“Yeah, well, tell it to the judge.”

Death pointed toward the ceiling. “Believe me, I have.”

“Fine. But what’s your point?”

“My point is that I’m not the easy way out. But then, I think you know that, don’t you?”

A rush of emotion hit Casey, and she doubled over, arms crossed over her stomach. She fell to her knees onto the laundry pile, tipping over onto the carpet. Her head filled with the sound of static. The smell of burning rubber…the sound of wrenching metal…the sting of tears…the ache of her breasts as she gazed into the silent coffin…

No. Death was not the easy way out.

But sometimes, God knew, it would’ve been welcome.

Chapter Nine

“Lillian?” Casey peered around what seemed to be the kitchen door. She’d been drawn downstairs by the smell of food, and it was coming from the other side of that doorway.

The woman standing over the stove took up about a quarter of the space Rosemary had, and her clothes and hair lacked the shock value. Her smile, however, was just as wide. “Come in, come in. You must be our new guest.”

“Yes. Casey.”

“Well, Casey, are you hungry?”

“Actually, I am.” She had fallen asleep on her floor and awakened an hour later with a kink in her back, and a growling stomach. After a quick face-washing, she’d made her way downstairs.

“You’re welcome to have lunch with us,” Lillian said. “I know it’s a bit late for it, going on one-thirty, but it’s hard to find time for eating when there are so many other things to do.” She waved her over to the table. “Rosemary will be here in just a minute. She’s at her hapkido class.”

Casey let go with an involuntary laugh.

Lillian smiled. “Yes, I know. She doesn’t exactly look like a martial artist, does she? But she’s passionate about it.” She lowered her voice. “I think, however, her classmates try to avoid partnering with her during sparring. Having her step on your toe—let alone falling on you—can be hazardous to your health.”

“Helloooo!”

Lillian straightened, the grin still on her face. “She’s home.”

Rosemary filled the doorway, resplendent in her Dobak, her hapkido uniform. “Ah, there’s our new guest! You should ask her to lunch, Lillian.”

“I already have.”

“Of course you have. Come, my darling. Sit!”

So Casey sat at the little table, barely big enough for three, and ate an egg and cheese sandwich with way too much pepper.

When they’d finished, and Casey had heard the entire history of the house (part of the Underground Railroad, don’t you know!), their partnership (known each other since grade school!), love lives (“I’m a widow, and Lillian’s a divorcee”), and just how long it took to renovate the room she was staying in (way too long), Casey sat back and tried not to imagine the pepper coming back up her esophagus and making her sneeze.

“Is there a Laundromat somewhere close I could use?” she asked, when she could get a word in.

The two women looked at each other, brows furrowed.

“There’s the one on Wilson,” Lillian said.

“Or Second Street.” Rosemary tapped her chin with a finger. “If it’s still open.”

“But really,” Lillian said, “the closest one would be—”

“—in our back room.” Rosemary smiled, and Lillian crinkled her eyes at Casey.

“Oh, but I couldn’t—”

“Oh, but you could.” Lillian patted Casey’s arm. “We insist.”

Rosemary stood and began clearing dishes. “And we also insist that you use our bicycle while you’re our guest. You’ll need it to get to play rehearsal.”

“What?” Had she mentioned that?

Lillian leaned toward her. “It’s a small town, remember?”

Casey sighed. “Thanks. I’d love to use your bike.”

Rosemary, at the sink, peered over her shoulder. “You’ll have to get the tires pumped up down at the gas station. No one’s ridden it for a while.”

“Sure. Thanks. And thanks for lunch.” Casey got up and took her plate over to the sink. When she’d done that, she hesitated. “When’s the next time you go to a hapkido session, Rosemary?”

Rosemary grinned. “Whenever I want. But probably not today.”

Casey put her hands in her pockets. “Any chance I could tag along?”

Rosemary’s smiled broadened. “Of course. Do you know something about it?”

“Yeah. Something.”

“I’d love to have you join me. How about tomorrow?”

“That would be great. Thanks.” Casey turned to leave.

“You’re taking Ellen’s place in the play.”

Casey halted in the doorway and looked back. Both women faced her. She wasn’t sure which one had spoken. “I guess I am.”

Lillian nodded. “That’s good.”

“Is it?”

Rosemary thrust a pan into the full sink. “This town needs something like Twelfth Night. Needs some laughter.”

“But about Ellen. It’s terrible.”

“Of course it is, darling.” Was Rosemary crying, or had she splashed herself?

“We loved Ellen,” Lillian said. “The whole town did.”

Eric did.

“We just couldn’t believe it, when we heard.”

Rosemary spun a metal spatula in a wide arc, sending bubbles to the floor. “We still don’t believe it. She wouldn’t leave those kids.”

Casey bit her lip. “You don’t think she killed herself?”

“Of course not!” The spatula was really moving now. “Just the thought that that sweet girl committed suicide is…is…”

Lillian moved to the other woman and put an arm around her shoulders. “Shh, Rosemary. Quiet down, now.”

Rosemary’s face went red, and her lips trembled. Carefully, she set the spatula in the water, wiped her hands on the towel beside the sink, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Casey shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Yes, there is,” Rosemary said. “There most certainly, certainly is.”