Embrace the Grim Reaper (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

“It’s not a car key,” Rosemary said.

Lillian shook her head. “Or a house key.” She’d recovered from her earlier malaise, and stood by the end table, holding the key up to the light. “It’s too small. And thin.”

“A safety deposit box?” Eric asked. “At the bank? That would fit with the footage of Todd.”

“No,” Casey said. “Those are heavy. Thick.”

“Yeah. I knew that.”

“Bike lock?” Rosemary said.

Casey laughed. “Who locks their bikes? You folks don’t even lock your cars.”

“Or a lock for a locker room.”

Casey considered that. “Like at a gym, to protect her purse while she worked out. Was she a member somewhere?”

“No gym membership.” Eric was certain. “She didn’t have the money.”

“But it could be a portable lock she used somewhere else.”

“It almost looks like a diary key,” Lillian said. “Like little girls have, to write down who they have a crush on, and how horrible their hair was that day.”

Casey looked at Eric. “Did Ellen’s daughter have a diary?”

“I don’t know. If she did, she’d have it with her at her grandparents, I would think. I really don’t want to go back to Ellen’s house to check.”

“Call her,” Rosemary said.

“Now?”

“Why not?”

“It’s the middle of the night, that’s why not. I’ll call in the morning. If it’s waited this long, it can wait a few more hours.”

Casey felt suddenly tired, and looked at the clock. “It is almost two. I need to go to bed.”

Lillian seemed not to hear her, but Rosemary sketched a small wave. “Me, too, darling. I’m about done in. Eric, why don’t you just stay here tonight. We’ve certainly got the room. Eric?”

“Huh?” He blinked. “Oh, sorry. I’m zoning out.”

“That’s settled then. The lighthouse room for you.”

“Oh, good.” He yawned. “I like that one. Is the white noise machine still in there?”

“With the button set to ocean waves. Off you go.”

Eric didn’t look like he could get out of his chair. Casey hesitated, then offered her hand to pull him up. He lurched out of the chair, stopped from falling only by Casey grabbing his arms. He stepped back. “Sorry.”

Casey patted his elbows and headed toward the stairs, Eric padding along behind her. Solomon greeted them at the upstairs landing, where he sat directly across from Casey’s room.

“He want in?” Eric asked.

Casey shook her head. “Watch.”

She opened her door, and Solomon arched his back, his tail growing to twice its normal size. He hissed, spat, and raced down the hallway.

“Whoa,” Eric said. “What are you keeping in there?”

“Oh, you know. Creepy things.”

“I guess so.” He looked down toward the other rooms. “See you in the morning, then.” He stopped at the second room and opened the door. Solomon scampered inside. “Well,” Eric said. “Seems I’m not creepy.”

Casey snorted, and went into her room.

“I am not creepy.” Death perched on the window seat. “I’m impressive. Scary I can take. Or frightening. Even immobilizing. But I am not creepy.”

Casey ignored this and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I can still see you, you know!”

“So shut your eyes.”

A minute later Casey opened the door. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” she said around her toothbrush. “Isn’t someone dying somewhere?”

“Oh, Casey, you refuse to understand, don’t you? I can be in more than one place at a time.”

Casey spat into the sink. “You’re getting that annoying tone of voice again. Your patronizing one.”

“If I could only be one place at one time I’d never get everything done. Like Santa Claus.”

“You are not like Santa Claus.” Casey’s throat tightened. She had never gotten a chance to decide whether or not she’d let Omar believe in Santa.

“That’s true. Santa’s not real. But in every other sense we are the same.”

Casey got a T-shirt from the wardrobe and went back behind the bathroom door to undress and pull it over her head. “Yeah, you’re so jolly and happy. And like to dress in red.”

“I can’t help it I look best in black.”

“The sleigh with flying reindeer?”

“My coach has white horses. And while I don’t like them, I have to admit they can fly.”

“Delivering presents?”

Death laughed. “What’s better than receiving your eternal reward?”

Casey stalked back out to the bedroom and yanked down the covers on the bed. “Now listen. I am going to get good sleep for the first time in three days. No bad dreams. No interruptions. You leave me alone.”

“I’ll just sit here quietly.”

“No, you won’t. You will go away and let me sleep in peace. For once.” She climbed under the down tick and pulled it up to her chin.

Death came over to the side of the bed and reached out to touch Casey’s face. She flinched.

“Come now, child. You know you like me.”

“Liking you and wanting to go with you are two entirely different things. And since you refuse the one, I certainly won’t do the other.”

“Now you’re getting confusing.”

“So go bother someone else who will make it easy on you.” She reached over and turned out the lamp by the bed.

And waited. There was no sound. No movement.

“Are you still there?” she finally said to the room.

No response.

She snuggled further down into the bed, sighing with pleasure at the feel of the clean sheets and soft mattress. The hum of the furnace made her cozy and warm, and she wrapped her arms around a pillow, pulling it to her.

When she was almost asleep, her breathing even and her body relaxed, she felt it. A whisper of breath, a sigh, floating past her cheek.

“Reuben?” she whispered.

There was no answer.

Chapter Thirty-three

A ray of sunlight snuck through the side of the curtain and pierced Casey’s eye. She groaned, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t work. She opened her eyes all the way and saw the clock. She sat up. “Ten-thirty!”

She lay back down, her head swimming. The smell of something delicious hovered in the air around her. Bread? Sausage? She couldn’t quite tell. Her stomach rumbled.

“Okay, okay.”

She pushed down the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, giving a huge yawn. Rubbing her face, she walked over to the window and flung open the curtain. A sunny day. No clouds. Just the blue sky against the changing leaves.

Letting the curtains fall back, she examined the room. She was alone. For the moment. She turned back around and hooked the curtains onto the side knobs, allowing the sunlight to fill the room. She did the same with the window on the opposite wall. See if Death could compete with that.

She’d always loved Saturday mornings. Nowhere to go. No pressing agenda. She and Reuben had spent most Saturdays sleeping in, waking to a morning of cozy lovemaking, and cooking up a batch of pancakes afterward, which they’d more often than not eaten on their porch, in the shade of the old maple tree. That changed with Omar, of course. Then it became a game of whose turn it was to get up before dawn with their overeager morning person. That trait couldn’t possibly have been genetic.

Knowing it was a mistake, Casey went to the wardrobe and pulled out her backpack. Unzipping the inside pocket, she reached in and pulled out the meager contents. The little cap was as soft as a newborn, striped with skinny pink and blue lines against the white background. Tiny, like Omar’s head the day they’d brought him home from the hospital. She held it to her cheek. It didn’t smell like baby shampoo anymore. Now it smelled like musty camping gear and damp canvas.

The ring hadn’t changed. Hooked onto a chain, the gold of the symbol—Reuben’s promise to love her forever—shone in the morning light, on top of the penny-sized sun. Casey held the chain and its charms in her palm and closed her fingers, squeezing, the metal edges biting into her skin.

She shivered and placed the treasures back in the pocket. Out of sight.

She closed the wardrobe and stood with her head against the wooden door. It took so much work to breathe. To stand. To think about what was next.

What happened next was her morning workout, a shower, and a quick clean-up of the room, including making the bed. Once those chores were done, there was really nothing else to keep her upstairs.

“Well, if it isn’t the sleepyhead!” Rosemary sat at the kitchen table in a bathrobe of royal blue. Fuzzy yellow slippers stuck out from beneath the housecoat, and her hair, now combed, looked less like a circus act than it had during the night, and more like the hairdo of an eccentric middle-aged woman. Half-glasses perched on her nose, she held the morning paper in front of her.

“Hungry, dear?” Lillian stood at the stove, bacon sizzling in the skillet.

“Actually, yes.”

“Good.” She set a plate in front of Casey and proceeded to load it with toast, eggs, and meat, followed by a large glass of orange juice.

Casey took a drink. “Is Eric still sleeping?”

“Oh, heavens no.” Lillian laughed. “He’s long gone. Left a note saying he was off somewhere or other foraging for food. Not that we wouldn’t have fed him.”

“Did he call Ellen’s daughter?”

Rosemary didn’t look up from the newspaper. “Yes. The key isn’t hers.”

Not the news they’d been hoping for.

Casey took a bite of egg and chewed while she considered what Lillian had said. “Eric’s foraging for Home Sweet Home? I thought he was planning on serving pizza again tonight.”

“I don’t know, hon,” Lillian said, pouring a cup of coffee. “He didn’t say.”

“Well, I guess I’ll find out tonight at supper.” She froze, a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth.

“What?” Lillian stood beside her, coffee pot halted mid-pour.

“Home Sweet Home. There are lockers there. For the staff. Lockers that have actual locks.”

Rosemary inhaled sharply. “They would fit the key?”

“They might. Ellen worked there with Eric, right?”

“She did.” Lillian sat on the third chair, then bounced up again. “I’ll call Eric.”

She talked with him briefly, then hung up. “He’s on his way.”

“To Home Sweet Home?”

“Yes.”

Casey looked at her full plate.

“You eat that, honey, and then one of us can take you over.”

Casey did eat it, but refused a ride. Instead, she grabbed the Schwinn and rode. Eric’s car was already parked behind Home Sweet Home, and the back door was open. Casey left her bike leaning against the wall and went in.

“Eric?”

There was no reply, so she walked through the kitchen to the locker room. Eric stood staring at the lockers. Only one sported a lock. He didn’t turn when she came in.

Casey stepped up beside him. “You going to open it?”

“I was waiting for you. Mom called to say you were coming, and I thought…it would be easier with you here.”

Casey shuddered. She had been alone when she had found Reuben’s stash. She’d been going through the garage, looking for the Pegasus car manual, several months after the accident. She hadn’t thought it had been in the car. If it had been, it had been turned into so much ash. So she checked the cupboards in the garage. She hadn’t found the manual. But she’d found other things. Car parts, of course. Tools. Nails and screws. Old paint. Ratty tennis balls.

And Reuben’s hiding place. An innocuous five-gallon bucket.

The first thing she’d seen had been the letters. Shaking, she’d pulled them out, only to find they held her handwriting. She’d gazed at them with disbelief. Every letter—every note—she’d ever written to him. Rubber-banded in a thick stack. Following those were the souvenirs. Ticket stubs, concert programs, take-out menus. And photos. Some photos she’d never seen. Of her, mostly. Photos she hadn’t even known he’d taken. Snapshots of her with Omar. Cooking. Mowing the lawn. Even sleeping.

And one from before she’d even met him.

She’d gone cold.

A photo of her, sitting outside her dojang. She still wore her Dobak, so it must have been between sessions. She sat on the little patch of grass, her legs underneath her in the butterfly position, her face tilted toward the sun. She’d known right away the photo was from before they’d met, because he’d given her a necklace on their first date, the day following the church social where he’d approached her, saying she was meant to be with him. She’d felt the same, and had put on the necklace with the sun charm the moment he’d given it to her, taking it off only in the shower.

She wasn’t wearing it in the photo.

Digging deeper into the bucket she’d found other surprises. Photos of an aging couple, their brown skin wrinkled, mouths missing teeth. Other people, all with Reuben’s skin and black hair, but their surroundings of dirt, sun, and adobe huts.

Letters, all in Spanish. From Mexico.

Casey had closed the bucket then. Had stumbled back into the house, where Ricky had grabbed her and led her to the couch. Had finally cried the tears that had so far been evasive.

Reuben’s family was dead. He’d told her so. No parents. No siblings. She was his only family. And then Omar. It was just the three of them—

“I’m a little afraid of what’s in there,” Eric said.

Casey swallowed.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” His voice shook.

She hesitated to answer.

“I mean, right this minute.”

“No. No, I’m not going anywhere now.”

“Okay.” He stepped forward, withdrawing the key from his pocket. “Here goes nothing.” He slid the key into the lock, and turned it. The lock popped open. He stood looking at it, his hand on the bottom half, not turning it away. His shoulders went up. Then down. He glanced over his shoulder at Casey. She tried to look encouraging.

“I wish he’d just open it.”

Casey shrieked, and jumped away from Death.

“What?” Eric jerked away from the locker. “What is it?”

Casey turned away, her hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath. “Nothing. It’s fine. I thought…I saw a rat.”

“A rat? In here?” Eric turned in a circle, hands up and out, as if a rat was going to jump out at him.

“I was wrong,” Casey said. “There’s no rat. It was, just a…just a shadow. A trick of the light.”

“Oh. Well.” He put a hand over his heart. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head and turned back to the locker. Casey glared at Death, who’d adopted an innocent look and munched on some dark chocolate M&Ms from a king-sized bag.

Eric squared his shoulders, wrenched the lock from the locker, and flung open the door. They stared.

Casey stepped closer. “What are they?”

“I don’t know.” Death peered over her shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “Parts for something.”

Two little pieces, one white plastic tube-like part with a small metal tab on its flat end, and the other, also of white plastic, that looked like an oversized and flattened nail.

“Something from the plant?” Casey asked.

“I would think so.”

They stared at them some more, until Eric picked them up and pulled them out. He walked with them out to the kitchen and set them on the counter. He turned them this way and that, but nothing made it clear what exactly they were.

“Are there serial numbers?”

He shrugged. “Don’t see one. That wouldn’t help me, anyway. I don’t see these things enough to be able to identify them.”

“Your computer?”

“It would have a list, but like I said, there’s no number.”

Death had found an empty spot on the counter, and was shaking out the last pieces of the candy. Casey looked over and made a subtle gesture at the plastic pieces, but Death shrugged, obviously unaccustomed to—or uninterested in—appliance parts.

“So how do we find out?” Eric asked. “I can’t exactly march into HomeMaker and ask around. Ellen hid them here for a reason.”

Casey scooped an empty pasta box out of the trash. “Put them in here.”

“And we’ll take them to HomeMaker?”

“Nope. We’re taking them down the street to our own private mechanic.”