chapter Twenty-one
“Ricky couldn’t tell anything from those notes about the women?”
Casey slouched in the passenger seat. “I didn’t ask him.”
“You didn’t—why not?”
She didn’t answer, still thinking about the bombshell Ricky had dropped at the end of their visit. If he was seeing Death, she couldn’t let him stay in that jail any longer. He was going to do something stupid, or else just wither away to nothing.
“Casey, why didn’t you ask him? I thought that was the whole point of seeing him. That and to ask about the Texas stuff. You did ask about that, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.”
“And?”
“Look, Eric, I’m sorry about the names, but he was already stressing about not knowing much about Alicia, and he was questioning everything he thought he knew. Showing him a bunch of stuff about women who may or may not be his dead girlfriend wasn’t going to solve anything except freak him out even more. So give me a break.”
The silence in the car was palpable, Eric’s hurt feelings like another passenger, ready to go where Death often sat in the back seat. Fortunately, Death had taken off after their little tiff in the jail, so there was no third person—or supernatural entity—to take sarcastic notice of this awkward conversation.
Casey let her head fall back against the seat. “I’m sorry, Eric. I’m sorry, okay? I’m just…” She rubbed her forehead. “The Texas stuff was what we thought. Only guesses. Alicia talked about Texas in her sleep, so he thought she might be from there. He didn’t want to tell us before because he thought he was betraying a confidence. You weren’t there. You didn’t see his face. So don’t give me a hard time for giving my little brother a break.”
Eric looked straight ahead.
“Eric, come on…”
He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. “Do you want me to go home? Because if you don’t want me around, I’ll leave. It’s not like I don’t have responsibilities back in Ohio. The soup kitchen, my mother, my job. As you said, this is your brother, not mine, so if you think you’ll do better without my help, I’ll just go.”
Casey went to snap back that he should probably just go home then if that was the way he was going to be, then realized she didn’t want to say that. She didn’t want him to go home. It was nice having a companion who was actually a person, and not some horrific afterlife character from legends. “I don’t want you to go.”
His expression remained stony.
“Please, Eric. I said I’m sorry. I am. I’ll be nicer, I promise.”
His mouth twitched.
“What?”
“You just said you were going to be nicer.”
“So? Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I just never put you and ‘nicer’ in the same sentence.”
Great. Now he was doing the thing Death was always going on about. “I’m not always…Okay. As long as you’ve known me—” three whole weeks, if she was correct “—I haven’t exactly been nice. But I can be.”
“All right.”
“Really.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Casey shook her head. She could be nice, couldn’t she? Whatever. It didn’t matter. Eric was staying, so that was good. She could at least pretend to be nice.
“I checked out Hometown Interiors while you were in there,” Eric said.
“He never hired them.”
“Not surprised. They’re a small, start-up company out of Boulder. Only a few employees, only a few jobs done. Only things I can find are on paper—on the computer, I mean. No people who have actually hired them.”
“Sounds fishy.”
“Of course it does. Because it’s a fake company.”
“But the cops can’t see that?”
“It seems all they see is your brother and the evidence against him.”
“Fake evidence.”
They drove for a while, Casey fuming, Eric concentrating on the traffic.
“So what now?” Eric said.
Casey pulled out her notes on the women. “We figure out which, if any, of these women is the one we’re looking for, and continue going through the lists of Texas women until we find the right one. And we figure out who we can call who can find out about this stupid home renovation company.”
“Leave that to me,” Eric said. “As it happens, I know a few people in the business world, even if my family is now officially out of it.” His father had run a big business back in Ohio until he was arrested for fraud a few weeks earlier. Now, Casey hoped, those connections could be used for something positive.
They drove to Casey’s house, where Eric made a few calls to get that ball rolling. They then went on-line, paid the fee to belong to some People Search database, and began looking for the right Elizabeth Mann. After forty-five minutes they were left with five possibilities, having eliminated the Elizabeth Manns who a) had non-Colorado address and phone information as recent as June, b) had current employment information that was not at The Slope, or c) had indicated their race as African-American, Asian, or “other.”
“Think we should take out the ones with husbands and children?” Eric asked, looking at the five. “She wouldn’t take off without at least one photo of her kids, right?”
Casey thought of her own travel bag, which hadn’t included any photos until Ricky had sent her one the week before—probably only a day or two before his own life had been destroyed. Death had always given her a hard time about not carrying pictures. But it was just too difficult. “Can’t count those out, Eric. What if it’s her husband she’s running from? Or if she’s afraid for the lives of her children? She wouldn’t want any sign of them. Or maybe it was just too painful to have the daily reminder.” As if she would have needed photos to remember. As if there weren’t enough images in her head.
“You didn’t have any pictures.” He had gone through her bag a few weeks earlier, when she’d run from Ohio, leaving her bag behind as she’d desperately put distance between herself and the man she’d killed. That was the reason she had her things back—Eric had followed the information on her driver’s license and returned her stuff to Ricky. He knew more about her than she’d shared with anyone else in the past two years. “And there aren’t any pictures here in your house. Not ones that I’ve seen, although I guess I haven’t seen every room.” He hadn’t seen the bedroom.
Casey looked away, just the thought of him in her bedroom making her hot. “Ricky took the photos out when he got the place ready to sell. Most people don’t want to see family shots on the walls of a house they’re looking at—they want to see the place as their own. So do you want to make the calls to these women?”
“What about your bag?”
“What about it?”
“Casey. You weren’t running from your husband. And you weren’t afraid for your son’s life. Why didn’t you have any pictures?”
“The question I’ve always asked.”
This time Casey didn’t jump when Death joined the conversation, standing along the wall and holding up a computerized frame with Casey’s family photo inside. It was informal, with Reuben in a Rockies jersey, Casey’s hair back in a messy ponytail, and Omar wearing only blue knit shorts over a bulky diaper. His chest was slick with drool, but his smile more than made up for it.
Casey looked away, focusing on the view outside the window instead of the squeezing of her heart. “Why do you think I didn’t have any?”
Eric didn’t speak for almost a minute. Neither did Death, which was practically a miracle.
Eric cleared his throat. “I can call. I’ve got the phone. Unless you wanted to?”
She shook her head.
He hesitated, his fingers on the keypad. “If none of these women are the right one?”
“We start over.”
“And if I do find the right one? I mean, find someone who knew her? Are we going to the police?”
“I don’t see how we could. We aren’t supposed to know her name.”
“I guess it would have to be anonymous.”
“They might not take it seriously then.”
His hand clenched around the phone and his nostrils flared, like he was trying not to throw it across the room. At her. When he spoke, his voice was measured, and quiet. “Why don’t I just see what I find, and then we’ll decide.”
“Sounds like a plan.” It wasn’t necessarily a good plan, but then, none of this could be placed in the ‘good’ category.
Eric began phoning Texas. When he reached an actual Elizabeth Mann he thanked her and hung up, saying he was looking for a different person, then moved on to the next one. Once he got a voice mail saying that that particular Elizabeth Mann worked for a place called Sunrise Technologies, and he should leave a message. He found the business, and then found the woman, so one more could be crossed off the list. He left messages with two others, one in San Antonio, one in a tiny town called Angus.
As Eric called, Casey grew increasingly restless, pacing the floor, looking in the empty cupboards, brushing at hard-to-reach cobwebs above the ceiling fan. Death ignored her and swiped at the screen of a Nook, proclaiming “A-ha!” and “Slice faster, nasty fruit slicer!” Finally, Casey left Eric waiting for return calls and went upstairs, where she put on her dobak.
“Seriously?” Death said from a seat on the bed.
“You know he’s waiting for me.” Her hapkido master.
“So what? He hasn’t called.”
“My answering machine isn’t hooked up.”
“So he could Facebook you.”
“On what computer? Do you see a computer around here? And even if you do, do you see me on social networks?”
“Fine. He could use his incredible mental telepathy and contact you, or maybe he could just transport you to the dojang.”
“He’s not a magician.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Anyway, if he’s that anxious to get you over there, he could…gee…come by and ask, maybe?”
“I’m not making him do the work.”
“Of course not. Because he’s a god.”
Casey laughed. “For heaven’s sake. Are you jealous?”
“Of what?” Death frowned. “You mean of the fact that he’s somebody you actually want to see? As opposed to your mother, Eric, the neighbors, photos? Or…even me?”
“You know there’s one situation where I would want to see you.”
Death’s shoulders sagged. “Still, Casey? You still want me to take you?”
She tied her belt tight around her waist and pulled her hair back, securing it with a band. “How many times do I have to ask?”
“But you have…” Death stopped, poking at the Nook in that way people do when they aren’t really doing anything, but want to avoid a conversation.
“What? I have what?”
“Never mind. If you need me to tell you, it’s pointless to even bother.”
“But—”
Death disappeared so suddenly it was like Casey had been alone all along.
“Casey?” Eric was calling up the stairs.
She grabbed her sneakers and headed down.
“Going somewhere?”
“Out.” She walked past him, toward the front door.
“Do you want me to come?”
“No.”
“Okay. So I take it this is you being nicer?”
She stopped, her hand clutching the doorknob. Nicer. Right. “I’m sorry, Eric. I guess I’m not used to…people…anymore.” She let go of the door and turned around. “I’m going to work out. Would you like to come?”
He gave a tight smile. “If it’s all right, I think I’ll stay here and wait for a call from one of the Elizabeth Manns. But thanks for asking.”
Not sure whether to say it was all right, sorry, you’re welcome, or anything at all, Casey kept her mouth shut and walked out the door.
She really needed to go kick some ass.