chapter Thirty-eight
Casey ran back toward the motel, every fiber in her being wanting to make a detour past Betsy’s house to scour the blueprints. No one had ever considered the blueprints, because no one knew they were there, except Betsy, and she just figured they were old portfolio type things for Cyrus. She’d gotten them after the investigation was over and had stuck them in the attic. Billy didn’t know. Robbie didn’t know. And, most importantly, the three men didn’t know.
But Casey knew. And she was going to be at Betsy’s door at the break of dawn, demanding to be shown the thing that could get her brother out of prison. She shook herself. No, the blueprints couldn’t get him out of prison—they wouldn’t say anything about the murder up in Colorado. But they were going to point her toward the people who killed Elizabeth Mann. She knew they would. Somehow.
With each footfall, Casey felt something within her rising up. Something foreign. Something new. Something almost like…hope.
No. It couldn’t be that.
Could it?
By the time she arrived at the motel it was almost two. She remembered in time to be quiet so she wouldn’t wake Eric, and shut her door quietly.
“Where have you been?” Death stood in the middle of the room, fists on hips.
“Like you couldn’t have found me.”
Death frowned. “I couldn’t find you.”
“What?”
“I was going to see what you were up to. Join you, hang out, help with clues, like always. But it was like…like you’d closed me off.”
“Seriously?”
“Casey…” Death was like a statue. “Do you want to live?”
Casey took a long, deep breath. Did she? Did she really feel like living another day would be a good thing? Something she should look forward to?
“I don’t know. I think…maybe.”
“Casey…what does this mean?”
“You tell me. You’re the supernatural being.”
“I couldn’t find you. How supernatural is that?”
“It’s not. It’s just weird.”
Death flickered, like a bad hologram in a science fiction movie.
“Oh, God,” Death said. “Are you deserting me?”
Casey stepped forward, reaching for Death.
And Death disappeared.