Dying Echo: A Grim Reaper Mystery (Grim Reaper Series) (22 page)

“Why?”

“Isn’t he the one who taught you to…do what you did?”

“In Ohio? You mean, kill people?” Eric had been there. He’d seen her fight, had seen the man die.

Eric looked deeply into his soup. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Of course it is.” She gazed up into the trees, where the rusty leaves let patches of sunlight through in moving patterns. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I wish it hadn’t happened. But it did, and we probably ought to talk about it sometime.”

“I don’t need to. It’s over. I told the police it was self-defense because I really believed it was.”

“You were right. It definitely was. I never…I didn’t want to kill anyone. Ever.”

“Then why the hapkido? Isn’t that basically training you to…well, kill people? Or at least fight them?”

“No, it’s a defensive art, not an offensive one. And seriously, how many people—Americans, especially—do you see going around using it in bars or whatever? And I don’t mean in the movies. It’s more an art form—or an exercise. It’s great for getting in shape, and for your frame of mind.”

“Then why not just do aerobics? That’s exercise. That should release the seratonin—isn’t that what’s supposed to be released?—and make you a mentally healthy person.”

Casey shuddered. A week earlier she had been the aerobics instructor at an exclusive club, and the seratonin definitely hadn’t been flowing there. “Hapkido isn’t
just
an exercise. It’s a way of life. A way of looking at things. Awareness. The ability to see the whole of something and not just a small part. Stability. Self-assurance.”

“You have all those things?”

“I used to. That’s why today was so humbling. As soon as I stepped on the mat I felt focused, but the moment I was off and it became about life I lost it all.” She shook her head. “I’ve failed my master and hapkido as a whole. Or hapkido has failed me.”

“Maybe not. Maybe you would be a complete loss if you hadn’t had your training. Maybe hapkido really did save you, after all. Did your teacher tell you to stay away?”

Casey remembered Master Custer’s back as he left her on the roof. “No. But he didn’t encourage me to return anytime soon, either.”

Eric put his empty dishes aside and stretched out his legs. “Looks like you’re stuck with just me, then.”

“Yeah, looks like it.” Casey stabbed some lettuce with her fork and took a bite because she felt like she might laugh just a little. Or maybe cry.

Eric’s phone rang in his pocket and he took it out, looking at the screen. “Texas area code. Hello?” He listened for several seconds, then said, “And how long ago was this?” He made a motion like he needed a pencil. Casey hopped up and ran into the kitchen, returning with paper and pen. He scribbled madly, saying, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. And what was his name?”

Casey tried to read over his shoulder, but she couldn’t see around his arm, and he waved her out of his space.

“And you were his what? Cousin? Niece.
Her
cousin. All right.”

Casey stuck her nose over the paper and he shoved her aside.

“I’m just trying to find her family. No, I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you for now—”

He listened for a bit, biting his lips together.

“I’m in Colorado, and a woman with that name died and we’re trying to find out about her family. Actually, the woman was using another name entirely, but there seemed to be a connection with an Elizabeth Mann.”

He listened some more.

“I know. It could easily be someone entirely different. No, no, I don’t think you should come up. At least not yet. I’ll send you a photo.”

She squawked on the phone.

“No, no,” Eric said, “I have a nice picture from before her death, so it will be….Good. Do you have an email account or something where I could send it? Right. Got it. I’ll be in touch when I find out more. You have my number. And I’m sorry. Good-bye.”

He hung up and took a shuddering breath. He’d gone pale.

“What is it?” Casey said. “What’s wrong?” She grabbed the paper, but couldn’t make sense of his handwriting.

He took the paper back and laid it on his thigh, smoothing his hand over it. “ At least one Elizabeth Mann grew up in a little town called Marshland, Texas. This woman—Betsy Lackey—was her cousin.”

“Lackey? How did you know to call her if her last name’s not Mann?”

“I didn’t. I left a message on her father’s phone, and he gave her the message.”

“Did she know why Alic—Elizabeth came here?”

“She didn’t know she was even in Colorado. Had no idea where she was. If this really is her. We have to remember that. We could be talking about someone completely unrelated to Alicia.”

“What about the guy? You were talking about a guy.”

“This Elizabeth Mann’s father. Cyrus Mann. If we have the right person, it could be the man in the photograph we got at the restaurant.”

“Is he still there in Marshland?”

“No.” Eric let out a breath and shook his head. “He hasn’t been there for over seventeen years. And neither has Elizabeth.”

“Seventeen—Why so long ago? What happened back in the early nineties?”

Eric lifted his eyes from the paper, and Casey winced at the pain she saw. “Cyrus Mann was murdered,” he said. “On the same night his teenage daughter disappeared.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“So who murdered Elizabeth’s dad?”

“Lots of theories,” Eric said. “No certain answers.”

“What do we know?”

“It was bad. An execution, really. Shot in the head. Left to die.”

“What do the cops think?”

“This woman didn’t get into it all, but basically it sounds like his murder has never been solved, and the police have stopped trying to solve it.”

“Do you think the cops had something to do with Elizabeth disappearing? I mean, do they think
she
killed him?”

Eric shrugged. “You heard my side of the phone call. We didn’t talk that long.”

“So let’s see what we can find out.”

They went back inside to use Eric’s iPad. Death sat at the table in Eric’s chair, looking over the scribbled notes from the morning.

“The murder was so long ago,” Casey said, “I wonder how much will even be recorded.”

Death looked up. “How long ago? And who are we talking about?”

“About seventeen years, right, Eric? What was his name? Cyrus Mann?”

Eric looked at her curiously, and sat down in his chair, right on Death’s lap. Death squeezed out from beneath him, and Eric shuddered. “Does your heat work? Can we turn it on? And yes, his name was Cyrus. I told you all this.”

“I wanted to be sure.”

Death was visibly trying to call up the information, finger tapping on chin, eyes unfocused. “Ah, yes. Cyrus Mann. I remember. Not much to go on. You know with these violent, spur-of-the-moment deaths I’m not always there in time to see the cause. Or the perpetrators, anyway.”

“Any witnesses?” Casey asked.

“Haven’t found anything yet,” Eric said. “Give me a minute. It’s not coming up under just her name…”

“Only one other person there,” Death said. “A girl. Fourteen years old. She was holding him when he died.”

“Didn’t he die immediately?”

Eric glanced up. “Why are you asking me these weird questions I don’t have answers to? Oh, here we go. I had to put in everything I knew in order to find it. ‘Man found dead. Daughter missing.’”

“It’s not like the movies,” Death said. “People don’t die instantly, even when they’re shot in the head. Well, if their head is completely blown off I guess they do, but this guy hung on a few minutes. By the time I got there, the girl was the only one—Wait. Are you telling me that girl was Alicia McManus?”

“Elizabeth Mann.”

“Right.” Eric sat up. “‘Cyrus Mann, forty-two, died of head wounds on March 11, 1995. No witnesses, no evidence suggesting who might have done it. His daughter, Elizabeth, fourteen years old, went missing that same night. No clue as to where she went.” He tapped on a later article. “Looks like they did consider her for the murder for a while, but eventually gave up. There were a few other leads, but none of them panned out.”

“What kind of leads? And where was her mother?”

“Didn’t see a mother,” Death said.

Eric flipped through a few screens. “Nothing about a mother. Just stuff about—” His eyebrows rose.

“What?”

“They lived in a car.”

“
What
?”

“Elizabeth and her dad were homeless. They slept and kept their stuff in a 1973 Chevy station wagon. Says here that first he sold off a woodworking business that he owned, then was hired by a houseboat manufacturer. That job didn’t last very long, and he lost his house in December. Oh, here it says the mother died. Cancer. So she was out of the picture. The townspeople knew him and his daughter, let them keep the car in the local park. The cops left them alone.”

“So generous of them. I don’t suppose any of them had spare rooms Elizabeth and her dad could actually stay in?”

“Oh, you mean like in this house?” Death said. “It’s only been sitting empty for two years.”

“Does it say—what did Elizabeth do before this all happened and she disappeared?”

“Went to school, I guess. Says here she was enrolled at Marshland High School. Hardly ever missed a day until her dad died and she disappeared. After a while people just assumed she was dead, too.” He sat back. “Here’s a photo. That look like our girl?”

Casey studied it. “Hard to tell. She’s so young here.” With innocence in her eyes, instead of haunted sorrow. “I guess it could be.”

“The lady I talked to today was surprised to get my message. She’d assumed that whole thing was over and done with, and her cousin’s disappearance was one of those events that would always be a mystery.”

“Does she think Elizabeth killed her dad?”

“Not from what she said. She’d always thought Elizabeth was a victim, too.” Eric set down the iPad. “You do realize who would be good help with this.”

“The cops. I know. But how do I tell them?”

“You need more, unless you do it anonymously,” Death said. “Attach all these articles to a throw-away email address and send it in.”

Eric put a hand on Casey’s arm, and she jerked, but didn’t pull away. “Maybe it’s time you tell me how you know her name.”

Casey looked at the tabletop. “I’ll tell Detective Watts I found out from Ricky.”

“But then Ricky would get in trouble for not telling them first.”

“How else could I know?”

“You found something in her apartment? At work? Maybe in another hidden place?”

“But I’d have to show them what it was. And I don’t have anything.”

Eric was quiet. “You’re not ready to tell me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know where you might be able to find more,” Death said.

Casey shook her head, too exhausted to consider it.

Death pushed the button on a small digital projector, and a map of the United States covered the far wall. Texas was highlighted.

“I know,” Casey said. “I
know
. We have to go.”

“Go where?” Eric said.

Casey sighed. “Where do you think? Marshland, Texas.”

“Without telling the cops?”

“Why would we tell them? They don’t know anything about this.”

“Because…I don’t know. It just seems wrong to sneak away.”

“We’re not sneaking. We’re traveling.”

“And Ricky?”

“I’ll tell Don. He can let Ricky know if he needs to.”

“Are we driving?”

“You and I may not have a lot of things, but there’s one thing we seem to have plenty of.”

“What’s that?”

“Money. We might as well use some of it. It’s not doing anyone any good sitting in the bank.”

Death made a noise. “Just like this house, sitting here empty.”

“So can you buy plane tickets on that thing?” She gestured to the iPad.

Eric nodded. “Sure.”

Death grinned and held up a Nook. “Quicker than you can say
the porch light’s on, but nobody’s home
.”

Casey left them to it and went upstairs to pack.

Chapter Twenty-five

“First class?” Casey said to Eric. “Really?”

“I know, it seems extravagant, but, as you said, between the two of us we’ve got more than enough money, plus—” he held up his hand to stop her from arguing “—I couldn’t really see you sitting knee to knee with some annoying businessman from Boulder, wanting to sell you life insurance. Violence is usually frowned upon when flying commercial.”

He had a point.

“I’m going to see if the flight attendant has an extra blanket,” Eric said, standing up. “I can’t get over this chill.” He moved down the aisle, toward the attendants’ supply area.