Dying Echo: A Grim Reaper Mystery (Grim Reaper Series) (29 page)

“From a hormonal teenage boy’s perspective he might have been. He put up with Cyrus because he was in love with Elizabeth. Even sixteen-year-old boys get snookered when they’re horny. Or maybe I should say
especially
sixteen-year-old boys.”

“But what was Cyrus into? If you had reason to lock him up, why was he still free?”

“It wasn’t that he was a criminal. But he was living in a
car
. A lot of us wanted to lock him up for child endangerment.”

“Betsy said he didn’t want to take charity. And that Elizabeth was the one who chose to live in the car instead of with Betsy.”

“I’m sure that’s what Betsy’s father told her.” She rested her elbows on the table. “Cyrus was a woodworker. A good one. Just the year before he’d had his own business, making custom furniture, but apparently he was never good with the money end of things, so he ended up selling out right in the middle of his wife’s illness. I’m sure the stress did him in. He got another job right away, over on the Gulf with some people who built luxury houseboats—”

“As if there’s any other kind,” Death said. “You ever see a poor person with a houseboat?”

“—and that was a good start, but he lost that job within a few months. It was like something had switched off in his head. His bad business decisions expanded into bad personal decisions, and the next thing we knew, he and Elizabeth were living on the street, and he was working shady jobs.”

“Couldn’t you do something about their living arrangements? Aren’t there laws—child services, or whatever?”

“Believe me, we did our best. Chief Zinn, who was here before me, he was friends with Cyrus, with his parents, actually, and he did everything to get him to be sensible, but there was something about it…” She shook her head. “Elizabeth didn’t help. She said she was staying with her dad no matter what, and she didn’t mind living in the car.”

“So you let a fourteen-year-old make her own housing decisions?”

“You weren’t here!” Chief Kay clenched her fists, then opened them as she breathed out a steady breath. “It wasn’t cut and dried. They needed each other. What it really boiled down to was taking Elizabeth away from Cyrus, and no one was prepared to make that choice. Not even his brother. So don’t judge us. It’s a small town and we take care of each other. Or at least we try.”

“Who exactly is she trying to convince?” Death said.

“So again,” Casey said, “back to the whole no suspects thing. You’re saying no one in town would want him dead, but at the same time you’re questioning what he was into. Makes sense to me that it could have been people from that part of his life.”

“We checked it out, but as I said, we had no hard evidence of anything he was doing, and nobody was seen here that day. No one knew the names of people he was associated with—including these men—and Elizabeth wasn’t around to ask. Nothing in Cyrus’ car gave us any names, and forensics turned up nothing but locals. That’s why I was interested to hear that Wayne was talking about the men.”

“He didn’t give us names, and he only mentioned them because we found this photo in the middle of Betsy’s stack of mementos. All he said was that Elizabeth didn’t like them, which I would assume he’d have told you folks back when this all happened.”

Kay flipped through some pages. Each time she turned one over, Death snapped a picture.

“Just because Elizabeth didn’t like them didn’t mean they were killers,” Kay said.

“True. But it could have been a clue.”

Kay’s nostrils flared, but she kept looking through the pages. “We aren’t complete idiots, you know. The papers aren’t always right.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Is there any chance Elizabeth contacted anyone over the years and they didn’t tell?”

“Can’t imagine who that would have been. Betsy would have been the one, and if not her, Wayne. Either one of them would have told
someone
.”

“Unless they had something to do with it all, and they didn’t want Elizabeth to bring it all back up again.”

“Her cousin and her boyfriend? Please.”

“Betsy says he wasn’t her boyfriend.”

“Maybe not officially. But they were together all the time. He spent a lot of time in that car.”

“So his fingerprints would have been all over, and no one would have questioned it.”

Kay stopped with the pages and looked up. “You think Wayne Greer killed Cyrus?”

“It could explain a lot.”

“Like?”

“Like why Elizabeth was at the crime scene but didn’t get killed. Why she ran away and didn’t tell. Why he’s only now telling about these men.”

“But what reason would Wayne have had to murder his girlfriend’s—or even just a good friend’s—father? And why on earth would Elizabeth let him get away with it?”

“She’s too close to it,” Death said. “She can’t see the forest for the very prominent trees.”

“I think everyone in this town is overlooking what could be a huge issue,” Casey said.

“And I suppose you are going to enlighten us?”

“What if something really did switch off in Cyrus Mann’s mind? What if he really had gone over to the dark side one way or another? Maybe Elizabeth was ready to take charge of her own life.”

“By killing her own father?”

“No, I don’t see that. What I do see is her talking to her boyfriend about it. He could see how it would bother her, living in a car, or seeing her father fall apart. You called him a hormonal teenager. You don’t think he’d do whatever he could to protect her? Or at least get in her pants?”

Death
tsked
. “We’re getting a little crude, aren’t we?”

Casey leaned forward. “It could have been an accident. Did Cyrus own a gun?”

“No.”

“You sound very certain.”

“I am. When he died he had no guns registered to his name. And no unregistered ones in his car.”

“So being a completely sane and law-abiding citizen there would be no way for him to have one that was off the record.”

“You think he had a gun?”

Casey threw up her hands. “How do I know? I’m just throwing out possibilities which apparently you people were afraid to look at all those years ago. Or too blind to look at.”

Kay stood up so suddenly her chair tipped backward and fell onto the floor with a
crack
. “I think we’ve talked enough for today.”

“Thank God.” Casey stood, too.

“You think you’re leaving?”

“I know I’m leaving. Unless you’re going to arrest me.”

It was obvious that the thought wasn’t an unpleasant one, and for a moment, Casey was afraid the chief was actually going to do it.

Instead, Kay said, “Rules.” She held up a finger. “No more assaults.”

“Fine.”

Second finger. “I want to be kept informed. If you find out anything new, no matter how small, I want to be told.”

“Okay.” How was Kay going to know? Easy promise to not keep.

Third finger. “No harassing the citizens. If I find out you’re bothering people I will put an end to it.”

Casey held up her hand, as if she were swearing in. “I promise to be a good tourist.”

Kay shook her head. “Now get out of my house before I change my mind.”

So Casey fled.

With dignity.

Chapter Thirty-two

“I thought they’d never let you out.” Eric was waiting in the lobby on the other side of the bulletproof glass, and put his iPad aside.

“You and me both.” The sight of his smile gave Casey’s weary heart a lift. How had this man, whom she’d known for less than a month, become someone who could set her pulse racing? She wanted to press up against him right there in the police station, and feel his strong arms around her back. It was crazy. Where was any sense in that? She stood in front of his chair, looking down into his face. “Did they question you, too?”

“Only for an hour or so. Apparently you get treated differently when you assault a police officer.”

“I didn’t—” She cut off when she saw his grin.

“Come on.” He stood. “Let’s get out of here.”

They were on the opposite side of town from their motel, but seeing how the entire town was only a few blocks long it wasn’t a hardship.

“All that questioning made me hungry,” Casey said as they walked. “But I don’t think I can stomach that diner again.”

“Great minds, and all that,” Eric said. “I found us a place a few miles down the road.”

“You know they’re going to be watching. Some infant cop will probably try to stop us from leaving town.”

“And you’re going to let him?”

Casey looked back as they left, only to see Death gesturing frantically toward the police station. “I’m going to stay. See if I can get photos of the rest of the file. Now that you’ve asked those questions, she’s got to go through it all again. I’ll be in touch. Yikes! She’s starting!” And Death was gone.

Casey and Eric got back to their rooms, washed up, and headed out in the rental car. He made a detour down a side street and parked at the edge of a community park. Parents were out playing with their kids for this last hour before bedtime, and the air was filled with shrieks and laughter. To one side a small group of boys, from about nine to thirteen years of age, were arguing, one of the bigger ones holding a football, with one of the smaller boys in his face. As Casey watched, they worked out their differences, as boys will do, and began to play.

“What are we doing here?”

“You know that photo of Cyrus with his car? This is where he parked it.”

“I hadn’t even thought to check it out. It’s not like there will be anything left to discover.”

“Still. Want to take a quick look?” He led her down the path to the far corner of the park, which was wooded, with a moss and birdpoop-covered picnic table, alongside one of those grills that was more rust than metal, and which no self-respecting cook—or person who wanted to avoid tetanus—would ever use. On the edge of the trees was a scraggly lawn, and beside that was a small, unused parking lot, whose asphalt had become more a mine of cracks and weeds than an actual level slab. Casey pulled the photo from her pocket and tried to line it up with landmarks.

Eric pointed to the left, where the grass met the pavement. “The cop I spoke to said Cyrus was killed right about here. He and Elizabeth would park the car in the corner spot, use the picnic table for eating, and those restrooms.” A still-used, and probably updated, building sat across the park. From that distance Casey could just see the “Boys” and “Girls” signs above the opposite sides.

“Cyrus was found half-on, half-off the asphalt,” Eric continued. “As far as the cops knew, the car hadn’t been burgled. His and Elizabeth’s supper still sat on the picnic table.”

“What about her things? Did she take anything with her?”

“Apparently not. When the family went through the car they couldn’t think of anything that was missing.”

“So when she ran, she was really doing just that. No coming back for stuff.” It wasn’t hard for Casey to imagine the fear, or the grief. Watching her father die, knowing her own life was at risk. Running away with his blood on her clothes. “I wish we could go back. Protect her. Protect them both.”

“World would be a different place if we could do that.”

Casey felt suddenly chilled, and slipped her hand into Eric’s. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He squeezed her hand, and his warmth flowed up her arm, until she was ready to leave that place. Soon, without having to discuss it, they let go of each other and walked back to Eric’s car.

Nobody tried to keep them within the town limits, and no one followed as they drove. Eric’s phone stayed quiet while they had a pleasant dinner at a family seafood restaurant, and they didn’t talk much until they’d finished eating and were back in the car.

“Now what?” Eric pointed the car back toward Marshland.

“Nap?”

“I wish. Bed sounds good.” He immediately went red, and Casey felt herself go hot, as well.

“Sleep will come soon enough,” she said, trying not to show her discomfort, and failing miserably, she was sure. “How about Betsy? Should we go by her place and see if she was able to get a hold of any relatives?”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

They drove in silence until they parked in front of Betsy’s house.

“Casey—”

But she couldn’t talk about what was happening between them. Not then. Maybe not ever. She got out of the car and walked up to Betsy’s door. Once she rang the doorbell she heard Eric’s car door close, and his footsteps come up the walk.

A man answered the door. “Oh, you must be Casey and…Eric, is it? It’s them, honey!” he called toward the back of the house. “I’m Scott, Betsy’s husband. Well, that’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” He laughed. “Kind of weird if I wasn’t, huh? Come on in.” He wore khakis, a light blue, button-down shirt, and slightly crooked wire-rimmed glasses. He was in stocking feet, and his dark hair stuck up in the back, cowlicks gone wild. “We’re just finishing up dinner. Are you hungry?”