“Not before two days ago.”
He nodded some more. “And where did you come from two days ago?”
“Detroit.”
“Motor City. Tigers fan, are you?”
“No. I like the Rockies, myself.”
He looked at her sharply. “You’re from Colorado?”
“No, but they’ve got lots of young, handsome players.”
He kept his eyes on her, sucking his cheeks to his teeth. Eventually he said, “So you like handsome young men?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “There’s some who say you came to town for Eric.”
“Really?”
“And some who say you came to town for HomeMaker.”
“HomeMaker? Why?”
“I suppose you’d have to tell me.”
She frowned, wondering who exactly the chief had been talking to. She asked him.
“Oh, just this person and that person. You know. A variety.”
“So there must be more theories.”
He grinned a little. “Of course. You’re FBI, come to check out our failing factory, or you’re the opposite, and wanted by the FBI. You’re a traveling journalist, documenting your experiences, you know, like that guy, what’s his name, Charles Kuralt. Some even say…” He gave her a steady look. “You’re the long-lost sister of Ellen Schneider, come to get revenge for her death.”
Casey swallowed. “But I thought she killed herself.”
“That’s right, but something had to drive her to it, isn’t that right?”
“I guess.” She picked at the wrap on the bike’s handlebars. “Any chance she didn’t kill herself?”
The chief gave her a long look, then slowly placed his sunglasses back over his eyes. “It’s been officially ruled a suicide, Ms. Smith. The autopsy confirmed she died of an overdose of her own sleeping pills. She sat down with a few cups of coffee and just about emptied the bottle. No bruises saying someone forced her to take them. No needle marks saying someone shot her up with something. All of the evidence points away from there being anyone else involved.”
“No fingerprints?”
He snorted. “Been talking to your friends at The Nesting Place, have you? They’d like me to call in favors from the governor to get Ellen’s entire house taken apart and analyzed.”
“But fingerprints are simple.”
“Yeah. And these simple prints are telling us no one else was involved. I really don’t think there’s any point in bringing her death up again, questioning how it happened. People here have enough to worry about these days, without thinking that maybe Ellen was murdered.” He held up a hand, forestalling her response. “I wish to God she hadn’t done it, Ms. Smith, but facts are facts. Nothing we can do will change them, and it’s not worth getting everybody all riled up over something that’s not true, or even likely.”
“Her kids might think differently.”
“Her kids are ten and seven. I really don’t think it matters to them one way or the other, does it?”
“You don’t?”
“Either way, they’re orphans.”
“Yes, but one way she chose to leave them, and the other she didn’t. I’d say that matters a lot.”
“Ms. Smith, that might matter to some people. Her family, sure, I can give you that. Her friends, like your hostesses at the bed and breakfast. They’ve made no secret of their feelings. Her boyfriend…” He looked at her meaningfully. “But somehow, Ms. Smith, I don’t see that it should matter a whole lot to you.”
“But—”
“Good day, Ms. Smith.” He began the trek back across the street, but stopped when he reached his cruiser, turning to her as if struck by a sudden thought. “And you know, I find myself hoping one last theory about you is true.”
“Really? And what is that?”
“That you’re a gypsy, and you can only stay in one place a few days at a time, or poof!” He splayed his fingers upward. “You evaporate.”
Casey watched him, her mouth open, as he opened his car door and slid into the seat. With a slight wave he accelerated through the intersection and drove off.
“Now that is a rude little man.” Death stood in the middle of the street, drinking a Slurpee and watching the police car turn a corner and disappear from view.
Casey crossed her arms. “So. Will I?”
“Will you what?”
“Evaporate?”
Death walked over and pinched Casey’s cheek with fingers icy from the drink. “Hardly. Chief Reardon doesn’t know anything about gypsies.”
“Really? And you do?”
“Of course. And gypsies do not evaporate.”
Casey sighed. “So much for that idea.”
Death took another loud slurp and took off the drink lid, stirring the ice with the straw. “Gypsies do, however, get arrested and convicted of crimes they did not commit.”
Casey jerked her head in the direction of the police car.
When she turned back around, Death was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Casey was pedaling slowly, trying to bring her heart rate back to normal, when a strange vibration came from her jacket pocket. She glanced down. What in the world? Oh. Her phone. She’d forgotten to remove it the day before.
She braked and stopped, one foot on the curb. Yanking the phone from her pocket, she scanned the face for the incoming number. Ricky. Of course. He could’ve gotten her information when she’d called yesterday. His catering business was sure to have Caller ID.
“Ricky?”
“They were here again. At my house. The lady with the hair, and the guy with the face.”
“What? When?”
“Just now. And that’s not all. She was with them.”
“She? You mean…” He could only mean one person. Dottie Spears. The CEO of Pegasus. “What did she want?”
“Same thing Hair and Face wanted yesterday. To know where you were.”
“But for her to come—”
“Something must’ve happened.”
He was right. He had to be. “What did you tell them?”
“What I always tell them. The truth. I don’t know where you are, where you’re going, or how to get in touch with you. Except that was a lie, of course, since we’re on the phone now and I do know your e-mail address. Not that you check it very often.”
“Are they gone?”
“Of course they’re gone.”
“I mean gone gone. Have you looked outside?”
She could hear his sigh over the phone, and the rustle that meant he was moving.
“Okay. I’m looking out the front window. There’s nobody there. No cars, either. Except mine and—”
Casey waited. “And?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, no. You’re not doing that. Who’s car is there?”
“Casey…”
“It’s not that awful girl from work again, is it, Ricky? What was her name? Jewel? Please tell me it’s not.”
“And if it is?”
“I guess I’ll have to come home after all.”
“Aaaah, so now I know the secret. I think I will have to call her again.”
Casey put a hand to her forehead. “So it’s not her?”
“It’s not her. But back to the reason I called—”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s not like these people are dangerous or anything. Just annoying.”
Casey wasn’t so sure. The guy with the face…well, that face wasn’t any too forgiving. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Of what? Incoming lawsuits?”
“Ricky…”
“All right, all right. I’ll be careful. Whatever that means.”
“It means—”
“I know what it means. I’m not an idiot.”
“Are you sure?” Casey squeezed her phone. “This number will be in your records now. I’ll have to get rid of it. You do realize they can track cell phones?”
“You called me yesterday.”
“At work. Not on your personal phone.”
“Oh. That’s right. But if you get rid of the phone how am I supposed to—”
“By e-mail, like usual.”
“But you have to promise—”
“I can’t promise anything.”
“—that you’ll check your e-mail more often. Okay? That’s all I’m asking.”
Casey blew a stray hair from her eyes. “Once a day.”
“At least.”
“Once a day.”