hair lacked the shock value. Her smile, however, was just as wide. “Come in, come in. You must be our new guest.”
“Yes. Casey.”
“Well, Casey, are you hungry?”
“Actually, I am.” She had fallen asleep on her floor and awakened an hour later with a kink in her back, and a growling stomach. After a quick face-washing, she’d made her way downstairs.
“You’re welcome to have lunch with us,” Lillian said. “I know it’s a bit late for it, going on one-thirty, but it’s hard to find time for eating when there are so many other things to do.” She waved her over to the table. “Rosemary will be here in just a minute. She’s at her hapkido class.”
Casey let go with an involuntary laugh.
Lillian smiled. “Yes, I know. She doesn’t exactly look like a martial artist, does she? But she’s passionate about it.” She lowered her voice. “I think, however, her classmates try to avoid partnering with her during sparring. Having her step on your toe—let alone falling on you—can be hazardous to your health.”
“Helloooo!”
Lillian straightened, the grin still on her face. “She’s home.”
Rosemary filled the doorway, resplendent in her Dobak, her hapkido uniform. “Ah, there’s our new guest! You should ask her to lunch, Lillian.”
“I already have.”
“Of course you have. Come, my darling. Sit!”
So Casey sat at the little table, barely big enough for three, and ate an egg and cheese sandwich with way too much pepper.
When they’d finished, and Casey had heard the entire history of the house (part of the Underground Railroad, don’t you know!), their partnership (known each other since grade school!), love lives (“I’m a widow, and Lillian’s a divorcee”), and just how long it took to renovate the room she was staying in (way too long), Casey sat back and tried not to imagine the pepper coming back up her esophagus and making her sneeze.
“Is there a Laundromat somewhere close I could use?” she asked, when she could get a word in.
The two women looked at each other, brows furrowed.
“There’s the one on Wilson,” Lillian said.
“Or Second Street.” Rosemary tapped her chin with a finger. “If it’s still open.”
“But really,” Lillian said, “the closest one would be—”
“—in our back room.” Rosemary smiled, and Lillian crinkled her eyes at Casey.
“Oh, but I couldn’t—”
“Oh, but you could.” Lillian patted Casey’s arm. “We insist.”
Rosemary stood and began clearing dishes. “And we also insist that you use our bicycle while you’re our guest. You’ll need it to get to play rehearsal.”
“What?” Had she mentioned that?
Lillian leaned toward her. “It’s a small town, remember?”
Casey sighed. “Thanks. I’d love to use your bike.”
Rosemary, at the sink, peered over her shoulder. “You’ll have to get the tires pumped up down at the gas station. No one’s ridden it for a while.”
“Sure. Thanks. And thanks for lunch.” Casey got up and took her plate over to the sink. When she’d done that, she hesitated. “When’s the next time you go to a hapkido session, Rosemary?”
Rosemary grinned. “Whenever I want. But probably not today.”
Casey put her hands in her pockets. “Any chance I could tag along?”
Rosemary’s smiled broadened. “Of course. Do you know something about it?”
“Yeah. Something.”
“I’d love to have you join me. How about tomorrow?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” Casey turned to leave.
“You’re taking Ellen’s place in the play.”
Casey halted in the doorway and looked back. Both women faced her. She wasn’t sure which one had spoken. “I guess I am.”
Lillian nodded. “That’s good.”
“Is it?”
Rosemary thrust a pan into the full sink. “This town needs something like Twelfth Night. Needs some laughter.”
“But about Ellen. It’s terrible.”
“Of course it is, darling.” Was Rosemary crying, or had she splashed herself?
“We loved Ellen,” Lillian said. “The whole town did.”
Eric did.
“We just couldn’t believe it, when we heard.”
Rosemary spun a metal spatula in a wide arc, sending bubbles to the floor. “We still don’t believe it. She wouldn’t leave those kids.”
Casey bit her lip. “You don’t think she killed herself?”
“Of course not!” The spatula was really moving now. “Just the thought that that sweet girl committed suicide is…is…”
Lillian moved to the other woman and put an arm around her shoulders. “Shh, Rosemary. Quiet down, now.”
Rosemary’s face went red, and her lips trembled. Carefully, she set the spatula in the water, wiped her hands on the towel beside the sink, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
Casey shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“Yes, there is,” Rosemary said. “There most certainly, certainly is.”
Chapter Ten
After lunch Casey walked upstairs to put her dirty laundry in the basket Lillian had loaned her. On her way out she stopped in the doorway to look back at the room. There was nothing to say she even existed. Her bag was stashed away, her bathroom supplies were in the medicine cabinet, and the bed was as smooth as if it had just been made.
“I don’t understand why you don’t have any pictures.”
Casey ground her teeth. “I wish you’d stop sneaking up on me like that.”
Death leaned against the doorjamb, sucking on a lollipop.
“And what’s with all the junk food lately?”
“What? You afraid it’s going to kill me?”
Casey bit back a reply and pushed through the doorway.
Death stepped out of her way. “So why don’t you?”
“Why don’t I what?”
“Have any pictures?”
Casey stopped at the top of the stairs. “I don’t need pictures. I have all the images I need.”
“They can’t be very nice ones.”
“They’re fine.”
“If you say so.”
Casey looked back. “What do you want me to do? Sit around all day and stare at photographs? Wish they were back here, with me?”
Death pushed off of the doorjamb, meandering down the hallway, looking at the antiques spaced along the wall. “You already wish that.”
“Of course I do. Having photos would just be worse.”
“If you say so. Where are you going, Casey?”
