I’ll have to wait until morning.” And hope their visit to Willems didn’t spur any other late-night visitors to Ellen’s house. But then, if they’d already cleared out what they wanted, they wouldn’t be back. On the other hand—
“Actually, maybe I will take it now.”
Rosemary studied her face briefly before rising from her seat. “I’ll go get it.”
Casey looked down at her clothes. Jeans. Dark blue shirt. About as inconspicuous as anything she had. They would have to do.
Rosemary returned, and Casey held out her hand.
“I’ll drive you,” Rosemary said.
“No. I mean, thank you, but it would be better if I walked. And went alone.”
“But—”
“Please.”
Rosemary didn’t like it, Casey could see, but eventually held out the key ring, a miniature Shamu, from when Seaworld still had a home in Cleveland. Casey took the key, but Rosemary didn’t let go of the charm. “You’ll be careful?”
“I’ll be fine. There’s no alarm, is there?”
“Who can afford one of those in this town? Besides, we don’t need them.” The irony of her statement hung in the air between them.
“Okay.” Casey looked at Lillian, who still wouldn’t join the conversation. “And Rosemary?”
“Yes, darling.”
“Don’t tell Eric. The last thing he needs is to be in Ellen’s house, doing this.”
Rosemary’s face tightened, but she nodded.
Casey shoved the key into her pocket and stood on the top step. “So. I guess it would be good if I knew where exactly Ellen lived.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ellen’s house stood dark and silent. Casey waited in the backyard, in the shadow of the garage, by the alley that ran behind the row of homes. Casey had biked past this house before being confronted by Chief Reardon that morning. She had had no idea that the house belonged to Ellen—hadn’t even taken any special notice of it—and wondered if that was why the chief had been suspicious. But even if that were the case, he must have been keeping tabs on her to even notice where she was riding.
The houses on either side of Ellen’s were mostly dark, as well. The one to the right had a light on in an upstairs room on the far side of the house, but the downstairs looked quiet. From the other, on the opposite side, came the bluish flickering of television from the side window. Casey hoped the occupants would be glued to whatever inane program was on so they wouldn’t notice her entering Ellen’s back door.
She didn’t see any dogs in either backyard, waiting for an excuse to charge from a corner, barking. Perhaps people would think the dogs were chasing a squirrel, but…
The breeze blew gently, teasing wisps of hair across her face. The air was warmer tonight, but still Casey felt chilled. The home of a dead woman, whether by her own hand or someone else’s, wouldn’t exactly be Casey’s choice for a place to hang out. But if Ellen didn’t kill herself, her children—as well as her friends, parents, and Casey herself—needed to know.
Keeping to the shadows, Casey slowly made her way to the back door. No dogs barked. No gravel crunched under her feet. She eased open the screen door—which squeaked too loudly—got out the key, and opened the door. Stepping inside, she closed the door quietly.
To her chagrin, the back door opened directly into the kitchen. The room where Ellen Schneider had lost her life. Casey breathed through her mouth, trying not to picture the woman in the chair, or the pill bottle. She flipped on the flashlight Rosemary had given her and, keeping it low, checked out the room.
Everything was clean. Sparkling. The kitchen looked scrubbed from top to bottom. No sign that anyone had died there. Or that anyone had lived there, for that matter. No dishes in the sink, no crumbs on the counter. She opened the fridge, bathing herself briefly in the light. And no food in the refrigerator.
She closed the door and stood, sensing the atmosphere. Only the usual nighttime sounds. The hum of the refrigerator beside her. The ticking of a clock. Nothing to say there were any people present.
“Kinda spooky, isn’t it?”
Casey spun around, the beam of her flashlight impaling Death to the back door. Well, not impaling, exactly, as the light traveled through Death without any sign of actually hitting anything.
“You are impossible,” Casey hissed.
“No. Oh, well, maybe for you.” Death moved to stand by the chair where Ellen had died. “Such a shame, you know?”
“Yes,” she whispered harshly. “I know. Now are you going to help out here, or just be a nuisance?”
“Oh, you know me.” Death disappeared into the next room.
Casey moved slowly around the kitchen, hampered by the necessity for using the flashlight. She opened drawers and cupboards, checked the empty freezer, and sifted through canisters of flour and sugar, which hadn’t been removed with the rest of the perishable food. She discovered Ellen’s junk drawer and took some time going through it. Nothing but loose batteries, expired coupons, rubber bands, and lidless pens. No notes, photos, computer disks, or anything that could possibly be compromising or informative.
Confident she’d searched every possible hiding spot, she moved on to the living room. Death sat on the sofa eating a caramel apple, feet up on the coffee table. Casey took a moment to stand to the side of the window and peer outside. Nothing moved. The television still flickered at the neighbors’. No additional lights had been turned on.
Satisfied that her presence was as yet undetected, she began another search, this time under sofa cushions—asking Death ever so politely to please move—inside the TV console, inside DVD cases, and inside the pottery pieces on the decorative shelf. Nothing there, and nothing behind the curtains.
She stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. Almost eleven. Not that late, but with the sleep she’d been getting it felt much later. She’d have to speed up.
With Death lurking in the doorway, crunching happily, Casey rifled through the medicine cabinet and detergent-scented linen closet in the bathroom. Nothing. She walked down the hallway, pausing at a child’s bedroom. A boy’s. Sports wallpaper, with a life-sized football player taking up most of one wall, and a Cleveland Indians bedspread. She stepped into the room. “Would a mother hide incriminating evidence in her child’s room?”
Death considered this. “Perhaps if it were something that wouldn’t explode, smell, or catch on fire. On second thought, forget the smell thing. Ten-year-old boys aren’t exactly odorfree.”
Casey decided Ellen wouldn’t have risked it, and left, thinking she could always come back if she didn’t find anything else. She was moving toward the bedroom at the end of the hallway when she heard a door open. She snapped off her flashlight and froze, glancing back at Death, who had, of course, disappeared. A light came on in the living room, spilling toward her, and she tiptoed backward, entering the bedroom. Her sight, having adjusted partially to the darkness with her use of only a flashlight, allowed her to see the layout of the room. Moving quickly but silently, she walked to the far side of the room and crouched behind the bed, her heart beating so loudly she was afraid whoever was out there would hear it.
Padding footsteps reached her ears, and she waited, holding her breath, as they came directly to the bedroom. The overhead light flipped on.
Casey blinked sudden sweat from her eyes and hunched even farther over her knees, trying to peer under the bed at the same time she tried to become invisible. The person hesitated in the doorway, but soon walked in, feet scuffing on the carpet. A drawer opened, and Casey could hear the person displacing clothes. A huff of disappointment, and then another drawer, followed by more searching.
The person went through four drawers before turning to the closet, fortunately on the other side of the room. Another light clicked on, and Casey listened to boxes being pulled from a shelf and opened, and hangers scraping along the pole as clothes were gone through.
