Grim Reaper 01 - Embrace the Grim Reaper

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