Embrace the Grim Reaper by Judy Clemens Page A

we’re to freshen up your room, or if you’ll be leaving us. We tend to be pretty flexible here.”
    “Thank you.” Casey turned to the woman. “If your partner’s name is Lillian, what’s yours?”
    “Oh! I never said, did I? It’s Rosemary. But you can call me Rosie, or Rose, or even Mary, if you like. I’ll answer to anything, almost. Just don’t call me crazy!” She gave a loud, hearty chuckle and placed her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll leave you to make yourself comfortable. Whenever you feel like coming down we can take care of the messy signatures and those awful money matters. Take your time.”
    She swung the door closed behind her, and Casey was alone.
    Except not completely alone.
    Casey put her hands on her hips. “And who are you?”
    The fat, long-haired cat on the bed blinked sleepily, stretched, and lumbered off the mattress to go stand by the door. Casey walked over and unlatched the door, opening it wide. “Go on, then.”
    The cat stared at her a few more moments before sauntering into the hallway. Casey shook her head. A cat. Like she needed to be dealing with one of those.
    Casey turned around, and sighed with frustration. “What?”
    “This place is much nicer.” Death sat exactly where the cat had been.
    “So glad you approve.”
    “Are you making a commitment?”
    “To what?” But she knew.
    “Clymer, Ohio.”
    Casey stalked to her bag and yanked the zipper open, spilling the bag’s contents onto the floor.
    “Eww,” Death said.
    Casey turned her back and began throwing laundry onto a pile. “I’m not making any commitments. I’m just…seeing what happens.”
    “Eric’s cute.”
    Casey jerked up. “I do not care if Eric Jones is cute.”
    “VanDiepenbos.”
    “Whatever. It doesn’t matter what he looks like. Or what his last name is.” She grabbed her bag of toiletries from the floor and marched into the bathroom, where she plopped it onto the counter.
    “He’s nice, too,” Death called from the bedroom.
    Casey stalked back in and flung a pair of socks onto the dirty clothes. “So what? There are all kinds of nice people.”
    “Ellen was nice.”
    Casey stopped, sinking down onto her heels, running a hand over her face. “That poor woman. I wish…” She shook her head.
    “What? That you could’ve taken her place?”
    “Of course not.”
    Death hesitated, but let it go. “Eric seemed surprised she killed herself.”
    “He did, didn’t he?”
    “Said he didn’t think she would’ve done it.”
    Casey grabbed her bag and stood up. “No one likes to think someone they know would commit suicide.” She took the backpack and stashed it in the wardrobe.
    “No. No, they don’t. Sometimes it’s even hard for me.”
    Casey snorted. “Right.”
    “Hey, who do you think I am?”
    “Death.”
    “Well, yes, but who else?”
    “You mean, like, the Grim Reaper?”
    Death nodded.
    “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve studied it.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Casey rolled her eyes. “Okay. Azriel, the Angel of Death.”
    “Also known as the hand of God.”
    “Whatever. Thanatos? Isn’t that one? And La Muerte. And the Fourth Horseman of the Apocolypse.”
    Death’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t like horses. Any others?”
    “L’Ankou?”
    “Very good. But I’m thinking of nicer names. Like Eternal Rest. Or the Gatherer. Or the Help of God.”
    “Trying to make yourself into something good?”
    Death smiled gently. “But Casey, I am something good. Maybe I’m not always welcome, or arrive always at the right time, but I’m not ultimately bad.”
    “Yeah, well, tell it to the judge.”
    Death pointed toward the ceiling. “Believe me, I have.”
    “Fine. But what’s your point?”
    “My point is that I’m not the easy way out. But then, I think you know that, don’t you?”
    A rush of emotion hit Casey, and she doubled over, arms crossed over her stomach. She fell to her knees onto the laundry pile, tipping over onto the carpet. Her head filled with