Grim Reaper's Dance, The

by Judy Clemens

  Casey let out her breath. She had to get out of the area, and fast. She could take the bag of information with her, and figure it out on the road.

  “You’re still wearing the same clothes, aren’t you?” Bailey indicated Casey’s shirt.

  “I didn’t have any others.”

  “And couldn’t buy any?”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “Don’t have— Why not?”

  “Because she’s a fugitive,” Sheryl said. “Her stuff’s probably still in the truck.”

  Casey ignored her. “It’s a long story. Look, I’ll just be going.”

  She stood, but Bailey grabbed her pants leg. “Don’t go. Please.”

  “Thanks for the food. Really, I appreciate it. But I can’t be found here. I didn’t have anything to do with the accident. It wasn’t my fault. And I don’t want you folks getting in trouble because of me.”

  “We won’t. And I believe you about the accident. We all believe you. Don’t we?” She widened her eyes at her friends, all of whom nodded vigorously. Except, again, for Sheryl.

  “If it wasn’t your fault,” Sheryl said, “why can’t you talk to the cops? She’s running from something.” This last was to the other teens.

  “So what?” Martin said. “Isn’t everybody? Aren’t you?”

  “I am not running from the cops.”

  “Sheryl…” Bailey sounded irritated.

  “Don’t Sheryl me. You… She…” Sheryl shoved the sliding door open and barged out.

  Bailey sighed. “Terry—”

  “I’m on it.” He jumped up and followed Sheryl out the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

  Bailey waved a hand. “Not your fault. Sheryl doesn’t exactly like strangers, or any adults, really.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. “Especially after last week, when—.”

  The others looked at him sharply and he jerked back, as if they’d slapped him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say anything.”

  “Stay here.” Bailey wouldn’t let go of Casey’s pants. “Nobody will find you.”

  “But Sheryl—”

  “—will be fine. We’ll take care of her. Believe me, the last thing Sheryl wants is to call the cops.”

  “We’ll bring you stuff,” Martin said. “Clothes and food and a sleeping bag. Stay as long as you want.”

  “But won’t someone find me?”

  “No one ever comes out here except us,” Bailey said. “I should know. We own this shed and all twelve hundred acres around it.”

  “But—”

  “You’re safe here. Even when these fields get harvested no one bothers with the shed.”

  Casey glanced over at Death, who was humming along with the present song, eyes closed. Big help there. She really didn’t want to leave the area. She wanted to stay close, within range of Evan’s truck, close to where she knew Owen Dixon and Randy Westing—Blond Guy and Gun Man—were. Unless they’d already run off.

  “You are hiding, aren’t you?” Terry and Sheryl were back inside, Terry inquisitive, Sheryl lurking behind him.

  Casey considered Terry, and his question. “I am.”

  “Why?” Terry didn’t look angry, or scared. Just…curious.

  Casey looked at Death again, and this time got a little shrug, like what did she have to lose? And really…not much. But these kids? They did, whoever they were. Knowing too much could only get them in trouble.

  “I just need some time,” Casey said. “I was in a…a bad situation.”

  Sheryl shook her hair out of her face. “Killing somebody would do that.”

  “Sheryl,” Bailey said, her voice sharp. “She didn’t kill anybody.”

  Sheryl stared at the far corner of the shed.

  “I promise,” Casey said, looking right at Sheryl. “I didn’t kill the truck driver. I just need a place to stay. Just for a little while. If what Bailey says is true, no one will even know I’m here.”

  “It is true,” Bailey said. “But you know, there are…places you can go. No one will know where you are. He won’t know where you are.”

  He? “Um,” Casey said. “Who won’t?”

  “You know,” Bailey said. “Whoever it is that you’re running from. Your boyfriend? Husband?”

  “No,” Casey said, “that’s not it, I—”

  “We can’t get mixed up with this,” Sheryl said. “With her. Whoever she really is.”

  Terry nodded. “Sheryl’s right.”

  “No, she’s not,” Martin said. “Sheryl means she can’t get mixed up in it.”

  “Martin!” Terry looked shocked.

  “What? Just because Sheryl’s—” He stopped, glancing at Casey. “Look, it doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t do anything. Sheryl can stay out of it.”

  Sheryl gasped. “That’s not fair!”

  “We’ll keep you safe,” Bailey said to Casey. “I promise. You can stay here as long as you want.”

  Casey gave a short laugh under her breath. It was Bailey’s own little group of night owls Bailey should be protecting. Casey didn’t exactly have a good record of late. She should tell Bailey to get the hell away from her while she and her friends still had a chance to survive unscathed.

  “Thanks,” she said instead. “I would love to stay.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Cute kids.” The guitar was gone, but Death still hummed the last tune from Martin’s iPod.

  “Cute and confusing,” Casey said. “Who ever heard of kids who sneak out to eat baked goods?”

  Death laughed. “I like it.”

  “So do I. I like them.” She rolled up from her burlap bed and began her morning stretches. From the height of the sun it was at least mid-morning. The kids had left somewhere around five, after hours of talking—among themselves, since Casey wouldn’t answer any more of their questions—and dancing to Martin’s iPod, and it had taken Casey ages to get to sleep after that. She was surprised she’d been able to sleep at all; at least Death hadn’t felt it necessary to wake her every two hours, like the night before. “You knew they were going to come.”

  Death grinned. “They were here night before last, eating those blueberry muffins they talked about. I would have taken one if I could have, but that would’ve been breaking the rules.”

  “What rules? You have rules?”

  Death shrugged. “They change on a regular basis. That night I didn’t want to scare the kiddies. Anyhow, this group could be helpful. They’re smart, well, except for the tall one, and they’re well-connected. I mean, that Goth girl’s family owns all this.” Death gestured to the shed.

  “Yeah,” Casey said. “Real helpful.”

  “Just you wait. You’ll see.”

  Casey stretched her arms to the ceiling, hearing her joints crack.

  “So.” Death jumped up beside her. “What’s on the agenda for today other than your boring kata?”

  Casey took a deep breath. “Other things you’ll find equally dull. You might as well go back to wherever you go when you’re not bothering me. Don’t you have some people to go transport on your little boat?”

  “I don’t have a boat. And if I did, it wouldn’t be little.”

  “So all of those stories about you rowing dead people across the river Styx?”

  “Complete bunk. I hate water.” Death gave a shudder. “Bad experience when I was young.”

  Casey dropped her hands. “You were young?”

  “What? Do I look that bad?”

  Casey laughed and began her sit-ups.

  “You know,” Death said. “You really aren’t very nice to me.”

  Casey counted under her breath.

  “You treat me like I wanted to take your husband and son.”

  Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

  “The accident wasn’t my fault, remember. I just came when I was called.”

  Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two.

  “Fine. Ignore me. I’ll be back wh
en you’re ready to be friendly.”

  Casey squeezed her eyes shut. When she counted to two hundred, she opened them. Death was gone.

  Casey went through a set of hapkido forms and took a long drink from the pump. She could hear tractors in the distance, but couldn’t see anything other than clouds of dust billowing into the sky. After washing her face she went back into the shed to consider how she might be able to get in contact with either Wendell or Davey. She’d have to be careful. As she’d said to Death, getting in touch with those guys so soon after they’d been involved with the police wasn’t ideal, but Casey needed to know what had happened. Had they turned her in? Had they gotten in trouble? Were the guys she’d knocked out—or Gun Man—in custody?

  While Casey considered her options, she took out Evan’s photos and studied them, memorizing faces. If she ran across any of the people, she wanted to know it. She could put names to these faces, with Evan’s notes, but wouldn’t recognize the drivers on the manifests.

  The sound of a vehicle coming up the lane broke into her thoughts, and she shoved the photos back into the bag, rolled up her makeshift bed, and stashed them both in one of the five-gallon buckets. She darted to the corner closest to the opening of the door and eased into it, waiting.

  Gravel popped under the tires of the vehicle as it slowed and then stopped. A door opened and shut, and Casey balanced herself, her weight on her back foot.

  “Hello?” Bailey stuck her head in the door, her dark hair and pale skin even more disconcerting in the daylight. Her lips were painted as black as her hair, and her eyes stood out between thick liner.

  “Oh.” Casey relaxed and stepped out from the corner. “Bailey.”

  “Hey.” Bailey looked around at the shed, toward the space where Casey had been sleeping. “Where’s your stuff?”

  “I didn’t know who was coming.”

  “So you cleaned it up.” Bailey assessed her. “You don’t take any chances, do you?”

  “I try not to.”

  “Dad let me drive the car to school today. He and Mom are both at work. I thought you might want a shower. And maybe some real food.”

  “Bailey, you don’t have to—”

  “Come on. If you’re going to be sticking around you might as well not stink.” She grinned. “My sister’s at college, and she left some clothes. Mom won’t notice if they’re gone.”

  “Just like they don’t miss you at night?”

  Bailey laughed. “Exactly.”

  “And doesn’t anybody miss you during the day? Like your teachers?”

  Bailey shrugged. “I called in. Said I was my mom, and that my daughter wasn’t feeling well today.”

  “Bailey, you shouldn’t—”

  “Hey. My choice. Don’t give me a lecture.”

  Casey shut up and retrieved her bag from the bucket, following Bailey to a blue Honda Accord. “Won’t you draw attention to the shed by driving back here?”

  “Nah. I checked the fields before I turned in the lane. No one’s within a couple miles.”

  Casey walked around to the passenger door and hesitated. Just being in the vicinity of another car made her heart race. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing.

  “You all right?” Bailey looked at her over the top of the car.

  “It’s just, the accident, you know, it makes me—”

  “Freak out? Sure, I get it. I thought about bringing bikes, but there’s no way to ride one and pull another one, so—”

  “It’s fine. I’ll get in in a minute.” Casey gritted her teeth, and opened the door.

  Bailey kept up the chatter the whole way into town, and had the radio turned to a top forty station so loudly she had to raise her voice. “You like pancakes? I make good pancakes. Sausage, too. Or we have that bacon that’s already cooked and you just have to warm it up. Or I could make eggs. Or cereal. We’ve got lots of that. How about toast? You could have cinnamon toast. Unless you want lunch? It is about lunchtime, actually, so we could have that. You want to stop at McDonalds? Or Taco Bell? Or maybe you’d rather have something from the house? I can make mac and cheese, or we have leftovers from last night. Lasagna. Or a sandwich. We have all the stuff to make sandwiches. Even that Amish Baby Swiss cheese.”

  Casey’s stomach rumbled, whether from excitement or apprehension, she wasn’t sure. The long list of food was rather overwhelming, as was the volume at which it was delivered.

  Bailey suddenly stopped talking and pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. She slid it open and began punching keys at a rate faster than Casey could keep track of. Casey prayed silently that nothing would pull out in front of them, and that Bailey could keep at least one eye on the road.

  Bailey closed her phone and set it on the seat beside her. “Martin. Wondered if I’d picked you up yet.”

  “He knows?”

  “Sure. They all do. Martin and Johnny wanted to come, but I thought that would look weird, if we were all gone.”

  “Sheryl probably thought you shouldn’t come.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s got her reasons.”

  Bailey’s phone buzzed again, and she snatched it up, laughing. “Martin says he looks forward to seeing how well you clean up.”

  Casey hoped she lived long enough to do it. Weren’t there laws about this sort of thing? That you needed to actually pay attention to the road while driving?

  Besides fearing for her life, Casey kept her eye out for traffic, thinking that in her present state she would be a source of interest, even if people didn’t recognize her. They might also wonder why a school-age girl wasn’t actually in school, but there was nothing she could do about that. She pulled down the sun visor to get at the mirror behind it, and blanched at the sight of her hair and face. The fact that Death was now in the back seat didn’t faze her. The fact that the rest of the seat was filled with bagpipes was a little more disturbing.

  “You keep asking to die,” Death said. “What better chance do you have than with a teenage girl who texts while she drives?”

  Casey blew her bangs off her forehead and ran her fingers through the rest of her hair, wincing at Death’s blast on the bagpipes, which sounded like a dying whale.

  Bailey glanced over, then reached into the back seat, putting her hand right through Death’s leg and scrabbling around where the bagpipes lay. Casey clutched the dashboard as the car swerved dangerously toward the side of the road.

  “Here.” Bailey tossed a baseball cap into Casey’s lap. “You can wear this till you get inside.” She looked at her fingers, clenching them into a fist and blowing on them.

  Rather than a ball team, the cap advertised a seed company. “You wear this often?”

  Bailey wrinkled her nose. “It’s Dad’s. He has tons of them. Guys from the different places give him free stuff all the time, so we’ve got more crap than we know what to do with. Hats, pens, tablets, money clips—like who uses those—even T-shirts. Not that I wear them.”

  Casey pushed back her hair and put on the hat. Not great, but at least a little improvement.

  “Niiiiice,” Death said, giving Casey a thumbs up in the mirror.

  Casey flipped up the visor.

  “That’s our place,” Bailey said, turning a corner. “White farmhouse down there.” She pointed to a homestead about a quarter of a mile ahead.

  “And all of this is your land?”

  “A lot of it. We own over a thousand acres, and work about nine thousand more.”

  “That’s a lot of land. It must take forever to farm it all.”

  “It’s what Dad does. And with the new farm equipment nowadays it doesn’t take all that long. Now, you might want to get down. We’ve got some guys who work for us, and unless you want to get me in trouble you’d better stay out of sight.”

  “Won’t you be in trouble if they see you, anyway?”

  “They’ll probably just think it’s my dad, coming home for lunch. They don’t always know where he is. Stop worrying.”

  C
asey hunched over in the seat, scooting down low into the leg area of the passenger seat and ducking her head as far as she could.

  “This is fun.” Death sat in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard, above Casey. “Think we could do this more often?”

  Bailey pulled into the long driveway, driving faster than Casey liked, bumping Casey’s head up into Death’s legs. She was thankful she was wearing a hat. Bailey lurched to a stop, opened the electric garage door, and pulled in. “Stay down.”

  The garage door made its slow descent, ending with a quiet clunk.

  “Okay,” Bailey said. “You can get up now.”

  Death had already moved, so Casey unfolded from her position and climbed out of the car. She bent over, hands toward the floor, stretching her back.

  “You okay?” Bailey stopped halfway to the door to the house.

  Casey straightened and forced a smile. “I’m fine.” She grabbed her bag of information and followed Bailey into the house, stopping just inside the door. This place was not just a “farmhouse,” as Bailey had said. It was a state-of-the-art home, beginning with the kitchen into which they’d come. Stainless steel appliances shone in the brightly lit room—skylights and windows were everywhere—and the floor looked like original tile work, as did the counter top. Rows of expensive pots hung from hooks above a cooking island, and the tops of the custom cabinets were lined with cut glass bowls.

  “Wow,” Death said. “So much for the idea that farmers are back-woods.”

  Bailey dropped her purse onto the glass kitchen table. “Shower first, or food?”

  No contest.

  Death watched as Casey stashed her bag under a pile of towels in the bathroom’s sink cabinet. “I’ll guard your stuff.”

  “Oh, great. And how will you respond if Bailey comes in and looks around? Chill her to death?”

  “No.” Death’s voice held exaggerated patience. “I’ll tell you.”

  “Oh.” Casey slid off the ball cap and waited.

  “What?”

  “Can you at least turn around?”

  With rolling eyes Death spun toward the wall. “You are so sensitive these days. Are you having body-image issues?”