by Judy Clemens
He glared up at her. “I set off the alarm. And called my guys.”
“Did you?” Casey sat on the arm of a chair across from him. “I can believe you called the guys, but somehow I don’t think you want law enforcement coming across all this.” She gestured at the walls.
His mouth opened and closed several times, like an ugly fish in a bathrobe.
“So tell me,” Casey said. “How did you get the idea for the trucking scam? The trucks at your store going in and out?”
“I said I’m not telling—”
“Come on, Yonkers.” Wendell sidled up to the chair, the gun visible at his side. Casey hoped he knew what he was doing with it. “At least give us a hint.”
Yonkers saw the gun and licked his lips. “An order came in wrong one day. We got a whole load of crockpots and toasters instead of plants. We laughed it off, but it stayed with me. If that sort of thing could happen by accident, then—”
“—it certainly could happen by design,” Casey said. “Of course. And the drivers? How did you find this dismal crew?”
Yonkers snorted. “It wasn’t hard. Nance had dropped off lots of loads at Exotic Blooms before falling behind on child support. Once I got him on board, he knew a guy, who knew another guy… Pat was on our team and needed a job after—” He shuddered. “It’s like anything. One scumbag leads to another.”
“And you don’t count yourself among them?”
His face went red. “I am not…I am a businessman. I don’t do…those things.”
“Oh, I see. You leave the messy stuff for the others. That’s exactly what Evan told me. That you sit behind your desk and tell everyone else what to do. That you could make things happen.”
“He said that?” Yonkers blinked. “I thought he trusted me.”
“Oh, he did. Why else would he have told you about the theft and illegal driving ring he’d discovered?”
“He didn’t—” But Yonkers’ face gave him away.
“Evan was getting too close, wasn’t he? He’d found your guys, and Class A Trucking, and the thefts. It was only a matter of time until he realized you were behind it and you certainly couldn’t have that. It would make you look bad.”
“I didn’t…he didn’t…”
“So you killed him.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Casey grabbed Yonkers’ bathrobe and pulled him closer. “Evan’s daughters no longer have a father. That’s because he’s dead. Because you killed him.”
“But we…the guys didn’t mean to. They just wanted to stop him where he couldn’t get away. It was supposed to be an acci—”
“Yonk?” A voice called out from the hallway.
Casey tilted her head at Wendell and he drifted back, behind the open door.
Owen Dixon came in first, scowling when he saw Casey.
Westing was next. “Dixon, get her.”
“Nope.” Wendell stepped out from behind the door, gun out.
Dixon reached for his belt, turning toward Wendell, and Casey sprang off the chair, grabbing Dixon’s arm and pulling it straight out behind him, in an arm lock. “You should’ve learned the first time, at the accident site, Dix. Never turn your back on me.”
He growled and tried to grab her with his other hand, but it was fruitless.
“But you…” Westing faltered. “You were a mess. There’s no way you could have escaped.”
“She did.” Wendell grinned, but Casey could see his anxiety in the whiteness of his knuckles and the brightness of his eyes.
“What are you going to do?” Westing stood still, hands out as Wendell held the gun on him.
“I’m going to listen to the story,” Casey said. “While we wait for the others.”
“I love stories,” Death said, clapping.
“Others?” Yonkers sounded hopeful. “Are the rest of the guys coming?”
From the expression on Westing’s face, it didn’t look like it.
“You know,” Casey said. “Cops, ambulances. They tend to react when someone calls, saying a woman is being attacked.”
“Attacked?” Westing said. “You?”
Casey shrugged. “Delayed reaction. This face didn’t come from walking into a door. First, though, I think Mr. Yonkers has something he needs to tell you and Dixon.”
“I do?” Yonkers’ eyes widened.
Westing looked at Yonkers. “He does?”
“Sure. You know, Yonk, about how you created this trucking scheme to save your business. How it’s not making as much profit as you’d hoped. How you’re still going bankrupt, and you don’t have one penny to give your guys for their hard work and patience.”
“It’s not true,” Yonkers sputtered. “She’s just trying to pit us against each other.”
“I don’t have to. Randy, you have your phone?”
“Yeah.”
“The other guys still at the nursery?”
He nodded.
“Give them a call. Have them go into Yonkers’ office and check the numbers on the computer. The files are easy to find.”
Westing took out his phone, but hesitated.
“Randy,” Yonkers pleaded. “You’ve got to trust me.”
“I have trusted you.” He dialed the number.
Dixon struggled again to break free, but Casey held him fast. It was almost boring, how easy it was.
“Randy, don’t,” Yonkers said.
“Miff,” Westing said into the phone. He gave instructions on where to go and what to look for. They all waited, Dixon breathing heavily, Yonkers white as the papers Mifflin would be seeing on the desk.
Westing slowly looked over at Yonkers, his eyes hard. “I see. That’s very interesting. No, I’m not sure what it means, but I’m going to find out here in a minute.” He quietly closed his phone, staring at Yonkers.
“What is it?” Dixon said. “What did he say?”
Yonkers looked at the ground, not making a sound.
“Sounds like your patience might not pay off, after all, Dix.”
Dixon let out a growl and tried to yank away from Casey. She held him tight.
“Ah, perfect timing.” Casey cocked her head. “Here comes the cavalry.”
The sirens were distant, but on their way. It sounded like more than just a couple.
Casey glanced at Death, who was blowing into Westing’s ear, making him jerk around, like a bug was bothering him. What if her plan hadn’t worked? What if the cops coming up the road were the wrong ones? What if the kids insisted on showing up and got hurt? What if the gun in Wendell’s hand went off? What if, what if, what if… This was why she preferred doing things on her own, when she didn’t have her own posse who insisted on being involved.
She glanced at the desk, where Wendell had dumped the contents of Evan’s bag. “Interesting paperwork there on your desk, Mr. Yonkers. You might want to have a look at it before the cops arrive.”
Yonkers jumped up from the chair and limped around his desk. All of the remaining blood drained from his face. “Where did you get these? All of this? This is…this is…” He looked up at her. “This is Evan’s information.”
Dixon growled again, and Westing closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath.
Yonkers shuffled through the papers, growing more and more frantic. “This is…but a lot of this…”
The sirens grew louder and stopped outside. Yonkers began shoving the papers into his top drawer.
“Police!” The front door banged open, and footsteps sounded in the front hallway. Just as they approached the door Wendell tossed the gun to Westing and crouched on the floor, hands in front of his face. Westing caught the gun automatically in his right hand.
Casey let go of Dixon and fell at his feet, arms over her head. “Stop him! Please! Stop him!”
“What?” Dixon stood over her, hands out.
Cops streamed into the room, weapons drawn, pointed at the three men who stood. “Hands up!” the lead yelled. “Now!”
Dixon’s mou
th dropped open, “But—”
“Now, mister!” One of the cops held a gun on Dixon, while another disarmed Westing.
“Is this the information?” The lead cop stood at the desk, his gun on Yonkers.
Yonkers looked at him, his eyes wide. “But you aren’t Sedgwick police. Where’s Chief Swinton? Where’s…”
“Over here!” the cop said to his team. “Start documenting this paperwork.”
“No!” Yonkers screamed. “She planted it! She brought it in here!”
The cop, who just happened to be married to Tom’s friend Nadine Williams, from Deerfield Trucking, glanced at Casey. “I don’t think she’s in a condition to be planting anything, sir. And these things on the walls? She planted those, too? Just how long did you give her in here before your men began beating the crap out of her?”
“No!” Yonkers said. “It wasn’t like that!”
“Yeah, well, you can tell us the whole story once we get to Blue Lake.”
“Blue Lake? Why Blue Lake?”
Matt Williams glared at him. “Because that’s where this is going to end. Right where you and your men killed Evan Tague.”
Yonkers’ eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell, only just getting caught by Williams and another cop. “Get him out of here,” Williams said.
Dixon and Westing were already being hustled out, and a man knelt over Casey. “Ms. Jones?”
She blinked up at him. “Dr. Cross?”
He smiled grimly. “Seems you and my son have been getting to know each other.”
Casey sighed, letting her eyes close.
“Let’s get you taken care of, shall we?”
With the doctor’s and Wendell’s help, Casey stood, wincing at the pull on her ribcage.
Death tsked. “And here I thought you were in bad shape last week.”
“It’s good cops can’t tell cleaned up wounds from fresh ones,” Johnny’s father said. “At least not at first glance, when they’re rushing in to save the damsel in distress.”
Wendell snorted. “Some damsel.”
Casey would have elbowed him, had she the strength.
An ambulance sat in Yonkers’ drive, and the men steered her toward it.
“The kids?” Casey asked. “Are they all right? They’re safe?”
Without a word Dr. Cross opened the back door of the ambulance and he and Wendell lifted her in, although there wasn’t much room, seeing as it was entirely filled with smiling teenagers.
Chapter Thirty-four
“They’re squealing like little girls,” Death said. “Or little boys, depending on your point of view.”
“Glad to hear it.” Casey sat on the edge of the hospital bed in the private room, now empty of doctors, nurses, orderlies, and teenagers. The cops had been kept at bay so long they’d finally given up and gone home, saying they would return in the morning. Only Death remained.
“Yeah, they’re ratting each other out right and left. They’re especially fingering Yonkers. Guess the whole image of him as the quarterback has gotten tarnished after all this time—and after the loss of the money they thought they were getting. But none of them will be able to outrun Evan’s death. They’re toast for that.”
Casey eased off the mattress and exhaled through her teeth. The narcotics had helped a lot, but couldn’t take away all the pain. At least she knew she wasn’t dying from a perforated colon or some other internal damage. She’d kept up her part of the bargain with Johnny and had allowed his dad—along with the ever-thorough Dr. Shinnob—to run tests and poke her and look so deep in her eyes she thought they could probably see China. They’d returned with a diagnosis she could live with—beat up but healing.
Casey hoped Johnny would keep up his end of the bargain and forgive himself. It would help if the other kids would forgive him, first.
“The drivers are getting hauled in as we speak,” Death said. “Except for Parnell, who’s apparently disappeared from the face of the earth. I could find him, if you want.”
Casey shook her head, then regretted it, her head spinning. “No. Let him go. He’s suffered enough. Is my shirt in that little closet?”
“You mean your darling pink one?”
“Yes. The pink one. The only one I have.”
“I’m not sure which is better. That shirt or your hospital gown. Why don’t you wear the scrubs? The kids left them, along with your make-up.”
The kids. She wished…
“You can’t stay here,” Death said. “You know that.”
She shuffled to the closet and pulled out the scrubs. Still clean. And much more comfortable than jeans would be while she healed. She pulled on the pants, tying them loosely around her waist, and painfully pulled the top over her head, dropping the gown onto the floor.
“Wow,” Death said, “you must be feeling like crap. You didn’t ask me to avert my innocent eyes from your nakedness.”
Casey stuffed her jeans and the awful pink shirt into the backpack, along with whatever she could scrounge up from the room—soap, tissues, the toothbrush they gave her.
It was the middle of the night. Way past the time she should have left. She spent too long putting on her shoes, then eased the bag over her shoulder.
Death waited at the door. “Time to hit the road?”
“Let’s go.”
Dr. Cross had put her at the far end of the quiet hall, right by the stairs. He knew she wouldn’t be staying—that was part of her separate deal with him. She’d given him her lawyer’s address, where he would send her invoice for treatment, and had guaranteed he’d be paid. He hadn’t argued. Casey figured he would just be glad to see her go and leave his son in peace.
The stairs weren’t exactly fun, and by the time she’d reached the ground floor she was ready to rest. She sat on the bottom step to catch her breath.
“You can go back up and crawl in bed,” Death said.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, I have much better things to tempt you with, my dear.”
“Who are you now, Clark Gable?”
Death preened.
Casey grabbed the railing and hauled herself up. “According to the train schedule, there’s one that stops in the next town at two to load boxcars. We need to get a move on.”
“You’re serious. You think you’re going to be able to get there in your condition.”
“It’s the only condition I’ve got, and I’m not about to step into another truck.”
“How about another car?”
Casey jerked her head up, and almost fell. “Bailey?”
The girl stood inside the door. “I knew you were going to do this. I knew you wouldn’t stick around till morning, when we could say a proper good-bye. I just wasn’t expecting to find you blabbering to yourself at the bottom of a dark, empty stairway.”
Casey sagged against the railing. “Bailey, I—”
“That’s fine. I’m sure it’s the drugs.” She rolled her eyes to show just how convinced she was. “Come on.” She grabbed Casey’s bag and held the door open.
Bailey’s car was just outside, and she helped Casey into the front seat. Casey looked around. “What? No others?” Death was the only occupant of the back seat, and held a little drawstring music box, which was playing Brahms’ Lullaby.
“I’m doing this on my own.”
“How come?”
Bailey eased the car from the curb and maneuvered her way out of the parking lot. “They’ve had enough of the fun.”
“This is fun?”
Bailey kept her eyes on the road. “It has been for me. I mean, not the part where you got beat up and stuff, and definitely not when Johnny gave our hiding place away, but…” She twitched the way people do when they’re trying not to cry.
Casey rested her head on the seat back. “So they didn’t want to come?”
Bailey shrugged. “I didn’t tell them I was coming.”
Ah.
Bailey glanced over. “So where am I taking you?”
“They don’t have one.”
“Not an actual passenger one. A loading dock.”
Bailey shook her head. “You’re half dead and you’re going to go traveling around the country like a hobo?”
“I am a hobo.”
“No, you’re not.”
Casey didn’t have the energy to argue.
After several minutes, Bailey gave a little laugh. “Did you see how Sheryl was hanging onto Terry at the hospital tonight?”
“Yeah. I don’t think he had any idea what the rest of us were even talking about.”
Bailey giggled. “No clue.”
“You weren’t hanging onto Martin.”
Bailey’s face glowed red in the light from the dashboard. “I’m not the sort to go hanging on boys.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so.”
“Besides, now he feels like he owes that dumb girl from the police department for connecting them with Matt Williams.”
Casey winced. “Sorry.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“And Johnny?”
“I don’t like Johnny.”
“No, I mean will he get over it? Over everything that’s happened?”
“If we decide not to kill him. Just kidding,” she said quickly. “He’ll be fine. Now maybe his dad will ease up on him. And I’ll try to stop calling him an idiot.”
“That might help.”
Silence again.
“I’m going to ask my folks if we can start meeting at my house. We’ve got that huge rec room, and nobody ever uses it.”
“Good plan. Although it will probably have to be at normal hours.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.” She grinned.
They arrived in Newton and drove around for a while before finding the factory with the loading dock. The train had already arrived, and open cars were being filled with boxes of goods. Bailey killed her headlights and drifted into a corner of the large parking lot.
Casey had a sudden thought and searched through her bag. She pulled out Evan’s family photo. “Do me a favor?”
“Another one?”
“Send this to Evan Tague’s family. Tell them it was the last thing he saw. Please.”
