by Judy Clemens
“It’s not even dark yet,” Death said, strumming a guitar.
“I want plenty of time to get set up.”
Death played a few more chords. “Set up for what?”
“You don’t really think I’m going to just waltz in there expecting Randy to be alone and congenial?”
“Well, no.”
“Good. You’re not as dumb as you look.”
Death made a hurt face. “But I try so hard.”
“To be dumb or look smart?”
Death shrugged. “Either one.”
Casey snorted and made her way through the cornstalks to the road.
“So what’s the plan?” Death stayed one row in, while Casey walked on the pavement. The corn didn’t even rustle. “What are we going to do?”
“I am going to check out my options.”
“Are you going to beat them all up?” Death sounded hopeful.
“I don’t plan on beating anyone up.”
“Too bad.”
Casey took a detour and found the grove of trees where she and Death had rested after running from Davey’s. The field around it had been harvested, so there should be no one coming anywhere near. She moved a largish rock, dug out a hollow underneath it, and laid the bag with Evan’s papers on the ground. When she put the rock back and ran a stick over the dirt there was no sign that it had ever been moved.
Satisfied, Casey looked for traffic and headed toward town. The grocery store was easy to find, sitting all alone on the edge of a residential neighborhood. Casey watched from behind a Dumpster as customers walked in and out the front doors, lugging bags or having their bags lugged by store employees.
“Nice little store,” Death said. “Very hometown-y.”
“It’s probably owned by a local family. Definitely not a chain.” The lights in the parking lot had come on, triggered by the fading evening light. “I don’t see any of Randy and Owen’s guys. Either they’re not here yet or they’re in hiding.”
“They’re not that good.”
“I agree. If they were here, I’d see them.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Speak like I’m not here. You said you’d see them. Not that we’d see them.”
“Am I hurting your feelings?”
“Yes.”
Casey smiled. “Good.”
Death turned away. Casey took the opportunity to slip across the parking lot toward the back of the store. It would be darker back there. Instead of lights on poles there were security floods on the sides of the buildings. They weren’t yet on, so Casey figured they were either motion sensors, or were turned on and off from a switch. A bread truck sat at the loading dock and two men worked at unloading the pallets. Besides that, there were nine cars—probably belonging to employees—and one semi trailer, sitting without a cab. Casey waited until the bread truck was empty, one man had signed a form, and the other had gotten into the truck and driven off. When the store employee went back inside and the lot was still, Casey snuck over to the back of the trailer. It was open.
“Empty,” Death said. “Wonder what was in it?”
“Nothing for quite a while.” She swiped her finger on the trailer’s bed and it came away dirty. “This lot’s just a convenient place to leave something this big.” She eyed it. “And I think it will be perfect.”
“For what?”
In response, Casey walked to the front of the trailer and jumped up onto the hitch. Using the metals pieces meant for holding cables, she climbed up and perched on the roof.
“You’re going to jump on them?” Death asked.
“Shh.”
An employee came out the back door and leaned against the building, pulling out a cigarette.
“You know she can’t hear me,” Death said.
Casey hoped not.
Death wandered toward the woman, who had placed the cigarette between her lips and pulled out her lighter. She flicked on a flame and held it to the cigarette.
Death blew it out.
The woman flicked it once more, and once more Death extinguished it, giggling.
Again and again the woman tried, until she finally threw the lighter onto the parking lot and stormed into the building.
“You’re cruel,” Casey said.
“I would’ve thought you’d be glad of my intervention. Because of me she will live a few minutes longer, having not had that cigarette.”
The door slapped open and the woman came back out, this time with a pack of matches. She struck the match. Death grinned, and blew out the flame.
The woman practically screamed with frustration, and lit one match after another, turning this way and that to avoid whatever draft she thought she was catching, until there was only one match left. With trembling fingers, she lit the match and held it up. Death leaned forward, lips pursed. The woman waited, then sucked in on her cigarette until the tip glowed orange. She crowed with triumph and exhaled happily.
Death put an arm around her shoulders. “Perhaps I’ll be seeing you soon, sweetheart.”
The woman shivered, looking around almost frantically.
Death blew on the cigarette, making the glowing end flare.
The woman dropped the cigarette and stared at it before crushing it under her heel and fleeing back into the building.
“Well,” Casey said, “you’ve just ruined that woman’s break time.”
“Yeah. But it was fun.”
Darkness was coming quickly now, and Casey took stock of the scene. The loading dock was bare except for two empty pallets, lying stacked one on the other. Another Dumpster sat along the far wall, and a picnic table was situated close to the back door on a patch of browning grass. On the one side of the property Casey could see homes, lights creating shadows on curtains, and on the other stood a line of trees. Directly behind the store was an open field of harvested soybeans. It would be dark where Casey sat on top of the trailer, the security lights not reaching her, and she could see every inch of the lot, except for the opposite side of the Dumpster. But she would know if anyone hid behind it, and no one would do that for at least another hour, until the daytime employees were gone.
Casey lay on her back, watching as the stars came out. It was a clear night, and the moon shone brightly, illuminating the parking lot without help from the security lights. The trailer was cold and hard against her back, and Casey longed for a soft, warm bed. She remembered the bed she’d slept on the week before, at Rose and Lillian’s B and B, and she wondered what was going on in that little town. Eric’s face swam before her, and images from that last night… Her shoulder throbbed, and she gritted her teeth.
“Not a good time to be thinking about that.” Death lay beside her, also looking up at the sky. “Time instead to be clearing your mind for what lies ahead.”
The sound of the back door reached her, and Casey quietly rolled over and peered over the edge of the trailer. Employees were filing out, aprons discarded, calling goodnight. Each went to a car and got in, the cigarette woman lighting up as soon as her door was shut. She peeled out of the parking lot first, and the others followed. Before they were all gone, two cars pulled in.
“Maintenance and stocking crew,” Death said.
Soon all that were left were the two new cars and one of the original nine. A manager, probably, getting ready to close.
“I wonder what time it is,” Casey said. She considered turning on Terry’s phone to check, but decided it didn’t really matter. The guys would be coming soon, to get ready for her.
Eventually the manager came out and drove away, leaving only the two cars. Randy and his men should be arriving momentarily.
They came more quietly than she expected, without a car. Owen Dixon, his blond hair shimmering in the moonlight, walked around the corner, scanning the area. Apparently satisfied, he waved, and several men followed, one of them Craig Mifflin, whom Casey had knocked out at Davey’s scrapyard.
“Wow, they expect quite a
battle from you,” Death said. “Five of them. And Westing’s not even here.”
They weren’t going to give her a fighting chance.
Owen pointed here and there, setting the men up where they wouldn’t be seen. One behind the Dumpster, two between the cars, and one crouched behind the loading dock. Dixon walked toward the trailer and Casey held her breath. If he came up there, it would be all over. She pulled her head back to make it invisible from below and listened as hard as she could. A rock popped under Dixon’s foot as he rounded the trailer, and Casey felt a slight shift as he stepped into the empty back. Casey put her hands flat on the roof, ready to jump up and fight if need be.
But Dixon didn’t go any further. He’d just wanted to get up into the trailer so his feet wouldn’t be visible from the ground. At least, that’s what Casey would’ve done, if she had been him.
All six of them, seven if you counted Death, waited together for whatever would happen next.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Casey was cold by the time Westing drove into the lot. She hadn’t been able to move, for fear Dixon would hear, and dew had settled on her, chilling her to the bone. She hoped the guys were just as uncomfortable as she. At least they could huddle with their arms around themselves.
Headlights swung across the space, and the SUV stopped in the middle of the pavement. Westing got out of the Explorer and looked around. Casey watched from the darkness at the top of the trailer, confident she was invisible.
“She’s not here,” Dixon said from his hiding place, making Casey jump. “We’ve been here an hour, and there’s no sign of her.”
Westing crossed his arms and leaned against the hood of his car. “Good. Now shut up or she’ll hear you.”
So they all sat back and waited for Casey to show up.
Death giggled. “This would be funny if it weren’t so stupid.”
Casey glared at her companion. She wasn’t laughing as her muscles cramped and she shivered against the metal.
Time ticked by. Nothing happened. Casey heard Dixon shifting now and then in the back, and could see three of the hiding men as they changed positions, trying to keep their feet from going to sleep as they squatted. Westing pushed off from the Explorer and marched forward, scanning both directions. He looked at his watch so many times it made Casey think of a little kid on a long car trip: Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Dixon finally jumped down from his perch and walked into Casey’s sightlines. “She ain’t coming.”
Westing spun around. “Get back there! She’ll see you!”
“It’s been almost an hour, man. She stood us up.”
Westing turned in a circle, his arms rising, then falling. He let out a growl of frustration, slamming his hand onto the Explorer’s hood. “Damn it!”
Dixon crossed his arms. “Yonkers is gonna be pissed.”
“Don’t…”—Westing held up a hand, pointing at Dixon—“…make it sound like this is my fault. We planned this out together. Yonk okayed it.”
Yonkers? Casey knew that name. Why?
“Wasn’t blaming you,” Dixon said. “Just stating a fact.”
Westing rubbed his forehead. “Why didn’t she come?”
“Think one of the kids tipped her off?”
Casey tried not to react to the mention of the teenagers—assuming that is who Dixon meant. But who else would he mean? She wasn’t in touch with any other children.
“The kids don’t know. Just the one.”
Casey closed her eyes. One was enough to screw them all. But which one?
“She got the phone last night,” Westing said. “Where did she go?”
“Hey, Ballard!” Dixon barked the name toward the Dumpster. “Where did the woman go today?”
The man got up and walked out to Dixon. He was big, but not all of it was muscle. “Kid didn’t tell us about the phone until this morning, so we don’t got much. We found her up in McPherson—”
“Parnell,” Dixon explained to Westing. “He’s gone.”
Oh, no. Poor Pat.
“Then she went out toward Hutchinson,” Ballard said. “Figured she was paying a visit to Deerfield Trucking, but I don’t know what she would’ve found there. By the time we got there she was long gone, and the girl at the desk didn’t have any idea who we were talking about.”
“And after that?” Westing was practically foaming at the mouth.
“We lost her for a while. She must’ve turned the phone off. But we caught the signal later and traced it to the middle of a cornfield. Don’t know what she was doing out there, but we couldn’t find any sign of her or the phone.”
“And now?”
“She’s nowhere.”
Thank God she’d resisted the temptation to check the time. She didn’t know how tightly they could pinpoint the signal, but she’d been that close to ruining everything.
“So what do we do?” Westing said. “Now that you’ve lost her?”
Ballard stepped back, gesturing to Dixon. “It’s you guys’ call. Whatever you want.”
Westing turned on Dixon. “Well, Dix?”
Dixon shrugged. “Maybe she’ll get back in touch with Bruce. We’ll need to give him a message to pass on to her.”
“And the kid?”
“Said she meets with them every night—maybe she’s with them right now in the shed where she’s been staying.”
Casey breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the harvester had come to the field and she’d been forced to hide her bag elsewhere. But alongside the relief she fought a wave of sadness. Somebody in the little group of teens had given them all up. So much for solidarity.
“God, I hope we find her,” Ballard said. “My wife’s been seeing those ads for jewelry and won’t let me forget our twentieth is coming up.”
“Why do we care about your anniversary?” Dixon snapped.
“Yonk said we get this woman off our tail, payday will be coming soon.”
Dixon snorted. “He’s been saying that for the past six months.”
“Shut it,” Westing said. “Yonk’s good for the money. He told us it would take a while. That we need to be patient.”
“I’m patient,” Dixon said. “I’ve been patient for a year and a half.”
“So let’s go,” Westing said. “Catch this bitch before she has a chance to move again.”
“And if she’s not at the shed?”
Westing’s face was grim. “Then she’ll show up somewhere else. We’ll get her.”
The men climbed into Westing’s Explorer—it had to be a tight fit, even with it being an SUV—and drove away, their lights disappearing into the darkness.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Death said.
“You think? We just found out these guys are expecting a boatload of money.”
“Big deal. Isn’t everything about money? I mean, yawn.”
“We also found out one of our kids is a rat.”
“I bet I know who it is.”
“With your Spidey-sense?”
“No, with my smart sense. You know Sheryl’s hated you from the second she saw you.”
“But she’s annoyed with all grown-ups. Would she help these guys, rather than me?”
“They’re badasses. She might like sticking it to you.”
Sheryl was the one Casey hoped it was. Otherwise she’d done a crappy job reading them. Not that she’d tried all that hard. She’d let her exhaustion, lack of resources, and…let’s face it…loneliness push her closer to the kids than she ever should’ve been. Besides, she liked all the others. Terry didn’t care much for her, but he would do what was best for Sheryl—which was getting Casey out of town fast without involving their little group. Johnny was too dumb, and he hadn’t been there when Casey had gotten the phone. Martin? Bailey? It hurt to think either of them would turn her over to the men. But whoever had done it, she couldn’t let the rest get caught.
“Think the guys have a tracer on the phone now?”
“Probabl
y.”
“I’m going to have to risk it. There’s no way I’ll get out to the shed before the men.”
Death considered, and nodded. “You don’t really have a choice, if you want the kids out of there.”
But who to call? She turned on the phone, muted the sound, and texted Bailey.
Dont tel thm its me Get out of shed now Wil b in tuch l8er
She sent the message. “Think she’ll listen?”
“You know…” Death peered over her shoulder. “You’re getting the hang of the texting thing. Better spelling.”
Casey’s phone buzzed.
Why? Whr r u?
Casey’s fingers flew.
Just get out!!
“Speaking of getting out…” Death stood over her. “We should probably move on, now that you’ve turned on the phone.
Casey turned it off. “I wanted to make sure the men were gone before leaving.”
Death disappeared, and was back in seconds. “They’ve split. Nowhere within a three-mile radius.”
“You could look that fast?”
Death peered down at her disdainfully. “Are you forgetting who I am?”
Casey closed her eyes, and felt the weight of everything upon her. “No. I will never forget who you are.”
“Come on,” Death said. “Let’s go. Do one of those flips where you arch your back and end up on your feet.”
“How ’bout I get up slowly and painfully, like an old woman?”
“I guess that’ll work.”
She eased up, knees cracking, shoulder stinging. “Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s go find a traitor.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Casey walked out to Bailey’s house, arriving in a little over an hour. The night was dark and damp, and she shivered as she hid in the pine trees at the edge of the property. The men were nowhere in sight. Neither were any teenagers. Death had taken off a few miles ago, and Casey didn’t miss the added chill.
Which window was Bailey’s? She couldn’t tell. It was practically impossible to see which window had black curtains, since they all were dark. She studied the house, trying to remember the lay-out, and finally decided on the second window on the east side. If she was wrong, well, she’d run like hell.
