The Grim Reaper's Dance grm-2

by Judy Clemens

  “Paperwork.”

  “How so?”

  Mrs. Halveston leaned her elbows on the table, her head sinking down. “It’s all so complicated. But if I sell you a load of soup and I don’t have soup, I’m going to have to get it from somewhere. I buy the soup from another place, get it, and then sell it to my customer at a mark-up.”

  “Not exactly stealing.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Not exactly. But my customer has no idea where I’m getting the soup, and the people selling me the soup don’t know I’m selling it again for a profit. They could be selling directly to my customer, but I’m getting in the way.”

  “Sounds like regular business.”

  “It could be if it were up front, I guess. But the way it’s done here, it’s harming both the original seller and the customer through a dishonest business practice. I told you it was hard to explain.”

  But Casey did understand the term stealing. And she thought she knew what was going on with the drivers. “Class A hires drivers who can’t drive elsewhere, then blackmails them into hauling stolen goods.”

  Mrs. Halveston’s head sank even further.

  “What did they have on Pat Parnell?”

  “Oh, that poor man. He had a family, you know. A wife and children—I don’t remember how many—and then had that unfortunate affair out in California. Every time he would drive out that way he would meet up with his lover, and…” She shrugged.

  So Pat Parnell had lost his family over another woman. That was awful, surely, but Casey couldn’t see how that could be used as blackmail anymore, since his wife obviously knew and had left him.

  “The affair,” Mrs. Halveston said quietly, “was with a man.”

  Oh. Casey remembered the notes in Evan’s journal. Carl Billings, SF. The name of the other party, and, most likely, San Francisco, if he’d been heading out west, to California.

  Mrs. Halveston continued. “His wife divorced him and took the children, and the company he’d been driving with—a conservative Christian outfit out of Bingham, said they couldn’t have people like him driving for them, and fired him.”

  “But other companies wouldn’t be that way. Why couldn’t he go somewhere else?”

  Mrs. Halveston shook her head sadly. “He and his wife had just built that house. When she divorced him, she left him with the house and all of the debt. He couldn’t contest it—plus felt he didn’t have a right to. Jobs would come in, but free-lancing full-time wasn’t enough to satisfy all the lenders. Until Class A called him. I guess they knew him from somewhere. Told him they’d give him a better-paying job if he kept it quiet. The way he acted it was like they were his saviors. Now look where it got him.”

  Casey could picture it. A man sinking deeper and deeper, and suddenly a lifeline. He grabbed it, and it only got worse.

  “It was all too much for him,” Mrs. Halveston said. “What with losing his family, and his job, and then the bank called and said they would be foreclosing. He went to them to ask for help, but they turned him away.”

  “The bank?”

  “No. Class A. He couldn’t go drive for anyone else, because the guys had him over a barrel. If he left to drive for another company, they’d turn him in for something—believe me, they had plenty with all the jobs he did for them—and he’d lose everything for sure. Besides that, they hold his money. They say they’re short on cash and they’ll pay after his next job, or after the supplier pays the trucking bill. Half the time we don’t see a paycheck for three or four months. But what are we to do? It’s the same for the others. We all have something to lose.”

  “Hank Nance?”

  Wendy nodded. “Turn him in for crossing state lines, and he’d owe all those months of child support.”

  Probably the months listed in Evan’s notes. “And John Simones?”

  “Paying his son’s dues. Got charged with date rape at college, and John had to cough up the money for the legal fees. He took the job with Class A because it paid better, but now they have him on the wrong side of the law, since he’s been driving stolen goods.”

  “But if Westing and Dixon turned any of these men in, wouldn’t it just lead back to them?”

  She snorted. “To whom? You can bet your life they don’t have their real names on those false papers. Not like they have the drivers’ names. Whether they’re the drivers’ fake names or the real ones, they have the truckers in their pockets.”

  Casey knew Wendy was right—she couldn’t remember seeing any names on the manifests other than the truckers’. Dixon and Westing were listed as Class A’s owners, but if that company was supposedly doing the legitimate work, they wouldn’t be connected to the other. Besides, it would be their word against truckers who were breaking the law just by getting behind a wheel.

  Westing and Dixon were taking a huge chance, though, with their names on the business. Their boss’ name wasn’t anywhere. “Mrs. Halveston, do you know the name Yonkers?”

  “Like in New York?”

  “No, like in a person. Is the name Willie Yonkers familiar?”

  She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

  Exactly what Casey thought. If Willie Yonkers was involved he kept it a secret from just about everyone.

  “What are you going to do?” Mrs. Halveston’s eyes were bright with tears and fear. “If they know I met with you they’ll quit having Mick drive, and that would just kill him.”

  “I’m not going to tell them.”

  Mrs. Halveston scraped her chair back and stood. “I need to go.”

  “May I call you again?”

  She licked her lips. “We’re leaving this afternoon.”

  “On a job?”

  “To Montana.”

  Great. All of those people in danger on the road. “Drive safely.”

  “Oh, we will.”

  Not seeming to hear the irony in the exchange, Mrs. Halveston peeked around the book stacks and scurried out of the library.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The downstairs break room was empty when Casey walked past, so she went in and slathered two bagels with cream cheese, wrapping them in a napkin. She pulled a wrinkled dollar bill, left over from Wendell’s cache, from her pocket and stuck it in the tin designated for coffee money. She wasn’t yet so desperate she was ready to start stealing from libraries.

  She stood just inside the library door. Where to go? She couldn’t go back to the shed. The men had seen her at Davey’s. She shouldn’t bother Wendell again—even if he wasn’t going to turn her in, one of his co-workers might begin to wonder what she was doing, hanging around.

  “Tom Haab would probably let you use his computer,” Death said.

  Casey jumped. “You enjoy that, don’t you? Scaring me?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes.”

  “Um, may I help you?” A woman with a library nametag stood at the far end of the hall.

  Casey turned partway, hiding her bagels. “I was just leaving. Thank you.” She pushed out through the door and headed up the incline, away from the library and toward a side street. When she looked back, she could see the librarian watching her through the glass door.

  Super.

  “So how do we get to Southwest Trucking?” Casey tried to remember how Davey had driven. “It was a few miles west, wasn’t it?”

  “Kinda far to walk.”

  Death was right. And she’d been walking so much. For a moment she yearned for the old Schwinn she’d been riding back in Clymer just a few days ago. Old, but serviceable. And lots faster than walking. She sighed. “I guess I’d better get started.”

  At least she had the bagels to eat on the way, which instantly gave her more energy. She pulled the seed hat out of the bag and pulled it low on her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun and her face from observers.

  About a mile out of town she heard a vehicle coming. The field beside her was harvested, and there were no trees anywhere within hiding distance.

  “Steady,” Death said. “S
he’s already seen you, so there’s no point in freaking out now.”

  The car pulled up alongside Casey and slowed to a stop. The passenger window lowered and the woman at the steering wheel leaned out. “Give you a lift?”

  The car was an older model that probably should have been traded in as a clunker long before. Despite the rust spots, however, the car was clean both inside and out. The woman wore jeans and a plain blue knit shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity in her tired face.

  “Too interested?” Casey mumbled to Death.

  “I’m getting in.” And suddenly the back seat was no longer empty.

  “Thank you,” Casey said to the woman. “I would appreciate it.”

  Once Casey was buckled in the woman glanced in the rearview mirror and continued on. “How far are you going?”

  “Southwest Trucking. I’m not sure of the address, but it’s a few miles out this way.”

  “Sure, I know them. In fact, it’s where I’m going. Makes sense, I guess. There’s not a whole lot else on this side of town.”

  “Do you work there?”

  The woman’s mouth tightened. “No. My husband’s done a little driving for them in the past.”

  Casey kept herself from looking at Death. “And you live here in Blue Lake?”

  “For now.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “What about you? You’re new to the area, I take it? Or just traveling through?” She glanced at Casey’s clothes, taking extra time with the second pink shirt Casey had had to wear. Casey wished she had a jacket to pull around her.

  “Yes, just…traveling through.”

  “And you know someone at Southwest?”

  Casey did glance back at Death now. How much to tell?

  Death shrugged and pulled out the bagpipe.

  “Tom Haab,” Casey said. “I’m going to see him.”

  “I know Tom. He started that company years ago, with his cousin, I think. Bob, my husband, grew up with them—I mean, he was a little older than Tom, but went to school with his older brother. They’ve done well for themselves. Bob says they’re good at what they do. He recommends them all the time, but then, that would have helped him get jobs, too, when he was still driving.”

  Exactly what Tom had said was the best publicity—word of mouth.

  “So do you know the other truckers?”

  She shook her head. “Out of my circle. Bob didn’t drive for Southwest often—he had a full-time job at Snyder’s furniture, in Castleton? You don’t know them? Well, they…he got laid off last month.” Her mouth did that tightening thing again, pinching her lips together, making wrinkles in her face.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The woman waved her hand. “No, I shouldn’t be burdening you.”

  “It’s okay. I just—I know a lot of people who recently lost their jobs. A whole plant shut down, and basically laid off the whole town with it. Really sad.”

  “That would be. But this wasn’t the whole company. Just my husband.”

  Casey winced. “No seniority?”

  “Oh, he had that. But he’s also in the early stages of Parkinson’s, which means he can get a little shaky. They decided he was a risk, didn’t want to pay extra insurance on him, and—” she banged her hand on the steering wheel –“he was outta there. Nothing we could do.”

  This was sounding awfully familiar. “You didn’t want to fight it?”

  “Don’t have the money, and apparently there’s not a good enough guarantee we would win for lawyers to take the risk of getting paid on contingency. Bob can’t even get another job. With that diagnosis he’s certainly not going to be able to drive trucks—not that we would even put Tom in the position of making that decision.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Although Casey already knew the answer.

  “What else could we do? We’re moving back to my home, in Kansas City. My folks run a little hardware shop. They’re barely making it, what with Walmart moving in, but they said they’ll give Bob some work, let us move in with them until we get back on our feet. I sell jewelry—you know, I go to people’s houses, have parties where we sell to their friends—but there’s no way that can keep us going.” She smiled sadly. “Our daughter is threatening to stay here. Wants to live with one of her friends. But I can’t let her go, not yet.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Casey pictured Sheryl’s beautiful, angry face.

  “I understand. You’re doing the best thing you can for your whole family.”

  Sheryl’s mom sniffled and reached for the tissue box in the back seat. Just when she was about to grab it she jerked away and fiddled with the knobs on the dashboard. When she’d made sure the air conditioning was off she reached back again, and Death scootched out of the way so she wouldn’t come into contact. “Our son doesn’t mind moving so much. He’s not happy about it, but he’s in sixth grade, he can still make friends easily. Sheryl—our daughter—she’s a junior, and I hate pulling her out of school and putting her somewhere new, because your friends from high school, well, they’re so important, aren’t they? I mean, hopefully she’ll go on to college or something, but it could be that these friends are the ones that will be with her forever. But the bills are already piling up, and we can’t pay our mortgage, and what are we supposed to do?”

  Casey didn’t know how to respond. She knew how miserable Sheryl was, but her mother seemed just as miserable, and what does a teenager know about how much money it takes to keep her in clothes and food and shelter? Not enough.

  Sheryl’s mom pulled into the parking lot of Southwest and stopped the car. “I’m sorry.” She blew her nose. “I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that, tell you my whole life story.”

  “It’s okay. It’s the stranger thing—you know you won’t see me again, so you can tell me whatever you want and it won’t matter.”

  Sheryl’s mom smiled. “You’re right.” She pulled down the visor and wiped smeared mascara from her face.

  “You’re not here to apply for a job, are you?” Casey asked.

  “No. I wish. I asked Tom about it, and he said they don’t have anything at all right now—and I would have taken anything to keep our family here. But what Tom did say was that he’d figure out a way to get our stuff to Kansas City. He told me to come out and talk to his assistant about scheduling a truck, so…here I am. The trucking connection will come in handy, after all. You ready?”

  “Yes.” They got out of the car. “Thank you so much for the ride.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope…well, have a good trip, wherever you’re going.”

  “And I hope things go well with your move, and your daughter, especially.”

  “Thanks. I need all the good vibes I can get. You going in?”

  “I think I’ll wait just a bit.”

  “Okay, then. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye. And thank you.”

  Sheryl’s mother straightened her shoulders and walked away, a picture of grace, sadness, and acceptance.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Poor woman,” Death said. “Nice, too. How come her daughter can’t be more like her?”

  “We’ve caught Sheryl at a bad time. Who knows what she’s like when she’s not having to leave everything she loves?”

  Death didn’t look convinced.

  “Are you coming?” Casey headed toward the back of the building, where Tom’s truck sat. Casey knocked on his office door. Death had disappeared, but Casey could hear a banjo playing from the grove of trees in the next lot. She knocked again, and heard a voice drawing closer. The door opened on Tom Haab, a phone at his ear. He hesitated, then waved her in.

  “Yes, yes, I’m here,” he said into the phone. “But I’ll call you back. I don’t know, a little while. Okay.” He flipped the phone shut and laid it on his desk. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “If you’re willing to help I’d appreciate it. But if you don’t want me here, I’m gone.”

  “No, no, that�
�s fine.” He sat on his office chair and swiveled toward her, gesturing to another chair. “Dave seems to like you. Keeps asking if I’ve heard from you.” He gave a quick smile. “Up till now I’ve had to disappoint him.”

  “I don’t want to get him in any more trouble. Or you.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Am I in trouble?”

  “I hope not. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “So why are you here?”

  “Because I need a computer, and yours was the only one I could think of.”

  “All right.” He got up from his chair. “It’s yours. I’m about ready to head out for lunch, anyway, so you can have the run of the office. I’ll lock you in. No one will bother you.” He went to the door and stuck his head out. “Kim, I’m going out, I’ll be back after lunch.”

  Casey heard a woman’s soft voice, but couldn’t understand the words.

  “One-o’clock?” Tom said. “I’ll be back in plenty of time. Thanks.” He shut the door and locked it. “Anything you need before I go? Oh, just a minute.” He went back out the door, being careful to shut it behind him, then returned with a bag. “Here.” He re-locked the door and dropped the bag on the desk. “Lunch.”

  Casey smiled. “Thank you. You can’t imagine how grateful I am for that.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “One question before you go—do you know anyone named Willie Yonkers?”

  He grinned. “What kind of name is that?”

  “A rich one, apparently.”

  “Oh. No, I’ve never heard of him. If I had, I’d remember.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “That’s it? Nothing else? All right, then. See you in a while.” He went out the back door, and Casey heard the bolt slide home.

  She looked at the computer, but something didn’t feel quite right. The room was too bright—too open. She closed all of the blinds, and turned out all of the lights except for a lamp sitting on Tom’s desk. Much better. And now…

  She had the computer and the entire office to herself. She could get all kinds of things done. She sat down…and opened the lunch bag. Egg salad sandwich. Chips. An apple. Two homemade chocolate chip cookies. And a can of Coke.