by Judy Clemens
“You don’t like flowers?”
“I like flowers. But I like them when they’re cut in a vase on the table. Not out here where it’s roasting and dirty and smells like somebody’s trash!”
The girl was right—it did smell. Nobody said flowers had to smell as pretty as they looked. Casey was glad if the stench covered up her own body odor.
“So where does your dad spend his time?”
Tara turned her hose toward another victim. “Why do you care?”
“Just figured it wasn’t fair if he was in air-conditioning and you were out here…” She gestured to the lot.
Tara’s lips puffed out, and she cocked a hip. “He hardly ever leaves home, can you believe it? Spends all day locked away in his precious office, eating popcorn and watching porn for all I know. It’s not like he ever lets me in there.”
Lovely father-daughter relationship. “So he never comes here?”
“Only at night, when he doesn’t have to deal with the customers. Says he has all that paperwork to do. I think he just wants to check up on things, make sure the rest of us aren’t messing it up, or stealing from him.”
Or he comes to load and unload trailers in his back lot without employees there to witness it.
“Your house far from here?”
Tara turned toward Casey, letting the water run onto the ground. “Who are you? Why do you want to know?”
“Just…making conversation. But I’ll go now. I have an appointment with Ruby.”
The suspicions left Tara’s eyes. “She’s inside. Works her ass off for this place. She figures if she does well enough, makes herself necessary, Dad will pay her more. Or marry her.” The girl shrugged. “Not that I care.”
Of course not. “Well, thanks. I’ll be going.”
Tara didn’t reply, but moved the hose so it was actually over a plant.
Casey glanced at the pickup as she walked toward the main greenhouse, and Death gave her a double thumbs-up.
The air that hit her was hot, humid, and smothering. Casey took a moment to get her breath as she studied the layout. Rows and rows of potted plants sat on tables that stretched from the front to the back of the building. Most were unfamiliar, but she did see some orchids, and something that resembled a rhododendron. On the floor at the front of each row a number had been painted onto the concrete, and overhead signs hung explaining the contents of each section. At the far end of the building several employees were unloading boxes of plants onto shelves. Their voices carried across the room, but Casey couldn’t understand what they were saying. Casey walked toward the front door, where a woman, probably Ruby, stood at a counter with a customer, packing plants into a flat.
Casey didn’t actually want to talk to Ruby, but she’d had to drop the name when Tara became too curious. Casey looked for another exit between her and the saleswoman—one that would take her out the front and to Tom’s truck without contact. Nothing. She looked back at Tara and waited for the girl to turn so she could slip out the side.
Someone called from the end of the room, and Casey looked up to see one of the gardeners gesturing to her.
“I’m fine,” Casey said, waving her hands.
But the gardener pointed to one of the others, who set down a box, clapped his gloves together, and started down the aisle toward Casey. Casey squinted at him. Did he look familiar? He was big, but his features—from this distance, at least—didn’t look like any she’d seen in the past few days. That didn’t mean he wasn’t one of Dixon or Westing’s guys.
Tara was still facing Casey’s way, but Casey had been in the greenhouse long enough it would be feasible she’d had time to talk to Ruby. She stepped toward the door, but stopped.
A man had walked up to Tara, checking her out as he neared. He said something, and Tara looked up, immediately morphing from sulky watering girl to seductress. But that’s not what bothered Casey the most. What bothered her was that the man was Owen Dixon.
Casey spun around. The gardener was halfway down the row now, getting close enough to see her face. She saw his, too—and she’d seen it before, at the crash site. She walked briskly toward the front counter. Ruby was just finishing up with her customer as Casey scooted past.
“Can I help you?” Ruby called after her, but Casey swung out through the front door, headed for the truck. She was thankful Tara wasn’t the kind of worker to inquire if she’d found everything she needed—in fact, she’d probably forgotten her already.
“Hello?” The guy from the greenhouse was calling her. Apparently he hadn’t recognized her, but was the kind of employee who hated seeing a customer leave without buying something.
Casey smiled and waved, trying to fend him off, but his call had alerted Dixon, and as Casey jumped into the pickup, she could see Dixon stiffen, like a dog on alert.
“Hey!” Dixon screamed. He sprinted across the lot, knocking plants aside and jumping over bushes. He was pulling something from his pants as he ran, and Casey ducked, waiting for the sound of bullets slamming into the truck. None came.
“He’s on the phone!” Death said. “Get out of here!”
Casey slammed her foot on the accelerator and swerved around a little hybrid just backing out of a spot, blaring her horn as she went.
Death knelt backward on the seat. “He’s still coming! And now the other guy, too!”
Casey swung out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a minivan, and yanked the truck into the left turn lane, where she screeched across an intersection in front of several cars.
“Yee-ha!” Death whooped.
Casey floored it, the truck screaming around two more corners, and headed away from the highway.
Death turned back around. “Where are you going?”
“They’ll look for us on the highway. We’ve got to find another way.” She reached across the seat and opened the glove compartment, dumping its contents.
“What are you doing? Watch out!”
Casey looked up in time to swerve around a slow-moving Volkswagen before resuming her hunt. “A map! I need a map!”
“There’s something in the door pocket over here.”
Casey unhooked her seat belt to give her the few extra inches she needed to pluck the folded paper from its slot. Keeping one eye on the road as it flew by, she shook the map open. “Look for another route. We need to get this truck back to Tom before they catch us and know he’s involved.”
Death scanned the roads. “There. If we can find Route 96 we can maneuver around back toward Southwest. But where is that?”
“Okay, we’re going north. What’s that road there?” She pointed to a road sign.
“Jackson.”
“Is it on the map?”
“Too small.”
They passed several more roads until they came to one large enough to be listed. “Okay,” Death said. “Turn right here. Right! Here!”
Casey spun the wheel, knowing she needed to get her driving under control. She slowed. “Okay. How far on this?”
Death directed her until they found the road that would lead them back the way they needed to go. Not directly to Southwest, but at least in the vicinity.
Casey took several deep breaths and tried to slow her thumping heart. “So Dixon and one of the others are known to people at the nursery. They could be regular employees.”
“And Dixon seems just a little too close to one of the kids.”
“Tara.”
“No.” Death looked at her pointedly. “One of your kids. The teenagers.”
“Right.” The reminder settled on her like a weight. One of that close-knit bunch had turned her in. She was going to see them soon, and have to determine which one it was.
“But he does seem a little too familiar with Tara,” Death said, shuddering. “He’s her father’s age, for heaven’s sake.”
Casey agreed. “Any sign of him?”
“Nope. I’m pretty sure you lost him. In a very adept piece of driving, I might add.”
“I
t’s called desperation.” Her hands were shaking now, and she clenched the steering wheel. “We’re lucky I didn’t crash.”
“Are we? I thought you would be happy for that. You could’ve run right into a telephone pole, taken yourself out for good.”
Casey swallowed, her throat tight. “I could’ve.”
“But you have something to finish here.”
She looked out the side window.
“Why?” Death asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you care so much about this? Why don’t you just walk away? It’s not like Yonkers stealing a few loads of this or that is going to change your life. It really doesn’t seem like big time crime. It’s not white slaves, or weapons, or even black market body parts. Now that would be interesting.”
Casey was quiet for awhile. “Evan entrusted this to me. I feel responsible.”
“There’s got to be more than that.”
There was. “Even if it’s not drugs or something it’s still destroying people’s lives. Evan’s. His family’s. All those truckers’.”
“But it’s their own fault they’re in this mess, isn’t it? Having affairs, avoiding child support payments, not heeding medical problems.”
“I know. But people are getting killed. And more will.”
“And you might get yourself killed in the process. Bonus.”
Casey didn’t say anything after that, and Death pulled out the harmonica. Somehow “Amazing Grace” fit the mood.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Casey circled around Blue Lake on lonely roads, watching intently for other vehicles. The few she came across made her heart beat madly, but none turned out to be anything other than unfamiliar drivers. She made it back to Southwest a half hour ahead of schedule and used some leaves to wipe off the license plate.
Tom answered his door, keeping it partly closed. “I have people in here,” he said quietly. “Figured you don’t want them to see you.”
“You figured right. I don’t know how… Thank you so much for all you’ve done.”
He took the keys, but kept his eyes on her face. “You okay? You look a little—”
“Just tired, that’s all. I’m fine. And thank you. Thanks again.”
He stepped outside, pulling the door almost closed behind him. “I asked around about a guy named Willie Yonkers.”
Casey paled. “Tom, I wish you wouldn’t—”
“I was discreet. Nadine, who you met yesterday, she hasn’t heard of him, and neither has anybody in my office. The only one who said the name was familiar was a driver who said he thinks Yonkers is a guy from up in Sedgwick, has a flower place. He’s taken some loads to and from there in the past, but not for a long time. He’d forgotten about him, actually, since he hadn’t heard from him for so long. Said Yonkers probably uses another broker now. So if he has something to do with trucking it’s merely as a customer.”
She’d just let them go on thinking that, wouldn’t she? “Great. Thanks so much, Tom. Now do me one last favor?”
“Sure.” He said it, but looked a little weary.
“Forget I was ever here and that the name Willie Yonkers ever passed your lips. Okay?”
He frowned. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Death made an exasperated sound from beside the truck.
“So this is good-bye, then?” Tom said.
“I hope so.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that. “And I should tell Dave—”
“To forget about me, too. Please. It’s for the best.”
Tom didn’t like it. “It’s going to kill him, not knowing how things turn out.”
“I think he’ll survive that. Let’s hope not finding out is the worst that happens.”
Tom glanced behind Casey’s shoulder, as if expecting to see someone there. “You’re scaring me.”
“Good. Keep yourself safe, okay?” She stepped back, turned, and walked into the woods.
“Very dramatic,” Death said, and played Taps on a bugle.
Casey trudged through the trees, toward the road. “I have to get a move-on. It’s time to meet the kids.”
“And have you thought about how you’re going to handle that?”
“Actually, I have. I think the guilty party will give it up.”
Death laughed. “You think she’s just going to volunteer the information? In front of her friends?”
“Or he. We don’t know it’s Sheryl. But I think whoever it is is going to be very surprised to see me, thinking the men will have gotten to me by now.”
Death didn’t seem convinced. “And this is all if you can get there in time. At this pace, you’re going to be late.”
“You know, I didn’t get my exercise in today.” Casey began running, thankful she had had a good lunch to sustain her. She wished she could have some of the pizza the kids were going to order, but she couldn’t get greedy.
By pushing herself, Casey was able to get to town with twenty minutes to spare. Students and parents were flooding from the stadium to their cars and downtown, so she assumed the game was over and the other kids would wait for Johnny before heading to the restaurant. Keeping her head down and wishing it were dark, Casey merged into the crowd and made her way toward the library and the alley behind it.
“Hey! Wait!”
Casey stiffened. Two teenage boys, laughing, ran past her, knocking her sideways into a young mother with a stroller. Casey made her apologies and watched as the boys caught up with the girls they were chasing. Would she ever be free of worry that someone would find her? Cops or Pegasus or her family? Or Yonkers and his men?
Angling away from the stream of people, Casey walked through the library parking lot and down the alley. The backs of the buildings had signs with the names of the businesses, and Casey stopped at Luciano’s Pizzeria. A Dumpster sat at the side, and Casey slipped into the shadows behind it. From her vantage point she could see only a short stretch of the alley coming up toward the restaurant, and nothing in the other direction, both of which made her uncomfortable. The rest of the little area behind the restaurant—room for two parked cars, plus the Dumpster—was full-up.
“Anyone coming?”
Death perched on top of the Dumpster, playing an African drum with a steady beat. “Nope. Hope Bailey can convince the others to come this way.” Thump. Thump.
“I’m not worried about her. What about the other direction?”
“Nada. Well, some woman’s emptying out her trunk, donating things to the little thrift store, but she looks like she’s about eighty. “ Thump. Thump. “I don’t think she’s a threat.”
“Can you stop with the drum? I can’t hear footsteps if you’re doing that.”
“You just aren’t a music lover, are you?”
“Shh.” Voices were coming down the alley. Young, loud voices.
Casey made out Sheryl’s words first. “It’s creepy back here. I don’t know why we can’t just go in the front, like normal people.”
“We’ve never come this way before.” Johnny. “How do we even know which place is the right one?”
“Signs, Johnny, see?” Martin. “They tell you which store it is.”
“Oh. Never noticed that.”
“We’ll miss the crowd this way,” Bailey said. “Someone said we ought to try it.”
“Who said that?” Sheryl again. Pouty.
“I did.” Casey stepped out from behind the Dumpster.
Sheryl shrieked and grabbed onto Terry’s arm. Terry had been startled, too, but mostly looked pleased that Sheryl was touching him. Martin laughed out loud. Bailey surveyed her friends with narrowed eyes.
And Johnny looked terrified.
“What are you d-doing here?” His head whipped back and forth, as if he expected to see someone else—someone he didn’t necessarily want to see.
Oh, Johnny. Casey met Death’s eyes, and Death shrugged helplessly.
“We can’t meet at the shed anymore.”
“Somebody else knows I’ve been staying there, and it would be better if they didn’t find me. Or you.”
“Who knows?” Martin asked. “Who told them?”
“Also,” Casey said, ignoring his questions, “I wanted to return this to Terry.” Casey held the phone out. “Seems I can’t use it anymore.”
“It’s dead?” Terry took it and pushed the power button. “I just charged it before I gave it to you.”
“No, it’s not dead. But I have a feeling I was supposed to be.”
“No,” Johnny breathed. “No, they said—”
Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “Johnny?”
“What is it?” Sheryl said. “What’s going on?”
Casey was going to try to keep things calm and ask Johnny to explain, but Bailey stepped up and punched him in the arm. “How could you?”
“Whoa, whoa.” Martin grabbed Bailey around the waist, barely avoiding the fist she re-aimed at Johnny. “What’s going on here? What did Johnny do?”
Tears overflowed Bailey’s eyes, and she shoved away from Martin, stalking several feet away.
Casey gave a grim smile. “You want to explain to them, Johnny? And tell us just how much danger we’re all in?”
“We’re not…I mean they’re not…” He stopped, looking miserable.
“Johnny,” Martin said. “What did you do?”
Johnny stepped back so he was against the brick wall of the building and sank to the ground, his head in his hands.
“Johnny, come on!” Terry stepped closer, his phone in his fist, as if he were going to throw it as his friend.
“Guys, stop.” Sheryl pushed past them both and hunkered down beside Johnny. Her expression was surprisingly gentle. “Johnny, what happened? It’s okay. You can tell us.”
Johnny raised his head and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to…I just wanted…”
Sheryl put a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, honey. Tell us.”
Bailey had come back to the circle, but stood apart from the others, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach. She stared at the ground, but Casey knew she was listening to every word.
