Embrace the Grim Reaper grm-1

by Judy Clemens

  She flipped through the contents. Folders for insurance, lawyers, Mexico…Marlowe. She pulled it out and slapped it open, resting it on the drawer. The top paper was the first page of the contract. The one they’d seen on Yvonne’s computer. She skimmed the document, searching for key words. As she read, the room fell away from her, and her blood turned to ice in her veins.

  “Casey?” Eric looked at her across his drawer.

  She blinked, slowly turning to him. “It was a child.”

  “A child? How old?”

  “Two.”

  Eric stared at her blankly. “A two-year-old was doing laundry?”

  “No.” Casey shook her head once. Twice. “He wasn’t doing laundry.” She licked her lips, opposite the swelling.

  “Casey, what is it?”

  She tried to talk. Cleared her throat. Began again. “He was playing hide-and-seek. He climbed into the dryer. His mother thought she had forgotten to start it, and turned it on. By the time she realized she couldn’t find him, it was too late.”

  Eric’s eyes widened as the horror of the story sank in. “Why didn’t he just kick the door open?”

  Casey swallowed. “The door latch…was defective. It stuck. Even if he had been strong enough to get the door open, if he could’ve found it while he … he wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

  Eric sat hard on the desk chair. “How can a door latch be defective?”

  Casey looked back at the folder. Found a place in the document and underlined it with her finger. “The boy banged against the door, and with pressure from behind, the metal piece on the catch pushed up against the strike, and did exactly what its name says.”

  “It caught it?”

  “So hard it wouldn’t let it go. Even when the mother realized what had happened, and was trying to get the door open.”

  Casey put her elbows on the drawer and dropped her head into her hands. “Loretta said Ellen wasn’t happy about the reason people might be able to keep their jobs.”

  “I knew that, too. But I don’t get it. How could this help HomeMaker get people back to work?”

  Casey shook her head. “I’m not sure. Unless….”

  “What?”

  Images swam before Casey’s eyes. Board rooms. Teams of lawyers. Dottie Spears shooting daggers at her across the table with her eyes. A contract. Not a lawsuit. “A lawsuit wouldn’t bankrupt a place like this.”

  Eric considered that. “Probably not. The amount of money this place goes through in a year…it’s more than a lawsuit—even a huge one like this would make—could destroy. And of course there’s insurance for this kind of thing. But the publicity. That would be bad.”

  “I haven’t heard any publicity,” Casey said. “Have you?”

  “No. Not a word. I haven’t even heard any within the company.”

  “That’s why it’s a contract. Not an official case. An official case, the reporters would’ve been swarming the place the next morning. This is the only way to keep it under wraps. ”

  Eric shook his head. “But why would the family do that? If a company’s machine killed my son, I’d want the world to know.”

  “No,” Casey said. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t…”

  “The mother…she started the dryer. She let her two-year-old die in a dryer.”

  “It wasn’t her fault.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. But what is the world going to see if they take this case to trial? They’re going to see a negligent mother who didn’t know where her toddler was. No matter what the verdict is against HomeMaker, there will be some people who will always see it as the mother, killing her son.” Casey let out a shaky breath. “She’ll always see it that way.”

  Eric looked at his hands, then back at her. “Do you—”

  “No, Eric. No. We are not going there.”

  “Okay. Okay. Sorry.”

  He glanced at the clock. “We’ve been here too long. We need to get out.”

  “Yes, I know, but…” Casey skimmed the subject lines of other folders in the drawer. Nothing else with the name Marlowe. She looked down at the folder and shuffled through the papers. Behind the contract were numerous memos, letters, statements from doctors… And another contract. This one without HomeMaker’s logo. This one said simply, Karl Willems. Karl Willems, making his own deal with the Marlowes.

  Something behind them rustled, and Casey jumped to her feet.

  Willems stared at them from his broken doorway, two security guards in front of him.

  “Eric?” He glanced at his son, and then at Casey, his expression hardening. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Eric swallowed audibly. Casey moved to get between him and Karl, but he held out a hand, keeping her back. “You weren’t exactly truthful with us the other day, Karl.”

  Karl’s lips twitched, and he dragged his eyes toward Eric. “I don’t know what—”

  “I’m not stupid, Dad.”

  Eric’s hand curled into a fist, hard against his hip, but Casey had no urge to comfort him this time.

  “We found it,” Eric said. “Him. The boy who died.”

  Karl nodded, his eyes not leaving Eric’s face. “Gentlemen, you may go.”

  The security guards hesitated, but Karl pushed between them and jerked his head back, an unmistakable gesture of dismissal. “Out. Back to your posts.” They left. Karl stepped into the room. “It’s not what it looks like, son.”

  Eric snorted. “And what exactly do you think it looks like? I think it looks like you were covering up the death of a child. A death caused by a HomeMaker product.”

  “Oh, is that what you think?”

  “It’s more than that,” Casey said.

  Karl turned to her. “And what do you know?”

  “I know how these things work. Businesses and deaths and law suits and confidential contracts.”

  “I see.” He stepped further into the room.

  Casey got past Eric this time, and stood between the two men. “Why don’t you stay right there?”

  Willems regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded. He stepped over to one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat in it, crossing one leg over the other. “You can’t have found much. Security called me only ten minutes ago to say you were here.”

  “Ten minutes for security to get here?” Eric said. “They were slow.”

  Willems shrugged. “Soon it won’t matter anymore.”

  “Right,” Casey said. “When the company moves to Mexico.”

  Willems shook his head. “It’s a shame, but there was nothing else to be done. No matter what some people thought.”

  No matter what Ellen thought, he meant.

  Eric sank down onto Karl’s desk, his shoulders slumping.

  Casey stayed standing. “You’re sticking to the story that the company needs to move because of the union’s demands?”

  “It’s not a story.”

  “Maybe not.” She held up the folder. “But this isn’t a story, either. At least, it’s not a fabricated one.”

  He hesitated. “That has nothing to do with—”

  “A little over a year ago,” Casey said. “One of HomeMaker’s dryers killed someone. A child. Why wasn’t there a lawsuit?”

  Karl shrugged again. “HomeMaker wasn’t at fault.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “Well, ultimately it could be seen to be. But it’s not like HomeMaker purposefully put out a dangerous product. The mother was just as responsible.”

  Casey’s breath caught in her chest, and she forced herself not to smack him. “Was this the first time you knew of a problem with the latches?”

  “Of course.”

  But Casey had seen it again. That flicker in his eyes. “How long before?” she asked. “How long before had the first complaint come in?”

  “I told you that was the first.”

  “And would Yvonne say the same if I asked her?”

  “Of course she would.”
/>
  Casey had seen the fear on Yvonne’s face. She would say whatever Karl Willems wanted her to say.

  “The boy’s death is the real reason you’re moving the company to Mexico,” Casey said. “If it’s actually even moving.”

  “What?” Eric’s voice rose.

  “Your fath—Karl has his own reasons for escape, don’t you, Karl? How do we know the company’s not simply going to cease to exist?”

  Eric looked back and forth from Casey to Willems. Willems met his gaze defiantly.

  “Dad,” Eric said. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I did nothing.”

  “Yes, Karl,” Casey said. “That’s exactly what you did.” She pulled the second contract from the folder and handed it to Eric. “Take a look at this, Eric. See everything your father didn’t do.”

  Karl made to get up, but Casey stepped forward, crowding him back onto his chair. “You,” she said. “Sit.”

  He sank into the leather seat. “It wasn’t my fault. They had no right—”

  “Shut up, Karl.” Rage burned behind Casey’s eyes. It wasn’t my fault. I had no way of knowing such a little thing could cause such an accident. Who would’ve thought those complaints about the faulty fuel pump could have told us more? Don’t blame me, Casey, blame Pegasus if you have to blame someone. How was I to know? I’m just an employee, I do what I’m told…

  “You’re the leader, Karl,” Casey said. “The Chief Executive. You’re supposed to protect the little guy. The employees. Your customers. Little boys who see a dryer as a good hiding place. If nothing else, you should’ve protected your company.”

  “The company? What do they care? They would’ve hung me out to dry in a heartbeat.”

  “So you decided to make this entire town pay in your place?”

  Eric cried out, and Casey looked at him, keeping her position over Karl.

  Eric held out the paper. “You knew? You knew there was a problem with the latches. How many complaints had you gotten? Four? Half a dozen?”

  Karl waved a hand. “It was a door latch, for God’s sake. A door latch. Not the heating element. Nothing electrical. Who would’ve thought some kid would be dumb enough to crawl inside? And that his mother wouldn’t even notice? What kind of a mother is that? A poor excuse for one, if you ask me.”

  “And Ellen?” Eric’s voice cracked. “She found out about this. About the boy. Did you kill her, too?”

  Karl’s eyes sparked. “I didn’t kill anybody. Not the boy, and certainly not Ellen. What am I going to do, go to her house and force her to OD on her own sleeping pills? Grow up, Eric. Grow up and see that she’s the one who did it. Your perfect angel Ellen killed herself. It wasn’t anybody else’s fault. Not yours. Not HomeMaker’s. And it certainly wasn’t mine.”

  Casey leaned over and jabbed the pressure point at the back of Karl’s jaw. His eyes widened, and she thrust her arm against the side of his neck, cutting off his carotid artery. He slumped over in his chair, but she kept the pressure on.

  “Casey!” Eric leapt forward. “What did you do? Is he—”

  “He’s fine. He’ll wake up as soon as I take off the pressure.”

  “But…but how are you doing that?”

  Casey sighed heavily. “It’s not hard.” She rubbed her free hand over her forehead. “I just…I needed him to stop talking.”

  Eric glanced down at his father, whose head lolled onto his chest, his mouth slack. “Well, he did.”

  “And now,” Casey said, glancing at the broken door. “We need to leave.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  They didn’t bother trying to avoid the cameras this time, as they only had half a minute, at the most, until Karl would wake up. He would be disoriented, which would give them a little more time, but he would soon remember everything that had happened, and be after them with a vengeance.

  Casey kept her eye out for the security guards, in case they hadn’t gone back to their posts as ordered, but none appeared. Casey and Eric didn’t wait around. They ran straight out the front doors and through the parking lot to the neighboring property, where they found and pulled on their dark sweaters.

  Once they’d gone a couple of blocks Eric stopped, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. “I’ve gotta stop, Casey. I’m not made for this.”

  Casey grabbed his elbow and pulled him upright. “Not here, Eric. We have to keep moving.”

  With a groan he followed her back the way they had come from town. Casey led him silently through yards and alleys, until they were a couple of streets from his home. Casey’s arms were beginning to hurt again. Time for a few more ibuprofen. She wished she’d brought more pills from Eric’s house. She pulled down the collar of her sweater and glanced at her shoulder. Spots of blood had leaked through her bandage, onto her shirt. Her lip throbbed, and her head ached.

  Knowing it was out of the question to go back into Eric’s house, Casey found a dark patch at the back corner of someone’s yard and pulled Eric into the shadow.

  Eric heaved a sigh. “He knew. He could’ve kept that boy from dying.”

  “Yes.”

  Eric closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “He was more worried about money. As usual. It would’ve been expensive to recall the door latches and replace them. Expensive and bad PR.”

  Casey nodded. He was right. “Karl also could be held personally liable. If he knew about the defective part and didn’t stop the production, it could all be put on him. HomeMaker could argue that it was all his fault.”

  Eric clenched his jaw. “So he gave the company up?”

  “Looks that way. It was either close down the company, or he’d get all the blame. Probably go to jail. He made a separate agreement with the family, to protect himself.”

  Eric looked at her, his expression one of sorrow, and resignation. “So what now?”

  She arched her back, wincing at the pain in her kidney, and looked up at the sky, stars twinkling through the leaves of the tree above her. She was tired. She was confused. She needed stitches.

  Eric spoke quietly. “At least Karl didn’t kill Ellen.”

  “He says.”

  “I believe him.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do, too.” It had been in his eyes.

  “You should leave, Casey.”

  She turned her head to look at Eric, but saw only the back of his head as he stood facing away from her, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “You should take my car and start driving. Get far away.”

  He was right, of course. She should leave Clymer, with all of its problems, and all of its goodness, behind. Right that moment.

  “I can’t, Eric.”

  “Why not?”

  Yes. Why the hell not? “I have to know. I have to know what happened to Ellen.”

  “But why?”

  When he turned to face her she looked up into his eyes. “Because she deserves the truth, Eric. Her kids deserve it.” And what else do I have to live for?

  He looked away. “But what if the truth is really that she did it? That no one else killed her?”

  “You really think she could have? Really, Eric?”

  He sighed heavily and looked at the ground between his feet. “No. No, I don’t really think she could have.”

  “Then she didn’t.”

  He looked over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And I’m certainly not about to argue with you.”

  She put her hands on her hips and rolled her neck before stepping back into the alley. “Then come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  She smiled. “We’re going to go see exactly what it is Yvonne knows. And we’re not taking no for an answer.”

  He hesitated. “Karl will be out looking for us by now.”

  “Yeah, well, he can join the club.”

  They walked a bit, until Casey realized Eric was laughing. She stopped. “What?”

  “It’s just…you were like Spock. Doing the Vulcan stun thing t
o Karl.”

  “Oh. Well. Live long, and all that.”

  “Yeah.”

  They kept walking.

  Yvonne’s house was dark, except for the outside light by the door, which she must’ve turned on after they left the first time. Her husband’s truck was still absent.

  “What about the dogs?” Eric said.

  “I guess we’ll have to hope she doesn’t let them eat us.” She slipped beside the house, where she’d be hidden when Yvonne opened the door. Eric looked at her to get the go ahead, then rang the bell.

  Yvonne didn’t answer, and the dogs were silent.

  Eric rang the bell again, and knocked on the door. After a few minutes of this, the inside door jerked open.

  “Eric? What do you want? You’re going to wake the kids, and then what are we going to do?”

  Casey stepped out, swung open the screen door, and braced the inside door with her foot.

  “You?” Yvonne said. “They’re looking for you.” She glanced out at the street, as if expecting a police car to appear.

  “Yes,” Casey said. “May we come in?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she pushed past Yvonne into the house, and found herself pinned to the counter by the two large Doberman Pinschers, snarling and emitting low growls. Casey froze, her hands out in front of her.

  “Yvonne, don’t!”

  Casey looked up from the dogs to see Eric wrestling a cell phone out of Yvonne’s hand. He wrenched it away, ended the call she’d begun, and shoved it into his pocket.

  Yvonne backed away from him, flattening against the wall. “They said if I saw you again I should call them.”

  “So they know I was here before?”

  “Jimmy came home for something to eat. I told him.”

  Eric glanced at Casey, who was trying to access her ability to fight two large dogs. Fighting off people was one thing. Dogs were a different story altogether. She glanced at the counter beside her. The only things within reach were the soap dispenser, a dishrag, and a plastic napkin holder. Nothing too promising as a weapon.

  “Yvonne,” Eric said. “Can you call off the dogs?”

  Yvonne hugged her stomach, staring at Casey. Casey had no doubt her swollen lip and bloody shirt did not paint a pretty picture.