The Grim Reaper's Dance (11 page)

Chapter Fourteen

“So where were you?” Casey looked at Death in the hospital bathroom’s mirror. She’d allowed Davey to take her as far as the edge of town, then insisted on being dropped at a quiet intersection. She’d ducked quickly down a side street and zig-zagged through the neighborhood, making sure he didn’t follow. The last thing she needed was for the guys in the hospital to see him. The one—Craig Mifflin, according to Evan’s photos—had been unconscious when Davey had come out of the trailer with Randy Westing’s gun at his head, but the second guy—Bruce Willoughby—could probably ID Davey, unless he’d been in such pain from his knee he didn’t remember anything.

Casey finished lining her eyes and put on the mascara, topping it off with a dusting of eye shadow.

“Those high school boys aren’t going to know what to do with themselves tonight when they show up at the shed,” Death said. “You’re turning
hot
.”

“Teenage boys don’t have eyes for old ladies like me.”

Death snorted. “And I have wings and shoot arrows at lovers. Come
on
, Casey. Do you not remember what boys that age are like?”

“I guess not.” She stepped back, trying to view herself in the slanted, handicapped-accessible mirror. She’d locked herself into the one-person bathroom after ducking onto the cardiac wing. The floor was dark and quiet, the patients bedded down for the night.

“And I was wrong about the scrubs,” Death said. “They’re more attractive than I thought they’d be, in a professional, woman-in-charge sort of way. Except you really should take off your other clothes instead of wearing the scrubs over them.”

“And put them where?”

“I don’t know. Nurse’s locker?”

Casey considered it, but shook her head. “Too much opportunity for seeing other nurses who would know I don’t belong.” She put on the lipstick and blotted her lips with a paper towel. “So, anyway, where were you? I thought you wanted to be there when I was questioning the trucking guy.”

“I did, and was planning on meeting you there, but I was called away. Business.”

“What happened to the whole Santa Claus comparison you gave me last week? That you can be in multiple places at once?”

Death made a face. “Do you really want to know? I was trying to spare you.”

“Oh. Okay, forget it.”

“Suicide bomber in Iraq, military action in Afghanistan, and an earthquake in Peru. All at the same time. Very messy.”

“I said forget it!”

Someone knocked on the door. “Everything okay in there?”

Casey glared at Death. “Fine, thank you!”

“You’re not on the phone, are you? You know you can’t use them on this floor.”

“No phone. Just talking to myself.”

Death gave a little giggle, but quickly smothered it.

The person stopped talking, and Casey hoped she’d gone away. Casey slid the reading glasses on, and Death’s nose wrinkled. “Well,
that
kills the hotness factor.”

It did. It also added several years to her appearance, as Bailey had predicted. An added benefit was the hiding of her eyes. She really did look different. She hoped it was enough to get her into the hospital room and close enough for her questioning.

She gave Death another silencing glance and reached for the door, putting the make-up in the bag with Evan’s photos. She peeked out. The closest person was a woman in pink scrubs, who sat behind the counter at the nurse’s station. Casey went the other direction, toward the elevator.

“So where are these guys?” Death asked.

“I asked at the visitors’ desk when I got here. Craig Mifflin’s already been released. Bruce Willoughby is still here to get his knee worked on. Orthopedics.”

“Let’s go get him.”

Orthopedics, illogically, was on the third floor. Casey would’ve thought people who needed help walking should be on the first.

They were almost to the elevator when a familiar person came out of a room, coat flapping. “Nurse, can you please make sure the patient in 113B gets a new gown? We made a little mess.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Casey nodded her head deferentially, as she imagined a nurse might do, and kept walking. Of all the people to run into, did she
have
to find Dr. Shinnob? She glanced back, and he was watching her with a confused expression, as if he wasn’t sure what to think. Great.

She scooted into the next room and stood up against the wall, peering back out into the hallway through the door’s little window. Dr. Shinnob still looked her way. He was taking a step. Casey gritted her teeth. What was she going to do?

Dr. Shinnob stopped, and the woman in the pink scrubs came up to him with a chart. He took it, gave one more look Casey’s way, then followed the nurse in the other direction. Casey heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. Her disguise obviously wasn’t enough.

“Um, Casey,” Death said.

She looked up. A man lay in the hospital bed, sunk deep into his pillows. He was alone. And he was watching her, smiling.

“Hello, sweetheart. Did you come to take me away?”

Casey glanced at Death, who gave a subtle shake of the head. “No, sir,” Casey said. “Just checking in.”

“Come sit with me a minute.” The man patted the bed beside him.

“I don’t really have time—”

His smile faded. “Of course. You’re all so busy.”

Casey’s stomach fell. “I’ve got a minute or two.”

“No, you don’t,” Death said. “That doctor’s going to come in here and find out you’re a fraud.”

Casey went to stand beside the bed. “What would you like to talk about?”

The man lifted his skinny arm, his hand feeling for hers. She clasped his fingers.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said, his voice weak. “You talk. Tell me something happy.”

Death groaned.

Something
happy
? The poor man had asked precisely the wrong person. “I don’t know what—”

“Anything,” the man said. “You have to have
something
to say, a young, pretty girl like you.”

Casey tried to clear her mind of everything that had happened during the past day, the past week, the past
year
. When had she ever been happy? Or young? Or even pretty? What did that feel like?

“My wedding day,” she said aloud.

The man smiled again. “Yes.”

She thought back. “We weren’t sure if it was going to rain. The clouds were heavy and gray, with just a hint of blue sky in-between, and the air was chilly, with a light breeze. But they always say rain on your wedding day is lucky, right? So we didn’t care. We got married in a little church, with just a small group of family and friends. My mom and brother, a few cousins, the guys from my
dojang
.” She glanced at the man, who didn’t seem to notice she’d just said something unusual. “I wore my mother’s wedding dress, an ivory sheath, with just a bit of lace, and he wore a new gray suit, with a red sash. He’s Mexican,” she explained.

The man nodded.

“There was lots of singing, and good food planned for the reception—homemade soup in bread bowls, and my mother’s famous German Chocolate cake. But during the ceremony, just after Reuben slid the ring on my finger and the minister declared us husband and wife, a bolt of lightening lit up the sky outside the windows, and thunder rolled over, shaking the floor. The rain came so suddenly, pounding the roof, running down the windows. Reuben kissed me, and I laughed, happy we would be together forever.” Her voice cracked, and she came back to the hospital room.

“Forever,” the old man said. “That’s a long time.”

Casey looked at her finger, and thought about the rings, hanging with the rest of her things in a garage in Clymer, Ohio. “Yes.”

“My Joyce is already gone. But I’ll be joining her soon.” His voice wavered, and a spark of fear entered his eyes.

Death swooped over the man, sniffing, peering into the man’s eyes. “Maybe. Maybe not. I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“It will be all right,” Casey said to the man. “You don’t need to be afraid. Death is…” She glanced at her companion. “Death isn’t always as terrible as you think.”

The man looked at her. “You’ve dealt with it?”

“More than I like. It’s with me constantly.”

“Yes,” the man said. “I believe you. I can see it in your face.”

Casey smiled gently. “I’m sorry, but I really need to be going. Can I get you anything?”

“A drink of water would be nice.”

Casey picked up the blue hospital cup from the bedside table and tilted the straw toward the man’s mouth, supporting his shoulders while he drank.

He took several swallows before sinking back into the pillows. “Thank you, dear.”

“You’re welcome.” She set the cup down and patted his hand. “Do you have anyone to come visit?”

“My children and grandchildren come in and out, but no one stays. Everyone’s busy, has places to go. It’s all right.”

Casey’s face went hot. “Aren’t there at least volunteers who will sit with you?”

“No. The candystripers want to spend their time in the pediatrics ward. I can’t blame them. No one—especially a teen-aged volunteer—wants to spend time with old people. We’re boring. And crabby.”

Casey gently squeezed his hand. “I think you’re nice.”

He smiled. “You’re nice, too. Now go on. Go do whatever it is you have to do. Even if you don’t really work for the hospital.”

She gasped.

“You’re afraid of something, honey, even if it’s not death, like me. I hope you can conquer it.”

She bit her lip, not sure what to say.

“Now go on, get moving. Save the world. Run away. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I wish—”

He flapped his hand toward the door. “Go.”

Casey set his hand down and escaped, leaving the man and Dr. Shinnob behind.

Chapter Fifteen

The orthopedic floor was still and dark. No one rushed around, pushing carts and checking vitals. Casey could hear the hum of machines, but other than that it was as if the floor were deserted. She had opted for the stairway, figuring the elevator would open right at a desk, and she was glad she’d thought of it. A young man in green scrubs—of
course
not blue—stood at the counter with his back to her, examining an x-ray on a lighted screen.

From the numbers Casey could see by the room doors, Bruce Willoughby’s would be down the hall. Casey would have to go past the man at the desk.

“Here’s where the costume comes into play,” Death whispered.

“Or I just wait till he goes to the bathroom.”

“By that time, someone else will be there.”

True.

A rolling desk with a computer sat just down the hallway—the kind used by nurses when making their rounds. Casey figured the staff didn’t need to worry about patients on the ortho wing running off with it. Casey began pushing it down the hall, checking the room numbers. As she went past the desk the man glanced up, and Casey nodded, much as she had nodded to Dr. Shinnob only minutes before. The man nodded back, and returned to the x-ray he was examining on the lighted screen.

Nods were coming in very handy.

“Here,” Death said, pointing into a room. “Your guy.”

Casey stopped outside the door. “I wonder why there’s no cop stationed here?”

“Not exactly a flight risk,” Death said. “Plus, the only thing he did—that the cops know about—was get beat up at Davey’s junk yard. By the time they got to him, he had no gun or anything.”

Casey peered in the door’s window, hoping Bruce would be asleep. No such luck. He had his hand on a remote, and his face was lit up by the television.

Death held up a finger. “Lights, camera—”

Casey slid her bag onto the shelf of the rolling desk and backed into the room, pulling the computer behind her, right up to the bed.

“Again?” Bruce whined. “How many times do I have to pee in a cup?”

“No peeing,” Casey said, and she turned around.

“Then what?” Bruce kept his eyes on the TV. “Blood pressure? Temperature? Sponge bath?” He leered at that one.

Casey pinched the top of his shoulder on a pressure point, and his eyes went wide. She relaxed her grip enough he could turn to look at her. It took him a few moments, but recognition hit him like a brick. “
You
?”

“Yes, Bruce. It’s me.”

He fumbled for the nurse button on his bed, and Casey grabbed his arm. “If you so much as think about pushing that button, I’m going to do this.” She tightened her fingers, and he dropped his hand.

“Good,” Casey said. “We understand each other. Now, you are going to answer some questions.”

He shook his head, as much as he could with his nerve pinched.

“No?” Casey laid her hand on his destroyed knee, and he whimpered. She wasn’t really going to do anything to his poor leg, but the threat should be enough. “I think the people in this hospital—as well as the cops—would be very interested to know how you and your buddies came to the scrap yard with guns and threatened the owner.”

He opened his mouth, but she continued. “There are
witnesses
, Bruce. Now, what’s your name?”

“You seem to…know it.” He panted in-between words.

“Just a test. Tell me.”

“Bruce. Willoughby.”

“Good. And the name of your boss?”

He shook his head.

“I already know that, too. After seeing him at the scrap yard I looked him up.”

Bruce’s forehead smoothed. “
Him
? That’s Randy. Randy Westing.”

So he wasn’t Bruce’s boss. Just an underling, of some sort. “And the other guy? Craig?”

Bruce sneered. “Dumbass.” He looked her up and down, trying to look tough. “Knocked out by a girl without a fight.”

Casey twisted his shoulder. “At least he’s
walking
.”

Bruce had no response for that. Not that he could’ve responded at that moment, anyway.

“So,” Casey said. “Where is Randy camped out? Where is he waiting for you?”

“Don’t know. He called. Said he’d…be in touch.”

Casey nodded. “And what was it you were looking for at the scrap yard and at the accident? You wanted something in Evan’s truck.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked away, and then back. “Something Randy wanted. I don’t know what.”

Casey shook her head and leaned ever so slightly on his knee. “You disappoint me, Bruce. I was expecting more.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I can’t…tell you what…I don’t know.”

Casey glanced up at Death, who shrugged. “Maybe he’s just stupid.”

Casey thought there was a good possibility of that.

“So who are all the others, Bruce?”

“Others? What…others?”

“The guys with you at the crash site? And why are they bothering the truckers?”

“Bother— Look, lady, you need to…get your facts…straight.”

“So straighten me out.”

Something flashed on the television screen, and his face went deathly pale before reverting to the blue. “We ain’t
bothering
any truckers. The only trucker involved was Evan, and he ain’t
bothered
anymore.” He smiled wickedly.

Casey restrained herself from snapping his knee. “And how did you know Evan? Did he drive for Class A Trucking?”

Bruce blinked. “How do you know about that?”

“Evan. How else?”

His mouth dropped. “So you
did
find his stuff?”

Casey kept her hand on his knee and bent down to retrieve her bag from the computer desk. She dangled it just out of his reach. “It’s all in here. Maybe you can help me decipher it.”

She picked up her other hand and held it just above his knee. He nodded. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

Keeping a close eye on him, she reached into the bag and pulled out the first thing she found—a photo of Westing and Dixon sitting across from the Halvestons, the trucker couple.

“That’s Randy,” Bruce said. “And Dix.”

“And who are the other people?”

His eyelids fluttered. “Don’t know.”

Casey licked her lips, watching him steadily. She set down the photo and pulled out another one. “How about him?” Pat Parnell.

A look of disgust flitted across his face. “Don’t know.”

“Um-hmm.”

She pulled out another photo, and another. “I suppose you don’t know any of these people, either.”

“No, ma’am, not by name. Just Randy and Dix and Craig.”

“And a few others of your group.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Okay. I suppose you have no idea why these people are in the photos with your friends. Or with
you
, for that matter.” She held up one of him with Hank Nance.

Bruce swallowed. “I suppose they could be…truckers?”

Casey gasped and clapped her hands twice, slow. “Good answer, Bruce. Now, try again. Why are you guys bothering the truckers?”

He shook his head.

“Are the truckers driving with fake licenses?”

He bit his lips together.

“And who is your boss?”

He lifted his chin. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are. You show up in Evan’s truck, and we don’t know why, or what you’re doing there. Well, I ain’t telling you anything more. And you can’t
make
me.” He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling.

Death’s forehead furrowed. “He’s not going to answer you. He’s made up his mind and he
ain’t
changing it.”

“Okay, Bruce.” Casey patted his thigh. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Hey. Look at me.”

He did.

“You’re going to get in touch with your buddies—”

“—I don’t know how—”

“—and you are going to tell them I have what they’re looking for—” she dangled the bag where he could see it “—and that I want to deal.”

“But—”

She placed a finger just above his mouth, not touching him. “I am going to call you tomorrow. If you’re in surgery I’ll call back. You are going to tell me where and when to meet them
and
…” She held up a finger to keep him from talking. “You are going to give me a number where they can be reached.”

“And if they don’t call me before then?”

She leaned close, whispering. “Then I’ll be back.”

He whimpered. “Lady, who
are
you?”

“You shouldn’t be worried about me. You should be worried about
that
.” She pointed at Death.

Bruce looked where Casey was pointing. “The television?”

Casey opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Remember what I said about the nurse’s button. Don’t even breathe on it until I’ve been gone several minutes.”

He shook his head. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” She held up the bag. “Until tomorrow then. I’ll be talking to you.”

Casey exited the room, leaving the rolling computer desk beside Bruce’s bed. As the door eased shut, she glanced back. Bruce was turned toward the TV, but she would’ve bet none of it was registering.