The Grim Reaper's Dance (15 page)

“How about on the manifests. Can you try these names?” She handed Nadine the stack, and Nadine typed in the first name. Bradley Hess. Lots of information—no picture.

“Looks like Hess has been driving exclusively for Class A Trucking,” Nadine said. “Can’t see any reason we wouldn’t have used him. No traffic violations. No citations.” She shrugged. “Model driver. Let’s check out the others.”

It was the same story with the rest of them. Each one showed records going back only two years, just about the time the other list of truckers had disappeared from the system, and each one had only a black and white box saying “no photo available.” So Casey was right. Either Evan had stumbled onto a huge and unlikely coincidence, and these were all brand new drivers, or the other drivers had new names, and Evan had discovered them.

Casey looked down at her papers. What about Dixon and Westing? And the other thugs she had names for? She and Nadine went through them one by one, but none of them showed up in the system, except for Westing and Dixon, as owners of Class A Trucking.

“Can I get addresses and phone numbers for any of the truckers?”

“Sure.” Nadine went back to each man and printed out his information. “You need me to contact any of them for you? Hmm. This is strange. All of these drivers—” she waved at the manifests—“they all have P.O. Boxes. No home addresses. Anyway, want me to call ’em?”

“No, thanks. I’ll do it.” Casey evened out the papers on the desk.

“So, what do you think?”

Casey sat back. “I don’t know yet. It’s all so…nothing’s clear.” Except that they were driving under fake names. But why? With the disappearing Class A logos and the fake IDs there was obviously something going on—but nothing she could put her finger on.

“So, is there anything I can tell Matt about Evan’s death?”

“Not at this point. Not yet.” Casey hesitated, then said, “Nadine…”

“What, sweetheart?”

“It’s probably best if you don’t tell anybody I was here. Or that you helped me look these guys up.”

Nadine cocked her head. “And why is that?”

“You saw what happened to Evan.”

“And you think it could happen to me, too?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want you to take the chance.”

Nadine looked at the computer for a few moments, then clicked out of the screen and deleted the site from her browser history. “You were never here.”

“Thank you.” Casey tried not to look too relieved. Besides wanting to protect Nadine, she also wanted to protect her own identity.

“But if you need anything more,” Nadine said, “you have my number.”

Casey stood. “Your receptionist still out there?”

“And still blind as a bat. But I’ll check for others.” She opened the door and peered into the lobby. “All clear. Can’t promise about the parking lot, though.”

Casey pulled the seed cap from her bag, where she’d stashed it for just such an occasion. “Thanks, Nadine. You’ve been great.”

Nadine took a deep breath through her nose. “If someone’s out there endangering truckers, I want them stopped. And if you can stop them…I’m all for that.”

Casey averted her head from the sight-impaired receptionist, and ducked out to the parking lot.

Chapter Twenty

Casey was surprised to find the truck unoccupied when she got in, and wondered what kind of trouble Death was off causing. She looked at the empty seat across from her and wondered if she would be able to drive without the distraction of a passenger—even if that passenger was the Grim Reaper.

The dashboard clock said it was four-thirty, and Casey was determined to return Wendell’s truck on time. She started the pick-up and pulled out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a car pulling in. The man at the wheel looked at her with surprise, pulling sharply to the right. Casey waved an apology and turned onto the street. Great way to not get noticed.

“
Make a legal U-turn
,” Laura Ingalls Wilder said from the door pocket.

Casey didn’t need to go back to Deerfield Trucking, and she didn’t need Laura harping at her for this trip, as she knew where she was going, so she shut off the application. From what she could see, Bailey had left her several more texts. Casey sighed. Having a teenager after you was worse than a pet dog. She firmly pressed the
Off
button and felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

It was almost five by the time Casey parked the truck at Blue Lake Gas and Go. Mr. Bored stood in the front door, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he talked to a customer, whose back was to Casey. Mr. Bored tilted back into the shop, hollering, and Wendell came outside, wiping his hands on a rag. “How’d she do for you?”

“Perfect. It’s been a long time since I’ve been behind a steering wheel. I was more worried about how I’d do for your truck. But no scratches.” She smiled weakly, remembering the near miss in Deerfield’s parking lot.

The customer talking at the office door turned to go, and Casey averted her face until she heard the car drive away.

“I’m sorry about him,” Wendell said, meaning his boss. “He saw my truck was gone, and wondered what was happening.”

“He’d seen me before. It’s not a biggie.” But the more people knew about her, the more nervous she became.

“So,” Wendell said. “You get yourself something to eat?”

“I did. Thanks.” She pulled out the change.

“No, no, you keep it. Get something later, when your lunch wears off.”

“But—”

“Unless you want to come home with me for supper.”

Casey groaned. A home-cooked meal. It was almost tempting enough… She stuffed the money back in her pocket. “Thanks, Wendell, I’d love to, but I’d better not.”

“Figured that’s what you’d say, but I thought I’d ask. You know my wife would be happy to feed you.”

“I know. I appreciate it. And under normal circumstances…”

“But these are hardly normal. I understand. You need a ride somewhere? I’ll be done here in a half hour.”

Casey thought about where she should go next. Her meeting with Randy wasn’t for seven hours, but she would be arriving a lot earlier. Until then? She needed to find a quiet place where she could make some calls to the truckers.

And maybe take a nap.

“I’m fine,” she told Wendell. “Thanks again for the wheels.”

“Anytime. Need the truck tomorrow?”

“Not that I know of.”

“If you do, come on by. You can have it.”

“Thanks, Wendell. I really appreciate it.”

“I know. Have a good night.”

Casey walked down the sidewalk to the first corner, and when she turned to look back, Wendell was watching her. She waved and disappeared down a side street.

The walk out to the shed felt familiar now, and very soon she saw the weathered wood. She began walking more briskly, but then halted. A harvester was kicking up dust in the field, shooting chaff out the rear as it gathered soybeans. So much for that location. At least for now.

Looking around, Casey turned back toward town, then ducked off to the south and found a still-standing cornfield. There were no tractors in sight, so she clambered through the rows until she could no longer see the road. It was a bit claustrophobic, but she only had to make room for one, as Death was still
in absentia
.

Not that she was complaining.

Casey got herself settled with her back against three stalks which grew together and pulled out the information she’d gotten from Nadine. Where should she begin?

At random, she picked Hank Nance, the driver who was wanted for failure to pay child support.

“Yo,” he said, answering her call.

“Mr. Nance? My name is Casey Jones. I was wondering if I could talk to you about—”

The line hummed in her ear. She dialed again, wondering if Randy or Owen had warned him off, or if he thought she was someone who had hunted him down for the money he owed. This time he didn’t answer, and she went straight through to voice mail. She left a brief message saying she wanted to talk with him about Class A Trucking, and that if he didn’t call her back, she’d be in touch.

She tried Sandy Greene next.

“Listen, lady,” he said. “I’m not going to talk to you, and you better not call me again, or you’ll be sorry.”

Lovely.

John Simones had a different attitude, but the message was the same. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know what to tell you. I can’t…please, don’t call me anymore.” And he hung up, too.

Casey sat back, letting her head fall against the corn, feeling the prickly stalk against her scalp. These people were scared. Scared to talk to her—to even answer their phones.

She only had one more number to call. Mick and Wendy Halveston. The couple in the photos. The driver who had killed an entire family when he’d overturned his truck. Casey hoped she’d be able to keep her feelings in check when she talked with them. She dialed. The phone rang until clicking into voice mail, and Casey sighed. Should she leave a message? No. It would just give them a chance to be warned of her call.

She let her hand fall against her shin, her arms wrapped around her knees. She’d pretty much just blown that whole angle.

The Bugs Bunny theme filled the air. The number displayed on the phone was the same one she’d just called.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello? Is someone there?” Casey wondered if the call had been dropped.

“Um, hello?” A woman’s voice, quiet and shaking. “This is…this is Wendy Halveston. Someone from this number just called?”

“Yes. Hi. My name is Casey Jones. I was wondering if I might talk to you about Class A Tr—”

“Not here,” Wendy said.

“Okay, then where—”

“Tomorrow morning. The public library, in the reference section. Nine o’clock. I’ll be waiting.” She was gone.

Casey blinked, wondering what had just happened. These drivers were scared, and Wendy Halveston—she was scared, too. But something made her willing to talk.

Casey hoped she wouldn’t change her mind by morning.

Chapter Twenty-one

Casey set the alarm on Terry’s phone for a half hour and lay down to take a nap. She wanted to be sharp at the midnight meeting with Westing and whomever else he brought along. She awoke semi-refreshed, turned off the phone, and stood up to do some stretches.

“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.