The Grim Reaper's Dance (12 page)

Chapter Sixteen

“Wow, you were like Clint Eastwood in there,” Death said. “Or maybe even the Terminator.”

Casey jogged down the hospital steps and into the night air, taking a deep breath. She walked briskly down the sidewalk and into the residential section, leaving the bright ER sign behind her.

Death skipped ahead and stopped, studying her as she walked past. “But you look much more like Uma Thurman. Now
she’s
a
badass
.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use words like that.”

“Uma Thurman?”

Casey stopped, getting herself acclimated. “That way.” She retraced a few steps and turned a corner.

“We going back to the shed?”

“
I
am.”

“Well, if
that’s
the way you’re going to be.” Death pouted, and disappeared in a poof of smoke, a choir sounding in the night, like the last few measures of a choral symphony. Or like angels.

No, not angels.

It took Casey about forty-five minutes to make her way back. By the time she arrived the shed was already full of kids, and John Mayer was playing on Martin’s iPod. Bailey and Martin were dancing to “Daughters.”

“See! I
told
you she’d be back.” Bailey bounced away from Martin. “She promised.”

Sheryl lay on the floor, picking at a chocolate cake in the middle of the blanket. “Well, whoop-de-doo.” Terry sat beside her, carefully not looking at Casey.

“I was right.” Martin grinned at Casey. “You cleaned up pretty good.”

“I’ll take the credit for that.” Bailey walked around Casey, examining her. “You didn’t even destroy your hair. But you haven’t slept on it or washed it yet.
Then
we’ll see.” She stopped in front of her. “So, did it work? Could you do whatever it was you wanted?”

“Well enough. I take it you didn’t get caught this afternoon?”

“No problem. Dad was gone when I got back, and by the time Mom got home I was all set up doing my homework—my teachers sent my stuff home with Sheryl. So, you still have all the make-up?”

Casey held up the now-bulging bag. She had removed the scrubs when she was a safe distance from the hospital. If Bruce was brave—or stupid—enough to tell somebody at the hospital about her visit, she didn’t want to be too obvious on the streets. “Can I keep them for a day or two? Just in case?”

Bailey waved her hand. “Keep them forever. Not exactly my style, you know. So sit. We’ve been waiting for you before we cut Terry’s cake.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Bailey insisted.” Terry held up a knife. “But now that you’re here…”

Casey lowered herself to the blanket, wondering where Death had gone. She expected to hear that annoying rubber band twanging any second. She also wondered what had happened to the store-bought cookies. Terry must’ve skipped his nap and made a trip to the bakery, after all.

“Here.” Bailey set another bag beside Casey. “Food. And more clothes.”

Casey stomach rumbled in response. “Thank you. You guys are all really— Hey, where’s Johnny?”

“Football.” Bailey rolled her eyes. “His dad makes him play. He doesn’t seem to realize that one more good knock to the head and Johnny’s history.”

“Really? Why? Too many concussions?”

“No,” Sheryl said. “Because he’s already dumb as rocks. Where can he go from there?”

“Sheryl…” Terry said, but it was half-hearted.

“Oh, Terry, don’t be such a sap. You know it’s true.”

Terry looked away, obviously uncomfortable.

Bailey wrinkled her nose at Casey. “We all love Johnny, you know? He’s a great guy, just—”

“—stupid.” Sheryl said.

A heavy silence fell, with only Sheryl willing to lift her eyes.

“Anyway,” Bailey finally said, “Johnny’s dad’s this bigwig doctor at the hospital.”

Casey blinked. “Not Dr. Shinnob?”

“
Shinnob
?” Bailey laughed. “Hardly. Dr.
Cross
. That’s Johnny’s last name. And Dr. Cross seems to realize Johnny’s never going to be doctor material, so he figures he’d better do something, like play football. You’d think the big doctor, of all people, would realize what that could do to Johnny’s head, but…” She shrugged. “Oh, well.”

“So, Martin,” Casey said, feeling sorry for Johnny. “Bailey says you have something for me. Oh, thank you.” She took the piece of cake Terry offered.

“I do.” Martin waggled his eyebrows. “What you gonna give me for it?”

“
Martin
!”

“Just joking, Bail, don’t have a shit fit. Here.” He dug in his bag and pulled out a manila file. “One accident report, fresh from the cop shop.”

“Thanks.” Casey wiped her fingers on a napkin and took the folder. “Anything you noticed?”

“What? You think I read it?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “You’re right. I did. And you know what bugs me? Those machines on the road. They weren’t supposed to be there.”

It seemed obvious. Casey had thought the same thing. They had mentioned it in the newspaper articles. Why had no answers been found?

“It wasn’t a surprise the construction vehicles were around,” Martin said. “They’ve been clogging up that road for weeks. But when the road crew left on Saturday they were parked way over to the side. Nowhere near the actual driving area. And there were still tons of caution signs around.”

Casey hadn’t seen any of those. “So someone moved them on purpose.”

“Well, duh,” Sheryl said.

Bailey smacked Sheryl’s shoe.

“Another thing,” Martin said, scooting forward on the bucket. “The cops gave someone a speeding ticket on that stretch of road
five minutes earlier
.”

“Five minutes?”

“So the machines were beside the road then. Not on it.” Martin’s face was grim. “Whoever moved those machines did it just before you and the trucker came that way. Why would they do that?”

Casey’s stomach twisted. She’d known it. It couldn’t have been any other way. But to have confirmation that the machines were moved on purpose was almost too much to take.

“Casey?” Bailey looked up at her. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

Casey nodded, and let out a huff of air. “What else does the report say?”

Martin gestured to the file in her hand. “It’s all there.”

“But what else stuck out to you?”

“No witnesses.” Bailey spoke up this time.

Casey laughed. “You read it, too?”

“Of course.”

“Did anyone
not
read it?”

Sheryl and Terry shrugged. They’d read it, too.

“Anyway,” Bailey said, “there was
no one
who saw what happened. At least, no one who will come forward.”

“But you know what they did find?” Martin said. “Just before the accident? Somebody stopped the traffic going east, on the other side of the highway. So nobody was coming the opposite direction to see anything, anyway.”

“The police didn’t check out the traffic problem?”

“They tried. But by the time they got there, whoever had stopped the cars was gone, and traffic was moving again. They couldn’t find the people from the first stopped cars, who had seen what had stopped them to begin with. They were long gone.”

“And,” Bailey said, “the same thing happened on the western side. When the ambulances and stuff were coming to the accident from the other way, they had to get through a bunch of cars who’d been held up.”

“And nobody saw what caused that, either?”

Martin shook his head. “I talked to one of the cops who was called to the scene, and he said there were construction signs all over the highway, saying there was stopped traffic, and then orange barrels across the road.”

So that’s where the warning signs had gone.

“But there were no people. The cops just left the barrels there while they worked on the crash and got…well…took you to the hospital.”

Casey couldn’t believe it. She didn’t think these guys were that organized. “They planned every aspect of this.”

“Who did?”

Casey wasn’t sure who’d asked, but all four pairs of eyes were on her. “I don’t know yet.”

“But you know something,” Bailey said. “Don’t you?”

Casey knew some very important things, the main one being that the papers in her bag were worth killing for. No. The men hadn’t
meant
to kill Evan. At least not right then. But Randy Westing, Bruce Willoughby, and the other guy had brought guns to Davey’s scrapyard, and didn’t seem nervous about using them. She rubbed her temples. What was in those papers that was so damaging? Could it be simply that the drivers were operating under false names? Tom hadn’t seen anything blatantly illegal in the photos. Just that weird business of the logos being on, and then off, the trucks.

Casey looked around at the teenagers. Kids who were allying themselves with her. Forget herself—she was going to get
them
killed.

“You know, guys,” she said. “I’m exhausted. It’s been a long couple of days.”

Bailey’s lip stuck out. “Are you kicking us out?”

“She can’t kick us out,” Sheryl said. “It’s your shed.”

“And we’re not done with the cake.” Terry waved his fork over the half-eaten dessert.

Martin shut off the music. “Come on, guys. We said we’d help her out.”

“And we are.” Bailey grabbed Casey’s sleeve, and Casey steeled herself not to react. “Come on, Casey. What else can we do?”

Casey closed her eyes and tried to relax her shoulders. “You’re already giving me a place to stay, feeding me, clothing me, and getting me police reports. You’ve done a lot.”

“And I can see what else we should do,” Martin said. “Leave her alone.”

“But—”

“Let’s go, Bail,” Sheryl said. “We can see when we’re not wanted.”

“Oh, guys,” Casey said. “It’s not that. Not at all. I like…you guys are great.”

“Then what do you
need
?” Bailey pleaded.

What did she need? She needed these sweet, exasperating kids to be safe. Oh, yeah, there was something else. “Pat Parnell. Did you ask your dad if he has a second job?”

“Didn’t have to. Asked Mom. And I didn’t know it, but he doesn’t farm anymore. Hasn’t for awhile. He took up another job. Driving trucks.”

Bingo.

“But he doesn’t anymore.”

“How come?”

“Don’t know. Mom wouldn’t say. In fact, when I asked about him, she got all weird.”

“Weird? In what way?”

“Just got all…like she was creeped out. Or disgusted. Who knows with her. She gets freaked out if you even mention the word bellybutton.”

Casey considered this new information. “I need to talk to him.”

“Pat?”

“Can you get me his number?”

“Sure. Easy.”

“
Without
your dad knowing.”

“You forget,” Bailey said with a smirk, “I do all sorts of things without my dad knowing. And anyway, this is simple.” She pulled out her phone and dialed 411. She listened, said Pat’s name and city, and waited. And frowned.

She slid her phone shut. “Unlisted.” Her face cleared. “So I’ll go home and get it. Dad would have his cell number.”

“And I’ll get it from you how?”

Bailey looked at Terry. “Ter, give Casey your phone.”

“
What
?”

“No,” Casey said. “I don’t want—”

“Come on,” Bailey said. “You hardly use it, anyway. You haven’t sent me a text for at least three days.”

“Bailey,” Casey said. “Terry doesn’t need to—”

“She’s right.” Terry handed Casey his phone. “Go ahead.”

“Terry!” Sheryl was on her feet now. “Don’t give her your
phone
.”

“The sooner she finds out what she wants to know, the sooner she’s gone!” Terry said, his voice loud and harsh in the enclosed space.

That shut them all up.

“I’m sorry,” Casey said. “I’m making things difficult for—”

“No,” Bailey said. “You’re making things exciting around here. For once. Don’t listen to
him
.” She glared at Terry. “Come on, guys. A few songs before we hit the road. I need the pick-me-up.”

Martin programmed a few lively songs to play, and he and Bailey danced around the room, Sheryl and Terry watching from the sidelines. Several times Bailey tried to get them to join, but Sheryl simply sulked, and Terry was watching her for cues.

Finally Bailey dropped onto a bucket, wiping her forehead. “Okay, come on guys. Casey needs her sleep. And I need to go get this number.”

“Thank you for the phone, Terry,” Casey said.

He busied himself covering the cake and shoving trash into his bag. Sheryl sulked in the corner. Martin packed away his iPod and accessories. Everybody strapped their things onto their bikes and wheeled them outside.