Embrace the Grim Reaper

smile, same glossy hair-do. Same exact photo as last time. Casey clenched her jaw, making the same unfulfilled promise she always made—to never go to that web site again.

A crick in her neck called her to sit up straighter, and again she regretted her night at The Sleep Inn. Leaving the Pegasus web site behind, she typed in parameters to find a bed and breakfast in Clymer, if there was such a thing. And there was. One. The Nesting Place.

Hmm. Sounded a bit out there, but it was the only place in town, and the pictures of the renovated Queen Anne looked appealing. Casey grabbed one of the scrap papers and sharpened golf pencils from the basket by the computer and wrote down the address. It was worth a try.

In the midst of writing, she stopped. Did she really want to get involved in this town? In that play? In the soup kitchen?

She wasn’t sure.

Tucking the paper into her pocket, she went back to the search engine and typed in Ellen… What was her last name? She pictured the garage sale announcement. Ellen Schmucker? Snyder? Schneider. She hit Return.

A wide array of Ellen Schneiders filled the screen, and Casey realized she’d made the search too wide. She added the words, “Clymer,” and, “Ohio,” and tried again.

This time it became clearer, and she was presented with several articles from local papers about the untimely death of the young single mother of two.

WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN HOME

FORMER HOMEMAKER EMPLOYEE

DIES BY OWN HAND

SINGLE MOTHER LEAVES

CHILDREN TO STARVE

Casey frowned at the tabloid-style headlines, and clicked on the first article, dated the earliest.

Ellen Schnieder, 31, was found dead in her home yesterday afternoon when her neighbor, Mrs. Bea Tilly, stopped by to ask about the Schneiders’ dog. “I’ve never seen Griffey in such a state,” Mrs. Tilly told this reporter. “He’s always such a calm little fellow. It was like he was trying to tell us something.”

And it seems he was. Entering her neighbor’s unlocked front door, Mrs. Tilly found Griffey’s owner slumped onto the kitchen table, an empty coffee mug and a spilled bottle of prescription pills in front of her. “All I could think was that I needed to do something before the children came home,” Mrs. Tilly said. “They didn’t need to see that.”

They didn’t. By the time Schneider’s children were released from school, law enforcement had closed off the scene, and the new orphans were in the custody of their grandparents. The Schneiders, Ellen’s parents, were unavailable for comment.

“I’ve never seen anything like this here in Clymer,” Police Chief Denny Reardon said. “I can’t comment on what happened, but can assure you it is under investigation.”

The town of Clymer is eager for answers. “It’s horrible that she could do this, if it really is what it looks like,” Clymer resident Becca Styles said. “Everyone loved Ellen, she was so level-headed, so the idea that someone like her could make this choice is scary.”

Casey looked up from the screen. Becca Styles? Could this little town have more than one Becca? Probably not. And with the small population it wasn’t that strange that Becca would be quoted. Especially if she and Ellen were involved in the theater together.

The article finished with a promise for up-to-date news, and Casey moved on to the next.

FORMER HOMEMAKER EMPLOYEE

DIES BY OWN HAND

When HomeMaker CEO Karl Willems performed last December’s lay-off of more than fifty employees, he knew it would be rough. What he didn’t expect was for one of his former workers to commit suicide. “Ellen Schneider was a wonderful woman, and a hard worker,” he said. “I always thought she would be one to land on her feet.”

Unfortunately, such was not the case. Overwhelmed by her climbing debts, lack of employment, and the pressure of raising two children on her own, Ellen Schneider, a thirty-one-year-old single mother, of Clymer, Ohio, allegedly took her own life two mornings ago while her children attended school. “It’s a sad, sad thing,” Chief Denny Reardon said at this morning’s press conference. “This town has been through some rough months, and this will only make it harder.”

When asked for details of Ms. Schneider’s death, Chief Reardon said only that she was pronounced dead at the scene, apparently from an overdose of her own prescription sleeping pills. More information, he said, would be coming.

Casey sat back, swallowing the bad taste in her mouth. With a flick of her finger on the keyboard she wiped the article from the screen, and sat staring at the library’s home page.

Did she really want to take this poor woman’s spot in the play?

“Miss, um, Kaufmann?” Casey jerked around to see the librarian at her elbow, her driver’s license in her hand. “I’m sorry, but your time on the computer is up, and we have someone waiting.”

Casey blinked and glanced around. While she’d been working the library had gotten busy. Well, as busy as it could in such a small town. And there were only three computers for the patrons. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“No problem. Feel free to come back later.”

Casey grabbed her bag, took one last look to make sure she hadn’t left anything on the desk, and accepted her license back from Stacy, glad it still bore her birth name, rather than her married one. Stacy, if he ever got curious, wouldn’t have much to go on. She hadn’t lived in the licensing state for years, and her social security number was not on it. She nodded at the man waiting for the computer and pushed out the library doors into the bright mid-morning. She glanced at her watch. Almost nine-thirty. Too early to find the bed and breakfast. If she decided to stay.

A mother with a toddler in a stroller went past on the sidewalk, heading across the street to a small park. Casey watched them, an ache spreading through her chest. Benches and a few picnic tables sat under two big trees, and Casey made her way over, settling at the picnic table farthest from the play equipment. Digging through her bag, she pulled out a cell phone, one that was paid ahead, with a number that would die a quick death when she’d used all the minutes and bought a new phone.

She punched in a number she knew by heart.

“Hello, Wilson’s Catering, may I help you?” The voice, as always, made her smile, but also brought tears to her eyes.

“Ricky.”

He paused. “Casey? Where are you?”

She gave a half laugh. “How are things?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Paying your bills, gathering your mail, having a builder repair your roof.”

“What? What happened?”

“Storm. That big maple in the front yard dropped a load on your porch.”

“Oh, no. The tree?”

“Gone. I’m sorry, sis.”

Casey pushed on her lips with her fingers until she evened out her breathing. “The house?”

“Taken care of. Had a few prospective buyers go through, but no offers. The realtor’s still hopeful, but I don’t know…”

“You’re not really trying, are you?”

“Now, come on—”

“Ricky.”

“All right. I’m not pushing it. But I have it listed with an agency, okay? I just…” He hesitated. “You’ll be back sometime, and wish you hadn’t sold it. You know you will.”

“I don’t know that. In fact, I’m sure I won’t.”