“Dickens?”
“Well. Sort of.” He gave a chuckle. “The musical version.”
“You mean Oliver?”
“You got it. The high school English teacher, who directed the plays, for some unknown reason decided it was the show to do for the spring musical my junior year.”
“And you tried out?”
“No way. I wasn’t about to go anywhere near that thing. The closest I would get would be if my mother bought tickets and forced me to go see it. I left the leading man thing to Thomas. He was much better suited to it, being the handsome extrovert.”
“So what happened?”
He made a face. “I wasn’t exactly large in high school.”
“You mean like now, at your hulking five ten?”
“Hey, I can act taller.” He stopped, puffing out his chest and raising his shoulders.
Casey rolled her eyes and continued walking.
“Anyway,” Eric said, catching up to her, “I was small, blond, and sang in the choir. Good enough for the director. She began a campaign on my mother to get me to do the show.”
“Not your dad?”
“No way. My dad would never have agreed to it. It was my mom that had to be convinced. And she was, eventually.”
“Your dad didn’t stop it?”
Eric pinched his lips together. “My dad didn’t have anything to say about it by that time.”
“How come?”
“Because he and my mom got divorced when I was twelve. He really didn’t have much to do with my day-to- day life after that.”
“I’m sorry.”
He kicked another stone. “That’s the way it was. And my mom couldn’t resist the director. She was convinced I secretly longed for the stage, and dragged me to rehearsal. And that was that. I took one step on the stage and never wanted to leave.” He pointed down an alley a block before Home Sweet Home, and Casey turned her bike with him. “It was like I’d found my true calling. My mother was right.”
Casey followed him around the back of the buildings to the few parking spaces behind the soup kitchen. “Yes, she was. It’s obvious.”
He stopped at his Camry. “To make a long story short—although it’s been plenty long already—Thomas wasn’t exactly thrilled I broke into his domain. It’s been a battle ever since.”
“But you didn’t stay here in Clymer.”
“No.”
“Did Thomas?”
“He didn’t, either.”
“And you both went to Louisville? Actors’ Theater, maybe?”
He glanced at her sharply. “How did you know—”
“Todd. He said you’d been there.”
“Oh. Sure. Those were…interesting times.”
“And you both came back.”
He opened his door and stepped into the lighted triangle between it and the car. “We did.”
“Why?”
He picked his keys up from the driver’s seat and studied them, singling out the fat one that would start the car. “Different things. It was just…time.” He slid into the driver’s seat. “See you at dinner tomorrow?”
“Sure. Four-o’clock?”
“Around there. We’ll probably be having pizza. I’m making a trip to the Pizzeria in the next town tomorrow afternoon. They save their mistakes for us and freeze them until they have enough for a meal.”
“That’s nice.”
“Want to come along? Except you can’t drill me with questions the whole time.”
Casey thought about the day, and how it would stretch out in front of her, with the constant temptation of her cell phone, Ricky being only a call away, and the library, where she could log onto the Internet and the Pegasus web site. “Sure. What time?”
“You promise? Only friendly conversation?”
She smiled. “I promise.”
“Your fingers aren’t crossed?”
She held them out in front of her, fingers splayed open. “I promise.”
“Okay, then. I’ll pick you up at The Nesting Place at two-thirty.”
“Great. I’ll be ready.”
He shut his door, turned on the car, and reversed out of the parking space. Casey backed up to get out of his way, and bumped into Death.
“I don’t know,” Death said. “You’re spending a lot of time with him.”
“So?”
Death smirked. “Like I said before, he’s awfully cute.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re not.”
Death gave a shocked gasp. “Now that was unnecessary.”
“But true.”
“You do realize, love, that you can’t hurt my feelings?”
Casey sighed. “I know. But it won’t kill me to try.”
Death cocked an eyebrow.
“Will it?” Casey asked hopefully.
“Nah,” Death said.
“Yeah,” Casey said. “That’s what I thought.”
Chapter Fourteen
The evening was chilly, and Casey was glad she’d worn her jacket. Clouds covered whatever moon would’ve been out, and she shivered in the darkness as she pulled onto the street of the B & B, glad when she could park the bike by the garage and head for the house.
Something flickered in her vision, and she looked across the yard. Was that a fire? Her breath caught, and her heart skipped a beat. This isn’t the same. This one smells of hot dog—burned hot dog—not oil and gas and rubber. She placed a hand over her chest, resumed breathing, and slowly picked her way up the dark pathway toward the flames
“Oh, good! Here she is.” Rosemary smiled, her face black and orange in the flickering campfire light. “Pull up a stump, dear.”
Casey found a stash of the stumps under the awning of the house and dragged one over to the circle of stones.
“Have a stick.” Lillian handed her a metal grilling pole. “Hot dog or marshmallow?”
“Um. Hot dog. At least to start with.” Casey was surprised at the growl her stomach emitted. A roasted hot dog actually sounded great. Better than it should. “Is that what I’m smelling?”
Rosemary laughed. “Sorry. That was me. Dropped one too low in the flames and it caught on fire.”
“I didn’t know hot dogs could do that.”
“Oh, yes. It was quite spectacular.”
Lillian handed Casey a hot dog and watched as she lowered the stick toward the fire. “You know how to do this, I assume.”
“Of course she does,” Rosemary said. “What child never roasted a hot dog?”
