“Okay. Good. When are you going to ask him?”
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “If we get these pizzas in the refrigerator fast, we’ll have about an hour before dinner set up.”
“I can stay and get things started. That way you won’t have to hurry back.”
He gave her a startled look.
“What?”
“You won’t come with me?”
“To talk to your father? Why?”
He shuddered. “He just…if I go by myself he’ll shut me out. Or say he’s too busy. Or something.”
“But if I’m there he won’t talk. He doesn’t know me. He certainly wouldn’t remember seeing me in the drugstore.”
“You saw him?”
“Briefly.”
They traveled in silence for several minutes, and soon they were in town, parking behind Home Sweet Home.
“Please?” Eric said.
Casey closed her eyes and pushed her hair back from her face, holding her head in her hands. She let them drop. “All right.”
Together they crammed the pizzas into the refrigerator. Eric scrawled a quick note to Loretta, telling her to only use the number of pizzas necessary for one night, and that they would be back as soon as they could. He taped it to the front of the fridge.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go face the big, bad wolf.”
“Grrr,” Casey said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The inside of HomeMaker wasn’t what Casey expected. Instead of a loud, chaotic atmosphere, smelling of chemicals and metal, what she and Eric walked into felt like the heart of an expensive hotel. Thick carpet, soft furniture, and what looked like original artwork on the ivory-painted walls. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with gray hair curling gently around her face, sat behind a heavy wooden desk, wearing a headset. The name tent on the desk said, “Gloria.”
Her face lit up when Eric walked in. “Mr. Eric! So good to see you. What brings you here today?” As she spoke she rifled through her appointment calendar. “I don’t see you down for anything. Was someone to meet you in your office?”
His office?
Eric’s face reddened, and he avoided Casey’s eyes. “No, I was…is Mr. Willems in?”
Not his father, Casey noticed. But Mr. Willems.
The woman checked her phone console. “He’s on a call right now, but he should be off soon, and he doesn’t have anything else until the end of the day. I’ll let his assistant know you’re here. Should I also introduce your friend?” She looked meaningfully at Casey.
“Oh, um, this is Casey Smith. She’s working with me at Home Sweet Home, and she’s in the play.”
“The play!” Gloria clasped her hands to her chest. “And how are rehearsals going?”
“Pretty well. We’ve had to…adjust.”
Her face fell, and her mouth worked, as if wishing she could take back the question.
“Casey here is…filling in,” Eric said. “She’s an amazing actress.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gloria said, offering Casey a wry smile. “I’m glad you could help out.”
“Me, too,” Casey said. Although she wasn’t sure it was actually true.
“Oh!” Gloria said. “The light’s off. One moment.” She pushed a few buttons and talked quietly into her headset before turning to them. “You can go right on back, Mr. Eric. Nice to meet you, Ms. Smith.”
Eric led Casey to a large door beside the desk. “You want to go first, or shall I?”
“Oh,” Casey said. “Definitely you.”
He gave a small laugh, but Casey knew he wasn’t actually amused.
“Eric,” she said quietly, as they went through the door. “You have an office here?”
“I told you. There was a time he thought I’d be interested…”
He led her into another room, this one with several desks, only two of them filled. Casey couldn’t help but wonder which had been Ellen’s.
The women at the desks looked up, each brightening at the sight of Eric, their eyes flicking briefly—and curiously—toward Casey.
“Hello, Yvonne. Kathy. How are you?”
Both said hello, they were fine.
“So, we’re here to see my… Mr. Willems. We were told to come on back.”
The women’s demeanors changed at the mention of their boss, and they became suddenly more businesslike. Yvonne, the one closest to the door with Willems’ name, stood up. “Yes, that’s right…” She walked quickly to Willems’ door, her shoes quiet on the carpet. She knocked lightly, and at his summons slipped into the office, holding the door closed loosely against her back. She came back out, her face a mask of professionalism. “He’s ready for you.”
“Thank you.” Eric touched her shoulder lightly as he passed.
Casey pinched her lips together in a smile at the woman, but it wasn’t returned.
Karl Willems was waiting for them in a high-backed office chair, elbows on the chair’s arms, his fingers together. He watched as they walked across the expanse of office—at least fifteen steps just to reach the chairs in front of his desk—and pursed his lips as Eric pointed Casey to one seat, and sat himself in another. The desk was empty, save for pens and a metal letter opener in a wooden holder, one notebook, and a large crystal paperweight, with a butterfly forever doomed to display itself in death at the center of the cube.
“So.” Willems looked hard at Eric, and even harder at Casey. “What brings you here?”
Eric swallowed audibly, and Casey leaned forward, offering moral support. He didn’t look at her. “We’ve got some questions.”
“All right, but first aren’t you going to introduce your associate?”
Not friend. Associate.
“Oh, sure. This is Casey Smith. She works with me at Home Sweet Home.”
“Ah, I see.” His eyes narrowed as he turned to Casey. “Do you come from one of those large mission conglomerates? Go around the country to make sure the charities are functioning properly?”
Casey blinked. “No. No, I have nothing to do with that.”
“Then…?” He spread his hands. “You’re not one of the townspeople. I do know that.”
“I’m—”
“She just moved here, Karl.” Eric’s face had turned hard. “She’s not from anywhere.”
Willems’ lips twitched. “Really? Just dropped out of the sky?”
Eric shook his head briefly. “We’re not here to discuss her, Karl. We’re here to discuss—”
“Yes, what exactly are you here to discuss?”
He hadn’t moved from his seat, but watched his son over the tips of his fingers, his eyes flashing. From amusement or anger, Casey wasn’t sure.
“Last week,” Eric said. “Before Ellen….died…she told me that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. That everyone would soon have a job again.”
Something flickered in Willems’ eyes, but it was gone before Casey could determine what it meant.
“And you thought she meant here at HomeMaker?” Willems’ voice was even. Smooth. Cool.
“Where else would she mean? It’s not like any other big companies have moved in.”
“No, they haven’t. HomeMaker is all there is. It’s too bad the union didn’t remember that when they were making their demands.”
