that.”
Casey stared at him.
“Go on. Give them the news. I’m sure they’ll be glad to hear it.”
Casey watched him for a moment longer before turning and making her way up the aisle, feeling his eyes on her back with every silent step, ready to turn should he come after her. She went out the double doors and stepped to the side, leaning back on the wall. Out the front door she could see Eric, waiting for her on the bench. Leila was nowhere in sight.
Obviously Thomas was in something over his head. The men expected something from him, and from what she’d heard, it was most likely money. It could’ve been something else, drugs, maybe. But she’d put her money on cash. Did Thomas think she was in league with Taffy and Bone? Or some other entity? Another group of bad guys. Or law enforcement.
She stepped back to the double doors, putting her eye to the crack between them.
Thomas stood with his back to her, hands flat on the stage, his head lowered. As she watched he pushed himself up, ran his hands through his hair, and turned around, straightening his shoulders and grabbing his briefcase before making his way up the aisle.
Casey quickly walked out the front door, attempting a smile as Eric stood to meet her.
“What did he want?”
Casey hesitated. Should she tell him about the two men? Did he already know about them? Or should she let Thomas deal with his own problems without making Eric feel more involved, or even responsible?
“Oh, nothing much.” Casey looked up at the sky, clear that night. “He just wanted to talk about how he perceives my role.”
Eric gave her a questioning look, but didn’t push it.
“Where’s Leila?”
He shrugged. “Gone. You still want to walk home alone?”
She jerked her thumb to the right. “My place is this way, and your car is the other. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure.”
She glanced back at the theater, where Thomas remained, probably watching her through the large windows. She repressed a shiver.
“I’m sure,” she said. “You go on home.”
Eric nodded, his eyes darting toward the theater. “All right. You’d let me know if…”
“I’m fine, Eric. He just wanted to talk about…things.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked away. “All right. Goodnight then, Casey.”
“Goodnight, Eric.”
He strode away, head bent, back arched.
Casey turned and walked as quickly as she could in the opposite direction.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rosemary and Lillian were still sitting on the porch when Casey got to The Nesting Place. They must have moved at some point since the afternoon, because Rosemary was now in her normal clothes—if a bright purple velour tracksuit with rhinestones could be called normal—instead of her Dobak. Her phone was at her ear. “Yes, dear, she’s home now. Safe and sound. All right. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Casey gestured at the phone. “Eric?”
“He just wanted to be sure…”
Casey shook her head and turned, looking out at the street over the railing of the porch. “He didn’t have to worry.”
“I know that. You have no trouble taking care of yourself.”
Something in her voice made Casey turn. Rosemary had reached across to Lillian’s chair and grabbed her hand, and their hands hung there now, suspended between them.
“What?” Casey said.
Rosemary shook her head, her lips a tight line, and Lillian looked down at her lap.
“Did something happen?”
Lillian’s head rose slowly. “No. No, honey. Not since last week.” The lines on her face stood out in exaggerated hills and valleys, shadowed by dim porch light.
Ellen, ultimately, had not been able to take care of herself.
Casey took a step forward. “Ellen said the people here in Clymer would soon have work again.”
The women exchanged a look, and Rosemary cleared her throat. “You know about that?”
“Eric told me.” One of the few things he had told her. “At least that’s what he thought Ellen meant.” She looked at the women, so fragile in their wicker chairs, holding onto each other, facing their pain as a duo. She hated to cause them more. But they knew things. They had to. And if she could get it out of them, she might be able to make some sense of things.
She pulled a chair around in front of them and sat forward, her elbows on her knees. “You don’t think Ellen killed herself.”
“No,” Lillian said, her eyes sparking. “We know she didn’t. She wouldn’t have. We told Chief Reardon—”
“I know. I talked to him.” Her face burned as she remembered the conversation, and hoped her anger wasn’t apparent in the darkness of the porch. “Ellen told Eric—and the manager of the Pizzeria—that a change was coming. People would be working and there would be no reason for Home Sweet Home to continue serving meals. Eric and I…” She hesitated, hoping the women could take what she had to say. “We went to see Karl.”
Lillian inhaled sharply, and Rosemary’s eyes flashed in the contours of her face. “And he patted you on the head and told you everything was fine?”
Casey could see that that kind of behavior was nothing new. “Pretty much. He basically said Ellen couldn’t possibly have been talking about HomeMaker, and that we should let her—and the factory—rest in peace.”
Lillian yanked her hand from Rosemary’s, made as if to stand, but sank back into her chair. “That man…”
Casey chose her words carefully. “We searched Ellen’s desk and Eric’s computer for any clue to what she’d been talking about, but there was nothing.” She looked at Rosemary. “What did she tell you?”
Rosemary shook her head, her mouth a straight, tight line. “Nothing more than what you know.”
“It’s important, Rosemary.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” The words came out harsh and sharp, and Rosemary closed her eyes, visibly getting herself under control. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. Really. I understand. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to.” She took a breath, looking out over the porch railing, then back at Rosemary. “I need to look in Ellen’s house.”
Rosemary met her eyes. “You think she hid something there.”
“It’s possible. It’s also possible that if someone did…kill her…that they found it and took it with them. But there was no sign of anyone ransacking the place, was there?”
“If there had been,” Rosemary said, “it wouldn’t have looked like a suicide. And they needed it to.”
The horror of those words hung in the air.
“There was nothing to make anyone think otherwise,” Rosemary said. “One coffee mug on the table. Her own prescription from Wayne’s Pharmacy, just the fingerprints that would be expected…”
Casey spoke gently. “Do you have a key to her house?”
Rosemary looked at Lillian, who had checked herself out of the conversation. “We do.”
“And may I use it?”
“It will help Ellen? Her children?”
“I think so.” Casey sat up straighter. “And possibly the whole town.”
Rosemary thought for only a few moments. “Of course you may use it. Do you want it now?”
“No. A light in her house would only cause people—” like Chief Reardon “—to come see what was going on.
