The Grim Reaper's Dance

“You’re safe here. Even when these fields get harvested no one bothers with the shed.”

Casey glanced over at Death, who was humming along with the present song, eyes closed. Big help there. She really didn’t want to leave the area. She wanted to stay close, within range of Evan’s truck, close to where she knew Owen Dixon and Randy Westing—Blond Guy and Gun Man—were. Unless they’d already run off.

“You are hiding, aren’t you?” Terry and Sheryl were back inside, Terry inquisitive, Sheryl lurking behind him.

Casey considered Terry, and his question. “I am.”

“Why?” Terry didn’t look angry, or scared. Just…curious.

Casey looked at Death again, and this time got a little shrug, like what did she have to lose? And really…not much. But these kids? They did, whoever they were. Knowing too much could only get them in trouble.

“I just need some time,” Casey said. “I was in a…a bad situation.”

Sheryl shook her hair out of her face. “Killing somebody would do that.”

“Sheryl,” Bailey said, her voice sharp. “She didn’t kill anybody.”

Sheryl stared at the far corner of the shed.

“I promise,” Casey said, looking right at Sheryl. “I didn’t kill the truck driver. I just need a place to stay. Just for a little while. If what Bailey says is true, no one will even know I’m here.”

“It is true,” Bailey said. “But you know, there are…places you can go. No one will know where you are. He won’t know where you are.”

He? “Um,” Casey said. “Who won’t?”

“You know,” Bailey said. “Whoever it is that you’re running from. Your boyfriend? Husband?”

“No,” Casey said, “that’s not it, I—”

“We can’t get mixed up with this,” Sheryl said. “With her. Whoever she really is.”

Terry nodded. “Sheryl’s right.”

“No, she’s not,” Martin said. “Sheryl means she can’t get mixed up in it.”

“Martin!” Terry looked shocked.

“What? Just because Sheryl’s—” He stopped, glancing at Casey. “Look, it doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t do anything. Sheryl can stay out of it.”

Sheryl gasped. “That’s not fair!”

“We’ll keep you safe,” Bailey said to Casey. “I promise. You can stay here as long as you want.”

Casey gave a short laugh under her breath. It was Bailey’s own little group of night owls Bailey should be protecting. Casey didn’t exactly have a good record of late. She should tell Bailey to get the hell away from her while she and her friends still had a chance to survive unscathed.

“Thanks,” she said instead. “I would love to stay.”

Chapter Seven

“Cute kids.” The guitar was gone, but Death still hummed the last tune from Martin’s iPod.

“Cute and confusing,” Casey said. “Who ever heard of kids who sneak out to eat baked goods?”

Death laughed. “I like it.”

“So do I. I like them.” She rolled up from her burlap bed and began her morning stretches. From the height of the sun it was at least mid-morning. The kids had left somewhere around five, after hours of talking—among themselves, since Casey wouldn’t answer any more of their questions—and dancing to Martin’s iPod, and it had taken Casey ages to get to sleep after that. She was surprised she’d been able to sleep at all; at least Death hadn’t felt it necessary to wake her every two hours, like the night before. “You knew they were going to come.”

Death grinned. “They were here night before last, eating those blueberry muffins they talked about. I would have taken one if I could have, but that would’ve been breaking the rules.”

“What rules? You have rules?”

Death shrugged. “They change on a regular basis. That night I didn’t want to scare the kiddies. Anyhow, this group could be helpful. They’re smart, well, except for the tall one, and they’re well-connected. I mean, that Goth girl’s family owns all this.” Death gestured to the shed.

“Yeah,” Casey said. “Real helpful.”

“Just you wait. You’ll see.”

Casey stretched her arms to the ceiling, hearing her joints crack.

“So.” Death jumped up beside her. “What’s on the agenda for today other than your boring kata?”

Casey took a deep breath. “Other things you’ll find equally dull. You might as well go back to wherever you go when you’re not bothering me. Don’t you have some people to go transport on your little boat?”

“I don’t have a boat. And if I did, it wouldn’t be little.”

“So all of those stories about you rowing dead people across the river Styx?”

“Complete bunk. I hate water.” Death gave a shudder. “Bad experience when I was young.”

Casey dropped her hands. “You were young?”

“What? Do I look that bad?”

Casey laughed and began her sit-ups.

“You know,” Death said. “You really aren’t very nice to me.”

Casey counted under her breath.

“You treat me like I wanted to take your husband and son.”

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

“The accident wasn’t my fault, remember. I just came when I was called.”

Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two.

“Fine. Ignore me. I’ll be back when you’re ready to be friendly.”

Casey squeezed her eyes shut. When she counted to two hundred, she opened them. Death was gone.

Casey went through a set of hapkido forms and took a long drink from the pump. She could hear tractors in the distance, but couldn’t see anything other than clouds of dust billowing into the sky. After washing her face she went back into the shed to consider how she might be able to get in contact with either Wendell or Davey. She’d have to be careful. As she’d said to Death, getting in touch with those guys so soon after they’d been involved with the police wasn’t ideal, but Casey needed to know what had happened. Had they turned her in? Had they gotten in trouble? Were the guys she’d knocked out—or Gun Man—in custody?

While Casey considered her options, she took out Evan’s photos and studied them, memorizing faces. If she ran across any of the people, she wanted to know it. She could put names to these faces, with Evan’s notes, but wouldn’t recognize the drivers on the manifests.

The sound of a vehicle coming up the lane broke into her thoughts, and she shoved the photos back into the bag, rolled up her makeshift bed, and stashed them both in one of the five-gallon buckets. She darted to the corner closest to the opening of the door and eased into it, waiting.

Gravel popped under the tires of the vehicle as it slowed and then stopped. A door opened and shut, and Casey balanced herself, her weight on her back foot.

“Hello?” Bailey stuck her head in the door, her dark hair and pale skin even more disconcerting in the daylight. Her lips were painted as black as her hair, and her eyes stood out between thick liner.

“Oh.” Casey relaxed and stepped out from the corner. “Bailey.”

“Hey.” Bailey looked around at the shed, toward the space where Casey had been sleeping. “Where’s your stuff?”

“I didn’t know who was coming.”

“So you cleaned it up.” Bailey assessed her. “You don’t take any chances, do you?”

“I try not to.”

“Dad let me drive the car to school today. He and Mom are both at work. I thought