The Grim Reaper's Dance

“Don’t know. He called. Said he’d…be in touch.”

Casey nodded. “And what was it you were looking for at the scrap yard and at the accident? You wanted something in Evan’s truck.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked away, and then back. “Something Randy wanted. I don’t know what.”

Casey shook her head and leaned ever so slightly on his knee. “You disappoint me, Bruce. I was expecting more.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. “I can’t…tell you what…I don’t know.”

Casey glanced up at Death, who shrugged. “Maybe he’s just stupid.”

Casey thought there was a good possibility of that.

“So who are all the others, Bruce?”

“Others? What…others?”

“The guys with you at the crash site? And why are they bothering the truckers?”

“Bother— Look, lady, you need to…get your facts…straight.”

“So straighten me out.”

Something flashed on the television screen, and his face went deathly pale before reverting to the blue. “We ain’t bothering any truckers. The only trucker involved was Evan, and he ain’t bothered anymore.” He smiled wickedly.

Casey restrained herself from snapping his knee. “And how did you know Evan? Did he drive for Class A Trucking?”

Bruce blinked. “How do you know about that?”

“Evan. How else?”

His mouth dropped. “So you did find his stuff?”

Casey kept her hand on his knee and bent down to retrieve her bag from the computer desk. She dangled it just out of his reach. “It’s all in here. Maybe you can help me decipher it.”

She picked up her other hand and held it just above his knee. He nodded. “I ain’t going anywhere.”

Keeping a close eye on him, she reached into the bag and pulled out the first thing she found—a photo of Westing and Dixon sitting across from the Halvestons, the trucker couple.

“That’s Randy,” Bruce said. “And Dix.”

“And who are the other people?”

His eyelids fluttered. “Don’t know.”

Casey licked her lips, watching him steadily. She set down the photo and pulled out another one. “How about him?” Pat Parnell.

A look of disgust flitted across his face. “Don’t know.”

“Um-hmm.”

She pulled out another photo, and another. “I suppose you don’t know any of these people, either.”

“No, ma’am, not by name. Just Randy and Dix and Craig.”

“And a few others of your group.”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Okay. I suppose you have no idea why these people are in the photos with your friends. Or with you, for that matter.” She held up one of him with Hank Nance.

Bruce swallowed. “I suppose they could be…truckers?”

Casey gasped and clapped her hands twice, slow. “Good answer, Bruce. Now, try again. Why are you guys bothering the truckers?”

He shook his head.

“Are the truckers driving with fake licenses?”

He bit his lips together.

“And who is your boss?”

He lifted his chin. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are. You show up in Evan’s truck, and we don’t know why, or what you’re doing there. Well, I ain’t telling you anything more. And you can’t make me.” He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling.

Death’s forehead furrowed. “He’s not going to answer you. He’s made up his mind and he ain’t changing it.”

“Okay, Bruce.” Casey patted his thigh. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Hey. Look at me.”

He did.

“You’re going to get in touch with your buddies—”

“—I don’t know how—”

“—and you are going to tell them I have what they’re looking for—” she dangled the bag where he could see it “—and that I want to deal.”

“But—”

She placed a finger just above his mouth, not touching him. “I am going to call you tomorrow. If you’re in surgery I’ll call back. You are going to tell me where and when to meet them and…” She held up a finger to keep him from talking. “You are going to give me a number where they can be reached.”

“And if they don’t call me before then?”

She leaned close, whispering. “Then I’ll be back.”

He whimpered. “Lady, who are you?”

“You shouldn’t be worried about me. You should be worried about that.” She pointed at Death.

Bruce looked where Casey was pointing. “The television?”

Casey opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Remember what I said about the nurse’s button. Don’t even breathe on it until I’ve been gone several minutes.”

He shook his head. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” She held up the bag. “Until tomorrow then. I’ll be talking to you.”

Casey exited the room, leaving the rolling computer desk beside Bruce’s bed. As the door eased shut, she glanced back. Bruce was turned toward the TV, but she would’ve bet none of it was registering.

Chapter Sixteen

“Wow, you were like Clint Eastwood in there,” Death said. “Or maybe even the Terminator.”

Casey jogged down the hospital steps and into the night air, taking a deep breath. She walked briskly down the sidewalk and into the residential section, leaving the bright ER sign behind her.

Death skipped ahead and stopped, studying her as she walked past. “But you look much more like Uma Thurman. Now she’s a badass.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use words like that.”

“Uma Thurman?”

Casey stopped, getting herself acclimated. “That way.” She retraced a few steps and turned a corner.

“We going back to the shed?”

“I am.”

“Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be.” Death pouted, and disappeared in a poof of smoke, a choir sounding in the night, like the last few measures of a choral symphony. Or like angels.

No, not angels.

It took Casey about forty-five minutes to make her way back. By the time she arrived the shed was already full of kids, and John Mayer was playing on Martin’s iPod. Bailey and Martin were dancing to “Daughters.”

“See! I told you she’d be back.” Bailey bounced away from Martin. “She promised.”

Sheryl lay on the floor, picking at a chocolate cake in the middle of the blanket. “Well, whoop-de-doo.” Terry sat beside her, carefully not looking at Casey.

“I was right.” Martin grinned at Casey. “You cleaned up pretty good.”