The Grim Reaper's Dance

A truck blew by them in the passing lane, and Casey’s heart rate skyrocketed. “Why do they drive so fast?”

“Time is money, darling. Time is money.” Death plucked the Dire Straits tune Money for Nothing.

“Prepare to exit freeway onto Wickham Street,” Laura said. “After turning right, remain on current road.”

Casey eased the truck onto the off ramp at the same time Terry’s phone rang on the seat.

“Can you see who it is?”

Death squinted at the screen. “Your good friend Bailey. She wants to know ‘whr r u? ’ Want to reply?”

“No!” Casey snatched the phone off the seat and stuck it in the pocket on the side of the door. “She’ll just have to wait to find out.”

“Touchy, aren’t you?”

A Wendy’s restaurant sat just off the exit, and Casey went through the drive-thru, eating chili and a baked potato in the parking lot.

“Aren’t you going to offer me any?” Death asked.

“No.”

“Fine.” Death pulled out the rubber band. Casey somehow refrained from retaliating with a wad of sour cream.

Casey followed Laura’s directions to a large gray building with a huge sign out front. DEERFIELD TRUCKING. This outfit looked larger than Tom’s Southwest, and the parking lot held at least fifteen cars.

“People,” Casey said.

“They’re just all over the place, aren’t they?”

Casey mulled over her options for getting inside, and decided to try the hospital again. This time Bruce Willoughby answered his phone. He sounded exhausted.

“Hi, Bruce,” Casey said. “You doped up too much, or do you remember me?”

“He says to meet him tonight. Behind the grocery store at the end of town.”

“Who says?”

He hesitated. “Randy.”

And all his homeboys? Probably. “What time?”

“He’ll let you choose.”

Casey laughed at Westing’s attempt to make her feel like she had control of the situation. “Okay. Now.”

Bruce hiccupped. “Now?”

“Sure. I want to talk to him, he wants to talk to me. Let’s get it done.”

“But I can’t…he said…”

She knew he wouldn’t go for it. “You don’t know how to get in touch with him?”

“No. I don’t.”

Right. “I told you I wanted his number.”

“I’m sorry, he told me not to—”

“Okay, okay. Tell him midnight.” Might as well go with dramatic. “But no funny stuff. And I want to see just him. Not the whole crowd of them.”

“Really? Midnight? I mean, good. That’s good. I’ll let him know.” Casey could hear Bruce’s relief. Randy had probably told him to get her to agree to his plan or else. Or else what she didn’t know, but it wouldn’t have been good.

“Thanks, Bruce. Hope you feel better soon.” She hung up on his sputtering.

“Well,” she said, “at least there won’t be customers that time of night.”

“Could be a few employees, though,” Death said. “Stocking shelves and cleaning.”

“We’ll just have to avoid them. Just how I have to avoid the people here.”

“You know he won’t come alone,” Death said.

“Of course not.”

“And what would you have done if he’d agreed to meet you right now?”

“I knew he wouldn’t. He needs time to get his men in position. Now be quiet.” She dialed Deerfield’s number, hoping Terry had unlimited calling, and a receptionist answered cheerfully.

“Hi,” Casey said. “My name is Casey Jones, and—”

“One moment. Mrs. Williams is expecting your call.” Her voice cut off, replaced by a Muzak version of a Nickelback song.

“Ms. Jones?” The voice was husky, like she’d had one—or a thousand—too many cigarettes.

“Yes. Mrs. Williams?”

“Nadine, honey.”

“Um, Nadine, Tom Haab told me you have a trucker database I could take a look at.”

“We do. When would you like to come in?”

“Actually, I’m sitting in your parking lot right now.”

“Ah, yes, Tom said you aren’t real big on people.”

“Well, that’s not exactly—”

“On seeing people. Should I say it that way? Anyway, I’ll be out in a minute. Hang on, sweetie.” She hung up.

The phone rang again and another text flashed onto the screen. Casey was ready to dismiss it as Bailey again, but saw it was Sheryl.

can u plz txt B? shes drvng me crzy

Casey sighed. For heaven’s sake. She brought up Bailey’s number and wrote:

I am fine.

She put the phone back in the door pocket and had to wait less than a minute before a short, stocky woman exited the building. Casey got out of the truck and waved. Nadine waved back, gesturing for Casey to join her on the sidewalk. “Now listen, honey,” she said when Casey approached. “The only one inside the office is my receptionist, and she’s more near-sighted than my granny, so you don’t have to worry about her. Anybody else comes along you can duck behind a corner, all right? Come on, then.”

Not having much of a choice in the matter, Casey followed her into the building. The receptionist’s glasses were remarkably thick, but still Casey averted her face. They didn’t see anyone else, and Nadine shut a thick office door behind them.

“Matt—my husband—might come in at some point, but you can trust him. Have a seat.”

Casey sat in an old office chair, and Nadine scooted another one beside it and up to a computer monitor. “Now, Tom says you need to look up some people. Want to tell me any more about it, and why I should help you, other than the fact that I like Tom?”

How much should she tell her? “You know outside Blue Lake last Sunday? A trucker died?”

Nadine’s face fell. “Evan Tague? Oh, that was so awful. How they could be so careless with that construction equipment –”

“It wasn’t an accident. Someone put those machines in the road to stop Evan. But since the road was wet, and he didn’t have enough time…” Casey shuddered. “He did his best.”

Nadine eyed her. “And you know this how?”

“I was in the truck with him when it happened.”

Nadine blinked, and looked Casey up and down. “And you’re okay?”

“I know. It’s crazy. But Evan got…I’m fine.”

Nadine looked at the computer, and Casey could see she was trying to get her emotions under control. Nadine cleared her throat. “Evan drove for us different times. He was a good man. Matt was out at the crash site. He said even from where he was—” She swallowed. “Even where he was it looked like a bomb had gone off. He