The Grim Reaper's Dance

Darkness was coming quickly now, and Casey took stock of the scene. The loading dock was bare except for two empty pallets, lying stacked one on the other. Another Dumpster sat along the far wall, and a picnic table was situated close to the back door on a patch of browning grass. On the one side of the property Casey could see homes, lights creating shadows on curtains, and on the other stood a line of trees. Directly behind the store was an open field of harvested soybeans. It would be dark where Casey sat on top of the trailer, the security lights not reaching her, and she could see every inch of the lot, except for the opposite side of the Dumpster. But she would know if anyone hid behind it, and no one would do that for at least another hour, until the daytime employees were gone.

Casey lay on her back, watching as the stars came out. It was a clear night, and the moon shone brightly, illuminating the parking lot without help from the security lights. The trailer was cold and hard against her back, and Casey longed for a soft, warm bed. She remembered the bed she’d slept on the week before, at Rose and Lillian’s B and B, and she wondered what was going on in that little town. Eric’s face swam before her, and images from that last night… Her shoulder throbbed, and she gritted her teeth.

“Not a good time to be thinking about that.” Death lay beside her, also looking up at the sky. “Time instead to be clearing your mind for what lies ahead.”

The sound of the back door reached her, and Casey quietly rolled over and peered over the edge of the trailer. Employees were filing out, aprons discarded, calling goodnight. Each went to a car and got in, the cigarette woman lighting up as soon as her door was shut. She peeled out of the parking lot first, and the others followed. Before they were all gone, two cars pulled in.

“Maintenance and stocking crew,” Death said.

Soon all that were left were the two new cars and one of the original nine. A manager, probably, getting ready to close.

“I wonder what time it is,” Casey said. She considered turning on Terry’s phone to check, but decided it didn’t really matter. The guys would be coming soon, to get ready for her.

Eventually the manager came out and drove away, leaving only the two cars. Randy and his men should be arriving momentarily.

They came more quietly than she expected, without a car. Owen Dixon, his blond hair shimmering in the moonlight, walked around the corner, scanning the area. Apparently satisfied, he waved, and several men followed, one of them Craig Mifflin, whom Casey had knocked out at Davey’s scrapyard.

“Wow, they expect quite a battle from you,” Death said. “Five of them. And Westing’s not even here.”

They weren’t going to give her a fighting chance.

Owen pointed here and there, setting the men up where they wouldn’t be seen. One behind the Dumpster, two between the cars, and one crouched behind the loading dock. Dixon walked toward the trailer and Casey held her breath. If he came up there, it would be all over. She pulled her head back to make it invisible from below and listened as hard as she could. A rock popped under Dixon’s foot as he rounded the trailer, and Casey felt a slight shift as he stepped into the empty back. Casey put her hands flat on the roof, ready to jump up and fight if need be.

But Dixon didn’t go any further. He’d just wanted to get up into the trailer so his feet wouldn’t be visible from the ground. At least, that’s what Casey would’ve done, if she had been him.

All six of them, seven if you counted Death, waited together for whatever would happen next.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Casey was cold by the time Westing drove into the lot. She hadn’t been able to move, for fear Dixon would hear, and dew had settled on her, chilling her to the bone. She hoped the guys were just as uncomfortable as she. At least they could huddle with their arms around themselves.

Headlights swung across the space, and the SUV stopped in the middle of the pavement. Westing got out of the Explorer and looked around. Casey watched from the darkness at the top of the trailer, confident she was invisible.

“She’s not here,” Dixon said from his hiding place, making Casey jump. “We’ve been here an hour, and there’s no sign of her.”

Westing crossed his arms and leaned against the hood of his car. “Good. Now shut up or she’ll hear you.”

So they all sat back and waited for Casey to show up.

Death giggled. “This would be funny if it weren’t so stupid.”

Casey glared at her companion. She wasn’t laughing as her muscles cramped and she shivered against the metal.

Time ticked by. Nothing happened. Casey heard Dixon shifting now and then in the back, and could see three of the hiding men as they changed positions, trying to keep their feet from going to sleep as they squatted. Westing pushed off from the Explorer and marched forward, scanning both directions. He looked at his watch so many times it made Casey think of a little kid on a long car trip: Are we there yet? Are we there yet?

Dixon finally jumped down from his perch and walked into Casey’s sightlines. “She ain’t coming.”

Westing spun around. “Get back there! She’ll see you!”

“It’s been almost an hour, man. She stood us up.”

Westing turned in a circle, his arms rising, then falling. He let out a growl of frustration, slamming his hand onto the Explorer’s hood. “Damn it!”

Dixon crossed his arms. “Yonkers is gonna be pissed.”

“Don’t…”—Westing held up a hand, pointing at Dixon—“…make it sound like this is my fault. We planned this out together. Yonk okayed it.”

Yonkers? Casey knew that name. Why?

“Wasn’t blaming you,” Dixon said. “Just stating a fact.”

Westing rubbed his forehead. “Why didn’t she come?”

“Think one of the kids tipped her off?”

Casey tried not to react to the mention of the teenagers—assuming that is who Dixon meant. But who else would he mean? She wasn’t in touch with any other children.

“The kids don’t know. Just the one.”

Casey closed her eyes. One was enough to screw them all. But which one?

“She got the phone last night,” Westing said. “Where did she go?”

“Hey, Ballard!” Dixon barked the name toward the Dumpster. “Where did the woman go today?”

The man got up and walked out to Dixon. He was big, but not all of it was muscle. “Kid didn’t tell us about the phone until this morning, so we don’t got much. We found her up in McPherson—”

“Parnell,” Dixon explained to Westing. “He’s gone.”

Oh, no. Poor Pat.

“Then she went out toward Hutchinson,” Ballard said. “Figured she was paying a visit to Deerfield Trucking, but I don’t know what she would’ve found there. By the time we got there she was long gone, and the girl at the desk didn’t have any idea who we were talking about.”

“And after that?” Westing was practically foaming at the mouth.

“We lost her for a while. She must’ve turned the phone off. But we caught the signal later and traced it to the middle of a cornfield. Don’t know what she was doing out there, but we couldn’t find any sign of her or the phone.”

“And now?”

“She’s nowhere.”

Thank God she’d resisted the temptation to check the time. She didn’t know how tightly they could pinpoint the signal, but she’d been that close to ruining everything.

“So what do we do?” Westing said. “Now that you’ve lost her?”

Ballard stepped back, gesturing to Dixon. “It’s you guys’ call. Whatever you want.”