The Grim Reaper's Dance

Westing turned on Dixon. “Well, Dix?”

Dixon shrugged. “Maybe she’ll get back in touch with Bruce. We’ll need to give him a message to pass on to her.”

“And the kid?”

“Said she meets with them every night—maybe she’s with them right now in the shed where she’s been staying.”

Casey breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the harvester had come to the field and she’d been forced to hide her bag elsewhere. But alongside the relief she fought a wave of sadness. Somebody in the little group of teens had given them all up. So much for solidarity.

“God, I hope we find her,” Ballard said. “My wife’s been seeing those ads for jewelry and won’t let me forget our twentieth is coming up.”

“Why do we care about your anniversary?” Dixon snapped.

“Yonk said we get this woman off our tail, payday will be coming soon.”

Dixon snorted. “He’s been saying that for the past six months.”

“Shut it,” Westing said. “Yonk’s good for the money. He told us it would take a while. That we need to be patient.”

“I’m patient,” Dixon said. “I’ve been patient for a year and a half.”

“So let’s go,” Westing said. “Catch this bitch before she has a chance to move again.”

“And if she’s not at the shed?”

Westing’s face was grim. “Then she’ll show up somewhere else. We’ll get her.”

The men climbed into Westing’s Explorer—it had to be a tight fit, even with it being an SUV—and drove away, their lights disappearing into the darkness.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Death said.

“You think? We just found out these guys are expecting a boatload of money.”

“Big deal. Isn’t everything about money? I mean, yawn.”

“We also found out one of our kids is a rat.”

“I bet I know who it is.”

“With your Spidey-sense?”

“No, with my smart sense. You know Sheryl’s hated you from the second she saw you.”

“But she’s annoyed with all grown-ups. Would she help these guys, rather than me?”

“They’re badasses. She might like sticking it to you.”

Sheryl was the one Casey hoped it was. Otherwise she’d done a crappy job reading them. Not that she’d tried all that hard. She’d let her exhaustion, lack of resources, and…let’s face it… loneliness push her closer to the kids than she ever should’ve been. Besides, she liked all the others. Terry didn’t care much for her, but he would do what was best for Sheryl—which was getting Casey out of town fast without involving their little group. Johnny was too dumb, and he hadn’t been there when Casey had gotten the phone. Martin? Bailey? It hurt to think either of them would turn her over to the men. But whoever had done it, she couldn’t let the rest get caught.

“Think the guys have a tracer on the phone now?”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to have to risk it. There’s no way I’ll get out to the shed before the men.”

Death considered, and nodded. “You don’t really have a choice, if you want the kids out of there.”

But who to call? She turned on the phone, muted the sound, and texted Bailey.

Dont tel thm its me Get out of shed now Wil b in tuch l8er

She sent the message. “Think she’ll listen?”

“You know…” Death peered over her shoulder. “You’re getting the hang of the texting thing. Better spelling.”

Casey’s phone buzzed.

Why? Whr r u?

Casey’s fingers flew.

Just get out!!

“Speaking of getting out…” Death stood over her. “We should probably move on, now that you’ve turned on the phone.

Casey turned it off. “I wanted to make sure the men were gone before leaving.”

Death disappeared, and was back in seconds. “They’ve split. Nowhere within a three-mile radius.”

“You could look that fast?”

Death peered down at her disdainfully. “Are you forgetting who I am?”

Casey closed her eyes, and felt the weight of everything upon her. “No. I will never forget who you are.”

“Come on,” Death said. “Let’s go. Do one of those flips where you arch your back and end up on your feet.”

“How ’bout I get up slowly and painfully, like an old woman?”

“I guess that’ll work.”

She eased up, knees cracking, shoulder stinging. “Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s go find a traitor.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Casey walked out to Bailey’s house, arriving in a little over an hour. The night was dark and damp, and she shivered as she hid in the pine trees at the edge of the property. The men were nowhere in sight. Neither were any teenagers. Death had taken off a few miles ago, and Casey didn’t miss the added chill.

Which window was Bailey’s? She couldn’t tell. It was practically impossible to see which window had black curtains, since they all were dark. She studied the house, trying to remember the lay-out, and finally decided on the second window on the east side. If she was wrong, well, she’d run like hell.

She gathered a handful of pinecones and situated herself under the window. She tossed one. Then another. The curtains swept aside, and Bailey’s white face shone in the window. She glanced behind her, into the house, then turned back to Casey, a finger up. Her face disappeared and the curtains fell. Casey stepped back into the shadows, wondering how many kids were there.

Just one.

“Where were you?” Bailey demanded. “And what was the deal with the shed?”

Casey pulled her further from the house. “Somebody told.”

The girl’s face screwed up. “Told what?” She seemed genuinely confused.

Casey felt a tiny bit of weight ease from her shoulders at Bailey’s apparent innocence. “One of your friends told…” How to explain? “…told the bad guys how to find me. They were coming to the shed. They’re probably there right now.”

“No. Nobody would give away the shed. That’s crazy.”

Casey held up the phone. “Someone also told them I had this. They’ve been tracking me all day.”

Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “So they know you’re here? Right now?”

“No, the phone’s off. But any time I had it on today they traced it, found out where I’d been, and went there.”