The Grim Reaper's Dance

Davey grinned. “Work.”

Casey looked around. Of course. The trailer at his scrap yard. “But they know about this place.”

Bailey frowned. “Where else could we go? They’ve been to the shed, my parents are home…”

Casey closed her eyes and let her head fall forward. “I need…painkillers.”

Sheryl rifled around in her purse and thrust two pills under Casey’s face, along with a glass of water. “Tylenol with codeine. I took them when I got my wisdom teeth out.”

“I told them you need a doctor.” Johnny spoke from behind everyone else, and he shoved through to see her. “You don’t look…well, you look bad. My dad could…it’s my fault.” He ducked his head.

Casey declined the pills, taking two Extra-Strength Tylenol Davey found in his first aid kit, instead. “I’ll make you a deal, Johnny.”

He looked up.

“You stop blaming yourself. That’s the first thing.”

His mouth twitched.

“The second is that if we can get Yonkers…if we know you all are safe…I’ll go see your dad.”

His lips tightened. “We could just take you there.”

“You could try.”

His mouth fell open slightly, and his eyebrows rose. “You mean you would fight us—”

“I’m going to get you safe, Johnny. Whatever it takes.”

Bailey pushed Johnny to the side to get in-between him and Casey. “She’s not going to fight us, Johnny. Don’t be an idiot.”

His face clouded.

“Oh, good grief,” Bailey said. “I didn’t mean it. It’s just the way we talk to each other. Friends do that.”

He looked at her, clearly not sure what to believe.

Martin punched his shoulder. “Come on, man. Lighten up. She called me a moron just yesterday.”

Sheryl grunted. “And she called me a—”

“We need to get out of here,” Casey said. “Before they show up.”

“And go where?” Bailey seemed relieved to change the subject.

Casey clenched her jaw. “To get Yonkers, where else?”

“I don’t know…” She heard the doubt in Bailey’s voice.

“Give me a minute,” Casey said. “ A few minutes. Okay?”

Gradually the pain medication went into effect, morphing the shooting pains into dull aches, but Casey’s head felt like it was wrapped in a huge transparent cotton ball. Her hearing was still off, and everything moved just a bit in slow motion. Bailey and Sheryl gently swabbed her face with cool cloths and alcohol—a can of beer they’d found in the back of the office fridge. The beer stung like everything, and stank, but at least it cleaned out the wounds. Casey held an ice pack over her eye and the left side of her face, and tried to stay present in the room.

Wendell didn’t like any part of the plan, vague as it was. “You really shouldn’t be going anywhere, least of all to confront a criminal. Look at you.”

“I’d rather not. Look at myself, I mean. As for going anywhere—I’m not sending you folks out to do my dirty work.”

“But why is it yours?” Martin got up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of Davey’s desk. “This isn’t really your problem, is it?”

“Told you so.” Death was back, leaning against the doorway. “You always get into messes that aren’t your problem.”

“I’ve made it my problem,” Casey said. “And dragged you all into it. I need to end it—to bring Willie Yonkers and his guys into the open. Otherwise we’re all in danger. They’re not criminal geniuses, but they’re greedy. That’s what makes them dangerous.”

“Yonkers doesn’t know me,” Wendell said. “I’m the only one, right?”

“He doesn’t know us, either,” Bailey said.

“But his buddies do.” Casey looked at each of the teenagers. “They’ve seen every one of your faces.”

“So what do we do?” Terry had been quiet until now. “We can’t exactly go marching into his house and steal his papers.”

“Why not?” Bailey asked. “He’s certainly not playing by the rules.”

“Terry’s right,” Casey said. “If we take things out of his office, they might not hold up in court.”

“Who cares about court?”

“I do. And you should. It’s how he’s going to get stopped and put away. And it’s how these truckers will get taken off the road for good, where they can’t hurt anyone any more.”

“So,” Terry said again, “what’s the plan?”

“We have to get the cops into his house.”

They all stared at her.

“You want to call the cops?” Martin said.

“No. You do.”

He jerked backward. “I do?”

“Aren’t you the one who’s got a girl inside the police department?”

His ears went red. “She gave me those reports. I don’t think I can get her to do anything else.”

“Martin.” Bailey tweaked his arm. “She is so in love with you she’ll do anything.”

“Ow! She’s not—she doesn’t work for them, you know. Her mom does.”

“But she knows all the cops and can steal you reports and stuff without getting caught.”

“She doesn’t have to take anything this time,” Casey said. “She just has to make a phone call. Think she’d do it?”

“A phone call?” Martin shrugged. “Probably.”

Bailey rolled her eyes. “Of course she would.”

“Davey,” Casey said, “do you think Tom would help us a little more, too?”

“Wouldn’t know why not. He was bummed you left him with no explanation.”

“Well, he should soon be happy then, because he’s about to understand it all.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

“I still don’t like it,” Wendell grumbled. They were driving in his truck back toward Sedgwick, and the road seemed to be made of potholes.

Casey gritted her teeth, trying to hold her torso still. They’d propped her up with pillows to ease the bouncing, but so far it hadn’t helped a whole lot.

“I don’t like it, either,” Casey said, “but it’s the only way to keep those kids away, at least for a while.”

“For a few minutes there I thought we were going to have to tie them up and lock them in Davey’s garage.”

Casey gave a little laugh, but it hurt too much to continue. The kids and Davey were still back in Blue Lake, following up on various items, each—except for Terry—armed with a cell phone.

“Prepare to turn right in two miles onto Peachtree Lane,” Laura Ingalls Wilder said. She was also part of the plan.

“Almost there,” Wendell said. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“I have to be.” The painkiller was still in effect, dulling her senses, but she had more in her pocket, ready to take if the pain got to be too much to bear.

Wendell had the radio tuned to a country station to soothe his nerves, he said, and Death played along on a lap guitar from the space behind the seat. Casey was fighting sleep now, and the music wasn’t helping. She assumed Wendell would wake her if she fell asleep, but she was afraid her head would then be even fuzzier.