The Grim Reaper's Dance

“Prepare to turn right in point five miles onto Peachtree Lane,” Laura said.

The road came up, the street sign bright in Wendell’s headlights, and they turned.

“Destination on the left in point-four miles,” Laura said.

Wendell cut the headlights and drove slowly past several homes on over-sized lots.

“You have reached your destination.”

Wendell drifted to the curb and cut the engine. “Wow. Talk about money.”

“Except he’s losing his,” Casey said. “He’s got a spot on the town council, his daughter’s homecoming queen, his son attends an excellent college, he’s one of the region’s top businessmen—he has to keep up appearances or he’ll lose all respectability. Or he thinks he will.” She looked at all the visible windows. “I don’t see any movement or light, do you?”

“Nothing. Do you think he knows you escaped?”

“I’m betting he doesn’t. The guys wouldn’t want to tell him. He’s still the star quarterback, and they’d be embarrassed to tell him they screwed up—again.” She looked at the dark yard. “Okay. He’s alone here. The other guys are too obvious to be here and us not know it.” She picked up Terry’s phone. “Think they’re still tracking this?”

“Did they see you give it back to Terry?”

“Don’t know. Maybe I’ll give them a call.”

“Wait a minute.” Wendell opened his door.

“Where are you going? Wendell, don’t.”

He put a finger to his lips and quietly closed the door before walking across the street to Yonkers’ house and disappearing into the shadows.

Casey glanced behind her, where Death had stopped playing. “Could you go with him?”

“I can’t do anything for him.”

“Just keep an eye out.”

“Your word is my command. Hold this.” Death tossed the guitar at Casey. It landed in her lap and disintegrated, sending pins of ice through her legs.

Several minutes later, Wendell and Death were back. “Nobody out there,” Wendell said, “and no movement in the house, or lights in the back half.”

Death shrugged. “All clear.”

Casey frowned at Wendell. “What if they had been waiting? Do you want to end up like this?” She gestured at her face. “Or what if you tripped an alarm and security shows up?”

“Somebody had to do it. Anyway, he’s definitely alone, and I stayed well away from windows and anything else that could’ve triggered anything.” He smiled at her. “Relax. Time for the show.”

Casey punched the number for Exotic Blooms into Terry’s phone. It rang several times before someone picked up. “Hello?”

“Westing,” Casey said. “Nice to hear your voice.”

“You… Where are you?”

“My phone’s on. Why don’t you see if you can figure it out? But just in case you can’t…think about who I need to talk to, and who you definitely don’t want me talking to. Be kind of embarrassing for me to show up on his doorstep unescorted, wouldn’t it?”

“What? You’re at—”

“See you soon, Randy.”

She hung up.

Wendell grinned. “You got your stuff?”

She clutched the bag with Evan’s information. “I’ve got it.” She dialed Sheryl’s and Bailey’s numbers, texting r u rdy. Bailey texted back almost immediately. Check. Sheryl’s text said simply, Yes. Casey tucked the phone in her pocket and carefully climbed out her door. Wendell met her at the front of the truck. She shook her head. “You’re staying here.”

He smiled some more. “No. I’m not.”

Casey glared at him. She could have taken him out so he couldn’t follow, but what would be the point? The whole idea was for no one else to get hurt, and it would be rather pointless if she did it herself. “Come on, then.”

He held out his arm and she grabbed it, realizing she might as well take help when it was offered.

“It’s just like a wedding,” Death said from the other side of her. “Except instead of a bride you’re a beat-up Uma Thurman.” Death gasped. “Just like in the movie.”

“Will you stop?”

Wendell hesitated. “Stop what?”

Casey took a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s the…it’s my head.”

The sidewalk to the house was lined with some kind of sweet-smelling blooming bush, the flowers closed up for the night. The moon and the stars were out, and the air lay heavy and entirely still.

Yonkers’ doorbell was a simple ding-dong, and Casey wondered if it was loud enough to wake him, should he actually be sleeping. Yonkers didn’t respond, so Casey rang the doorbell again. When there were still no footsteps, Casey banged on the door.

The door cracked open and Yonkers stood there in a bathrobe, a gun held out in front of him, through the opening of the door. “Don’t try anything,” he said, his voice shaking. “The guys are right behind you.”

Right.

Casey shoved Wendell to the side and grabbed the doorknob, yanking it closed on Yonkers’ wrist. Yonkers screamed, and the gun dropped onto the front stoop. Casey pushed the door back open, hitting Yonkers’ toes, and he screamed again. Casey stepped into the house, grabbed Yonkers’ arm, and twisted it behind him.

Wendell picked up the gun and followed, closing the door.

“I want to see your office, Willie,” Casey said. “Which way do we go?”

He groaned, holding his wrist against his stomach.

“Wendell,” Casey said, holding out her bag. “Want to scout around?”

Wendell took the bag and jogged away, the gun still in his hand.

Death leaned over to look in Yonkers’ face. “Pathetic little worm.”

Casey agreed.

Wendell soon returned, the bag gone. “In the back on this floor. Door’s open.”

“Great. Nice of you to welcome us this way, Willie.” Casey steered him toward the back of the house and into his office. Tara, Yonkers’ daughter, had guessed popcorn and porn, but she was way off.

Yonkers’ walls were filled with maps, driving schedules, truck routes, and all kinds of things Casey didn’t understand. Evan had said Willie Yonkers sat behind his desk telling other people what to do. That could be the case, but it looked like deciding what to tell those people was a full-time job. Just not a lucrative enough one to accomplish what it was set up for.

“Exotic Blooms is dying,” she said.

Yonkers moaned, holding his toes, which were most likely broken from being slammed by the door.

Death took a look at the toes and made a face. “Nasty.”

Casey dropped Yonkers into a chair and spun around to the front of it. “Your real business is going bankrupt, isn’t it, Mr. Yonkers?”

He whimpered. “I don’t have to tell you—”

“I think you’d better tell me. And tell me fast.” She leaned over and whispered, “We don’t have a lot of time.”

He glared up at her. “I set off the alarm. And called my guys.”

“Did you?” Casey sat on the arm of a chair across from him. “I can believe you called the guys, but somehow I don’t think you want law enforcement coming across all this.” She gestured at the walls.

His mouth opened and closed several times, like an ugly fish in a bathrobe.

“So tell me,” Casey said. “How did you get the idea for the trucking scam? The trucks at your store going in and out?”

“I said I’m not telling—”

“Come on, Yonkers.” Wendell sidled up to the chair, the gun visible at his side. Casey hoped he knew what he