The Grim Reaper's Dance

was doing with it. “At least give us a hint.”

Yonkers saw the gun and licked his lips. “An order came in wrong one day. We got a whole load of crockpots and toasters instead of plants. We laughed it off, but it stayed with me. If that sort of thing could happen by accident, then—”

“—it certainly could happen by design,” Casey said. “Of course. And the drivers? How did you find this dismal crew?”

Yonkers snorted. “It wasn’t hard. Nance had dropped off lots of loads at Exotic Blooms before falling behind on child support. Once I got him on board, he knew a guy, who knew another guy… Pat was on our team and needed a job after—” He shuddered. “It’s like anything. One scumbag leads to another.”

“And you don’t count yourself among them?”

His face went red. “I am not…I am a businessman. I don’t do… those things.”

“Oh, I see. You leave the messy stuff for the others. That’s exactly what Evan told me. That you sit behind your desk and tell everyone else what to do. That you could make things happen.”

“He said that?” Yonkers blinked. “I thought he trusted me.”

“Oh, he did. Why else would he have told you about the theft and illegal driving ring he’d discovered?”

“He didn’t—” But Yonkers’ face gave him away.

“Evan was getting too close, wasn’t he? He’d found your guys, and Class A Trucking, and the thefts. It was only a matter of time until he realized you were behind it and you certainly couldn’t have that. It would make you look bad.”

“I didn’t…he didn’t…”

“So you killed him.”

“No. I didn’t.”

Casey grabbed Yonkers’ bathrobe and pulled him closer. “Evan’s daughters no longer have a father. That’s because he’s dead. Because you killed him.”

“But we…the guys didn’t mean to. They just wanted to stop him where he couldn’t get away. It was supposed to be an acci—”

“Yonk?” A voice called out from the hallway.

Casey tilted her head at Wendell and he drifted back, behind the open door.

Owen Dixon came in first, scowling when he saw Casey.

Westing was next. “Dixon, get her.”

“Nope.” Wendell stepped out from behind the door, gun out.

Dixon reached for his belt, turning toward Wendell, and Casey sprang off the chair, grabbing Dixon’s arm and pulling it straight out behind him, in an arm lock. “You should’ve learned the first time, at the accident site, Dix. Never turn your back on me.”

He growled and tried to grab her with his other hand, but it was fruitless.

“But you…” Westing faltered. “You were a mess. There’s no way you could have escaped.”

“She did.” Wendell grinned, but Casey could see his anxiety in the whiteness of his knuckles and the brightness of his eyes.

“What are you going to do?” Westing stood still, hands out as Wendell held the gun on him.

“I’m going to listen to the story,” Casey said. “While we wait for the others.”

“I love stories,” Death said, clapping.

“Others?” Yonkers sounded hopeful. “Are the rest of the guys coming?”

From the expression on Westing’s face, it didn’t look like it.

“You know,” Casey said. “Cops, ambulances. They tend to react when someone calls, saying a woman is being attacked.”

“Attacked?” Westing said. “You?”

Casey shrugged. “Delayed reaction. This face didn’t come from walking into a door. First, though, I think Mr. Yonkers has something he needs to tell you and Dixon.”

“I do?” Yonkers’ eyes widened.

Westing looked at Yonkers. “He does?”

“Sure. You know, Yonk, about how you created this trucking scheme to save your business. How it’s not making as much profit as you’d hoped. How you’re still going bankrupt, and you don’t have one penny to give your guys for their hard work and patience.”

“It’s not true,” Yonkers sputtered. “She’s just trying to pit us against each other.”

“I don’t have to. Randy, you have your phone?”

“Yeah.”

“The other guys still at the nursery?”

He nodded.

“Give them a call. Have them go into Yonkers’ office and check the numbers on the computer. The files are easy to find.”

Westing took out his phone, but hesitated.

“Randy,” Yonkers pleaded. “You’ve got to trust me.”

“I have trusted you.” He dialed the number.

Dixon struggled again to break free, but Casey held him fast. It was almost boring, how easy it was.

“Randy, don’t,” Yonkers said.

“Miff,” Westing said into the phone. He gave instructions on where to go and what to look for. They all waited, Dixon breathing heavily, Yonkers white as the papers Mifflin would be seeing on the desk.

Westing slowly looked over at Yonkers, his eyes hard. “I see. That’s very interesting. No, I’m not sure what it means, but I’m going to find out here in a minute.” He quietly closed his phone, staring at Yonkers.

“What is it?” Dixon said. “What did he say?”

Yonkers looked at the ground, not making a sound.

“Sounds like your patience might not pay off, after all, Dix.”

Dixon let out a growl and tried to yank away from Casey. She held him tight.

“Ah, perfect timing.” Casey cocked her head. “Here comes the cavalry.”

The sirens were distant, but on their way. It sounded like more than just a couple.

Casey glanced at Death, who was blowing into Westing’s ear, making him jerk around, like a bug was bothering him. What if her plan hadn’t worked? What if the cops coming up the road were the wrong ones? What if the kids insisted on showing up and got hurt? What if the gun in Wendell’s hand went off? What if, what if, what if… This was why she preferred doing things on her own, when she didn’t have her own posse who insisted on being involved.

She glanced at the desk, where Wendell had dumped the contents of Evan’s bag. “Interesting paperwork there on your desk, Mr. Yonkers. You might want to have a look at it before the cops arrive.”

Yonkers jumped up from the chair and limped around his desk. All of the remaining blood drained from his face. “Where did you get these? All of this? This is…this is…” He looked up at her. “This is Evan’s information.”

Dixon growled again, and Westing closed his eyes, muttering something under his breath.

Yonkers shuffled through the papers, growing more and more frantic. “This is…but a lot of this…”

The sirens grew louder and stopped outside. Yonkers began shoving the papers into his top drawer.

“Police!” The front door banged open, and footsteps sounded in the front hallway. Just as they approached the door Wendell tossed the gun to Westing and crouched on the floor, hands in front of his face. Westing caught the gun automatically in his right hand.

Casey let go of Dixon and fell at his feet, arms over her head. “Stop him! Please! Stop him!”

“What?” Dixon stood over her, hands out.

Cops streamed into the room, weapons drawn, pointed at the three men who stood. “Hands up!” the lead yelled. “Now!”

Dixon’s mouth dropped open, “But—”

“Now, mister!” One of the cops held a gun on Dixon, while another disarmed Westing.

“Is this the information?” The lead cop stood at the desk, his gun on Yonkers.

Yonkers looked at him, his eyes wide. “But you aren’t Sedgwick police. Where’s Chief Swinton?