Where’s…”
“Over here!” the cop said to his team. “Start documenting this paperwork.”
“No!” Yonkers screamed. “She planted it! She brought it in here!”
The cop, who
“No!” Yonkers said. “It wasn’t like that!”
“Yeah, well, you can tell us the whole story once we get to Blue Lake.”
“Blue Lake? Why Blue Lake?”
Matt Williams glared at him. “Because that’s where this is going to end. Right where you and your men killed Evan Tague.”
Yonkers’ eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell, only just getting caught by Williams and another cop. “Get him out of here,” Williams said.
Dixon and Westing were already being hustled out, and a man knelt over Casey. “Ms. Jones?”
She blinked up at him. “Dr. Cross?”
He smiled grimly. “Seems you and my son have been getting to know each other.”
Casey sighed, letting her eyes close.
“Let’s get you taken care of, shall we?”
With the doctor’s and Wendell’s help, Casey stood, wincing at the pull on her ribcage.
Death
“It’s good cops can’t tell cleaned up wounds from fresh ones,” Johnny’s father said. “At least not at first glance, when they’re rushing in to save the damsel in distress.”
Wendell snorted. “Some damsel.”
Casey would have elbowed him, had she the strength.
An ambulance sat in Yonkers’ drive, and the men steered her toward it.
“The kids?” Casey asked. “Are they all right? They’re safe?”
Without a word Dr. Cross opened the back door of the ambulance and he and Wendell lifted her in, although there wasn’t much room, seeing as it was entirely filled with smiling teenagers.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“They’re squealing like little girls,” Death said. “Or little boys, depending on your point of view.”
“Glad to hear it.” Casey sat on the edge of the hospital bed in the private room, now empty of doctors, nurses, orderlies, and teenagers. The cops had been kept at bay so long they’d finally given up and gone home, saying they would return in the morning. Only Death remained.
“Yeah, they’re ratting each other out right and left. They’re especially fingering Yonkers. Guess the whole image of him as the quarterback has gotten tarnished after all this time—and after the loss of the money they thought they were getting. But none of them will be able to outrun Evan’s death. They’re toast for that.”
Casey eased off the mattress and exhaled through her teeth. The narcotics had helped a lot, but couldn’t take away all the pain. At least she knew she wasn’t dying from a perforated colon or some other internal damage. She’d kept up her part of the bargain with Johnny and had allowed his dad—along with the ever-thorough Dr. Shinnob—to run tests and poke her and look so deep in her eyes she thought they could probably see China. They’d returned with a diagnosis she could live with—beat up but healing.
Casey hoped Johnny would keep up his end of the bargain and forgive himself. It would help if the other kids would forgive him, first.
“The drivers are getting hauled in as we speak,” Death said. “Except for Parnell, who’s apparently disappeared from the face of the earth. I could find him, if you want.”
Casey shook her head, then regretted it, her head spinning. “No. Let him go. He’s suffered enough. Is my shirt in that little closet?”
“You mean your darling pink one?”
“Yes. The pink one. The only one I have.”
“I’m not sure which is better. That shirt or your hospital gown. Why don’t you wear the scrubs? The kids left them, along with your make-up.”
The kids. She wished…
“You can’t stay here,” Death said. “You know that.”
She shuffled to the closet and pulled out the scrubs. Still clean. And much more comfortable than jeans would be while she healed. She pulled on the pants, tying them loosely around her waist, and painfully pulled the top over her head, dropping the gown onto the floor.
“Wow,” Death said, “you
Casey stuffed her jeans and the awful pink shirt into the backpack, along with whatever she could scrounge up from the room—soap, tissues, the toothbrush they gave her.
It was the middle of the night. Way past the time she should have left. She spent too long putting on her shoes, then eased the bag over her shoulder.
Death waited at the door. “Time to hit the road?”
“Let’s go.”
Dr. Cross had put her at the far end of the quiet hall, right by the stairs. He knew she wouldn’t be staying— that was part of her separate deal with him. She’d given him her lawyer’s address, where he would send her invoice for treatment, and had guaranteed he’d be paid. He hadn’t argued. Casey figured he would just be glad to see her go and leave his son in peace.
The stairs weren’t exactly fun, and by the time she’d reached the ground floor she was ready to rest. She sat on the bottom step to catch her breath.
“You can go back up and crawl in bed,” Death said.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Oh, I have much better things to tempt you with, my dear.”
“Who are you now, Clark Gable?”
Death preened.
Casey grabbed the railing and hauled herself up. “According to the train schedule, there’s one that stops in the next town at two to load boxcars. We need to get a move on.”
“You’re serious. You think you’re going to be able to get there in your condition.”
“It’s the only condition I’ve got, and I’m not about to step into another truck.”
“How about another car?”
Casey jerked her head up, and almost fell. “Bailey?”
The girl stood inside the door. “I knew you were going to do this. I knew you wouldn’t stick around till morning, when we could say a proper good-bye. I just wasn’t expecting to find you blabbering to yourself at the bottom of a dark, empty stairway.”
Casey sagged against the railing. “Bailey, I—”
“That’s fine. I’m sure it’s the drugs.” She rolled her eyes to show just how convinced she was. “Come on.” She grabbed Casey’s bag and held the door open.
Bailey’s car was just outside, and she helped Casey into the front seat. Casey looked around. “What? No others?” Death was the only occupant of the back seat, and held a little drawstring music box, which was playing Brahms’ Lullaby.
“I’m doing this on my own.”
“How come?”
Bailey eased the car from the curb and maneuvered her way out of the parking lot. “They’ve had enough of
