Casey could get nothing more out of Johnny, partly because he was too distraught, but mostly, she thought, because he knew nothing further. Loretta couldn’t remember hearing Ellen ever talk about dryers. Just that she had discovered something that could save the factory.
“She was happy about that, praise God,” Loretta said, “but behind the happiness was something sad, too. Like what she’d found out was haunting her, may she rest in peace.”
Which Casey could understand. If the saving of HomeMaker came at the expense of someone’s life, Ellen would have to feel the irony, and sadness, in that.
“What do you know about this, L’Ankou?” Casey muttered as she walked to rehearsal. But Death, when wanted, chose not to come. “You really are an ass, you know,” Casey said.
The air in front of her shimmered, but nothing materialized.
Rehearsal had already started when Casey slipped in the double doors, and Eric, Aaron, and Jack were on-stage. She scrambled to find her place in her script, glad to see the others rehearsing a scene she wasn’t in. Becca showed obvious relief at her arrival, and Casey waved her an apology.
Lonnie squeezed into a seat beside her, his eyes glowing. “And where have you been, our mysterious stranger? I was afraid Thomas was going to blow a gasket when you weren’t here at seven. Eric promised you were coming, but Thomas looked ready to pass out until you came in the door.”
A glance at Thomas provided only his stony profile, his focus—at least the one he was showing—on the stage.
“Any clue why he was so freaked out?” Casey asked.
Lonnie grinned. “He’s really anal about practice time?”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s it.”
“No.” He laughed. “Me, either. He never acts that way when Holly’s late. Which she is again today.”
Thomas turned and glared at them, and Lonnie covered his mouth with both hands. “I guess we need to behave,” he said, from beneath his fingers.
“We?”
Lonnie pushed his hands tighter to keep from laughing out loud.
At the end of the scene Becca called a break, and Eric jumped off of the stage, making his way toward Casey, Leila close behind him.
“Uh-oh,” Lonnie said. “Here comes loverboy. And his lapdog.”
Casey smacked his shoulder, then got up to meet Eric. She pulled him to the side, away from Leila, and explained, in hushed tones, what Johnny had told her.
“A dryer killed somebody?”
“If Ellen was right. And if Johnny’s correct about what she said.”
Eric dropped into the nearest seat. “Todd didn’t tell you that?”
“No.” She sat down next to him. “He said what he and Karl talked about was personal, and had nothing to do with Ellen. But then, maybe he didn’t know she knew about it. Speaking of Todd…” She looked up. “Where is he?”
“He was here earlier. Probably went outside for break. So that dryer latch we have—”
“—is somehow connected. It’s got to be. I’m sure it’s not actually the lock of that particular dryer—at least I wouldn’t think so—but it’s important.” She leaned over and grabbed Eric’s hand. “Eric, when you met with your dad that day, was it about dryers?”
“No. I mean, we never talked about dryers. Except in really vague ways about production. Never anything about somebody dying.”
“Who’s dying?”
They looked up at Leila, who stood, hip cocked, beside Casey’s seat, her face betraying some kind of excitement.
“Nobody.” Eric’s voice was flat.
Leila gasped. “Eric, did you not tell her?”
Casey looked at him. “Tell me what?”
“Nothing,” Eric said in the same flat tone.
Leila’s nostrils flared. “So are you taking a break or not, Eric?” She glared at Casey, as if Casey was keeping him from his respite.
Casey stood. “I’m going outside. I need some fresh air.” She walked quickly away, not wanting to hear anything else Leila might say.
Todd was not outside.
She waited in the lobby, in the hopes he would come through there before rehearsal resumed, but she was out of luck. By the time Becca was calling for them to return, Todd still was nowhere to be seen.
Casey went back into the theater, only to see Todd slumped in the front row. She moved up the aisle and sat beside him. He looked at her warily from beneath his half-closed eyes.
“What do you know about dryers?”
“Dryers?” His face was blank.
“You know, the appliance that dries clothes.”
“I know what you mean. I’m not an idiot.” He looked around, but no one was close. “What about dryers?”
“Did you and Karl ever talk about them?”
“About dryers?”
Casey felt someone’s eyes on her, and she looked up to see Thomas staring at her from several rows back. “Yes,” she said to Todd. “Did you ever have a discussion about them?”
His expression went from blank to confused. “No.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Casey! Todd!” Becca was gesturing to them. “Act five, scene one.”
“Coming.” She stood and looked down at Todd. “If you remember anything—”
“I’m telling you, we never talked about them.”
Casey climbed the stairs to the stage, Todd following her to join Eric. Eric still hadn’t recovered from what she’d told him, if the pallor of his skin was real and not just a trick of the lights. Casey winked at him, and a smile flickered on his face.
The double doors at the back of the theater flung open, and Holly strode in, making her way to the front.
“About time,” Thomas growled.
Holly froze. “Excuse me?”
“You’re late. Rehearsal began at seven.”
She stood there, her mouth gaping, while the rest of the cast looked at each other with shock. Lonnie laughed out loud. Holly and Thomas both rounded on him, and he pinched his lips together with his fingers.
“Um, Act five, scene one, Holly,” Becca said. “You’ll be on in a few minutes.”
Holly swung her hair off her neck and sat regally in a front row seat, her head forward, eyes at stage level. Casey caught Eric’s eye, and he made a face.
“Okay, people,” Thomas bellowed. “Let’s go!”
They got through the scene, and the rest of rehearsal, without anyone blowing up or stalking out. The atmosphere wasn’t exactly relaxed, however, and Casey breathed a sigh of relief when Thomas called it quits for the night.
“No rehearsal tomorrow,” he said. “Take Sunday off.”
“Thank you, kind leader,” Lonnie said, then ducked the wadded papers Aaron and Jack threw at him.
Casey was making her way toward Jack, to see if Johnny’s news about dryers sparked any memories, when Thomas called her name.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Again?” Eric said.
Thomas bestowed an angry look on him. “I have the right to talk with my actors.”
“Sure, but Thomas—”
“It’s all right,” Casey said. “You go on. I’ll be fine.”
“But we need to figure out what—”
“I’ll be fine.” Shut up about the dryer, Eric.
Leila was waiting beside Eric, cracking a stick of gum, and did her part in getting him up the aisle and out of the theater.
Becca stood at Casey’s elbow, her arms full of notebooks. “Do you need me, Thomas?”
“What? Oh, no. You can go.”
She shot a glance at Casey before leaving the same way as the others.
“Thomas…”
“Listen, Casey. I don’t know who you are. But I know why you’re here.”
“You do?”
“I’m sorry I ever got involved in it, okay? I’m sorry I ever even went to Louisville. I’m out of it now. It’s over. Done. Finis.”
“Look, Thomas, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know what you were into—”
His head snapped up.
“—and it’s really none of my business. Whatever the deal is between you and Eric, well, that’s just the way it is.”
“Eric?” His lips formed a tight line. “This is way past Eric.”
“I don’t understand.”
He shook his head slowly. “I wish you wouldn’t play it this way.”
“Thomas, I’m not playing this any way. I’m telling you I’m not here for you.”
He laughed under his breath. “You said that the first day. I wish I could believe it.”
“What can I do to prove it to you?”
He stood and gathered his things, still not looking at her. “Nothing. Not anymore. Good-bye, Casey.” He strode quickly up the aisle and left, without looking back.
“Weird,” Casey said out loud, and followed him up the aisle. His taillights were already shining in the distance by the time she made it outside.
Eric, however, was still there. “Do not tell me to go away.”
“Okay.”
“I’m walking you home, and I don’t want any arguments about it.”
She held up her hands. “Okay.”
He cocked his head. “You’re not going to tell me to leave you alone?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well. Good. What did Thomas want?”
She let her hands fall. “He still thinks I’m a spy or a cop, or somebody, who’s come to reveal some hidden secret about his past.”
“Do you know one?”
“Not for sure. Certainly not from anything you’ve told me.”
He winced.
“But I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a little gambling debt.”
Eric’s mouth dropped open.
Casey blinked. “I’m right? Really? I’m right.”
Eric gave a humorless laugh. “No. Not exactly.”
“It’s not gambling.”
“Oh, it’s gambling, all right. But not just a little.”
Casey stared in the direction Thomas’ car had gone, then looked back at Eric. “So how not just a little are we talking about?”
Eric took a deep breath. “He gambled on horse races. Not just the Derby. But all of them. Whenever he could get away from the theater, and sometimes even when he couldn’t. He lost so much money he had to take out loans.”
“I’m thinking they weren’t loans from banks.”
“Hardly.”
Casey took a step away, then back. “You’re telling me there’s organized crime in Louisville?”
“I know, it doesn’t seem right, does it? But there’s a lot of money at Churchill Downs.”
She shook her head. “But who does that make me? Someone from the mob? Do I look like a leg breaker to you?”
His mouth twitched. “From what Rosemary told me—”
She waved him off. “Does he think I’m from them, or from the cops?”
He shrugged. “Either one would be bad for him.”
“I guess so. Poor Thomas.”
“Poor Thomas? Are you kidding me?”
She gave a little smile. “Sometimes people get in over their heads…”
He stared at her. “I just can’t figure you out.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe that’s for the best. Shall we go?” She started off in the direction of The Nesting Place, not waiting for him to follow.
“Casey—” He trotted to catch up with her.
“So that’s what you have over Thomas? You know about his gambling?”
“Well, partly. That and the fact he’s been begging my dad for money. He’d be devastated if people found out about it.”
Casey winced. Having to ask Karl Willems for anything would be enough to send you into depression. Asking for huge amounts of money would be enough to incapacitate even the strongest person.
“Where’s Leila, anyway?” she said, noticing they were alone. “I’m assuming you didn’t leave her to walk back to her car by herself.”
“No. Todd drove her.”
“Bet she wasn’t too happy about that.”
Eric winced. “No. Not too happy.”
Casey stuck her script in her jacket pocket. “Did you have a chance to say anything to Jack?”
“About the dryers? Yeah. I told him, and Aaron, too, what Johnny said. It didn’t mean anything to either of them, but they promised they’d think about it.”
They walked in silence for a few more steps.
“Casey…”
“Yeah?”
He waited a few more moments, began to speak, then stopped. “Did one of HomeMaker’s dryers actually kill somebody?”
“I guess it’s possible. But you’d expect the culprit to be something electrical, not a door latch. Or something like a heating element that could burn a house down.”
“Yeah.”
Eric fell silent as they passed under a streetlight and turned a corner on the sidewalk. “I think I remember.”
“Remember what?“
“What I was talking to Karl about in that video. I can’t imagine it would have anything to do with… It was about Home Sweet Home. I wanted HomeMaker to chip in some money for it. A charitable donation, to help those who had lost jobs.”
“And what did Karl say?”
“What do you think? That the company was having enough financial troubles on its own, which was why they’re leaving town in the first place. HomeMaker couldn’t afford to be sponsoring anything else.”
“Of course.” No charity for the people he was sending tumbling toward poverty. “Did he give Thomas money?”
Eric shrugged. “I don’t know. On the one hand I could see him doing it, since he’s an old family friend.” He spat the word. “But he could just as easily have told him to forget it, and take his lumps like a man.”
“It would’ve been a lot of money, right? Which Karl could probably afford.”
“I guess.”
“That still doesn’t answer why Todd was at his office that day. And why he was so angry. Todd said it was personal. There was no reason he would know anything about Thomas. Unless Karl told him.”
“On the other hand, maybe Karl gave Thomas some money and Todd was there to try to talk him out of it. He would know Karl’s money dealings better than anybody, although I’m not sure why it would’ve made him so mad. Unless Karl was using HomeMaker money.” He waved his script at her. “Either way, the visit to Karl’s office would have nothing to do with Ellen.”
“Except that she ate at Home Sweet Home.”
“What?”
“That’s what we were talking about. Your visit, and that Karl wouldn’t give you any money for your charity. And Ellen ate there.”
“Served there.”
“Okay.”
He sighed. “All right. She ate there, too. Along with her kids.”
Casey wanted to take his hand. To comfort him.
“Do it.”
She jerked away from him and glared at Death.
“Come on,” Death said. “Hold his hand. It would be so cute.”
Casey shoved her hands into her pockets.
“Aww,” Death said. “You are so boring. Oh!” Death glanced behind them and raised a fist. “Yes! Things are about to get a lot more interesting.” Death was gone.
Casey stopped, allowing Eric to get several steps ahead before he turned. “What is it?”
She held up a hand, watching under the streetlight they’d passed seconds before.
Two men came around the corner. Two men she’d seen before, talking to Thomas. Taffy and Bone.
They saw her. And they saw Eric.
Casey’s brain shifted gears. Her breathing deepened, and her muscles relaxed, even as her nerves tingled. She stepped in front of Eric. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
They stopped ten feet away. Taffy, as she’d noticed before, had a wrestler’s physique. Huge and thick under a loosely fitting jacket and black dress pants. He smiled. “I think you might just be able to, little lady.”
“And how would that be?”
He glanced at Bone, who hadn’t even a hint of a smile on his feral-looking face. “If you could just tell us who sent you to this tiny little town. The cops? Our…friends across town in Kentucky?”
“No one sent me. And I’ve never been to Kentucky.”
He continued smiling, nodding as if she’d said something clever. “That’s what Mr. Black told us you’d say.”
“Thomas?” Eric’s voice had gone tight, and high.
Casey waved at him to shut up, not turning from the men. “It’s the truth.”
“I see. I guess your definition of truth is different from ours.”
“I guess so.”
He was talkative. Very large, and very talkative. Casey figured he was already deciding how quickly he would take her down if she didn’t comply. His overconfidence was obvious in his swagger, and in the look in his eye.
Casey breathed in through her nose. To her left sat a car. A Pontiac, blocking the way. To her right sat a row of homes, a few large trees, windows with lights shining, TVs flickering. Behind her, Eric, who didn’t have a clue what was about to happen.
The man on the left, Bone, the one who had almost discovered her behind the theater’s curtains, he was the scary one. About a hundred pounds shy of his partner, his body was lean and wiry, his face all cheekbone and jaw. His eyes, expressionless above a nose that had been broken and badly reset, watched Casey, while the rest of him remained still. His arms hung loose at his sides, hands open, his feet spread shoulder-width. He had no jacket, and no gun that Casey could see. That didn’t mean he didn’t have something else.
“I’d like to talk with you a little longer,” Taffy said. “Just so’s we can get straight exactly what the truth is.”
“That would be good,” Casey said. “To get at the truth.”
Taffy stepped forward, his hand out, as if to shake.
“Eric,” Casey said under her breath. “Run away.”
“What?”
“Run!”
She would’ve run, too, and with the element of surprise could’ve outdistanced the two thugs in seconds, but she couldn’t leave Eric. Not with these two.
Casey slid her hand into Taffy’s, but instead of shaking it she torqued his thumb, jamming the pressure point, bringing him to his knees. As he dropped she jerked up her knee, crushing his nose. He fell forward, unconscious, and Casey grabbed the back of his shirt, and his chin, spinning him down and forward, between her and Bone.
Now Bone was smiling.
“You—” Eric said.
Casey turned and shoved him away. “Run!”
This time he listened.
Casey heard Bone coming, but didn’t have time to turn before his fist slammed into her kidney. She fell to the ground, gasping, clutching her side, and rolled to the left as his foot came down where her back had been.
She flipped to her feet, her brain fuzzy, vision blurred, back pulsing with pain.
A dog barked and Bone glanced to the side, waiting, but the dog went quiet. Bone turned back, and as Casey brought her hands up, he stepped in to hit her with a roundhouse punch. She jerked away so that he missed her jaw, but his fist caught her lip, smashing it against her teeth. She tasted blood.
He smiled again.
Casey sat back on her right leg and kicked his inner thigh. He stumbled to the left, and she turned to run. With a yell he lunged, grabbing her hair and jerking her backward. She reached up, trapping his hand with both of hers, and spun inside, double-twisting until his arm was behind him in a lock and his head was lowered. She rocked him forward, smashing his head against the Pontiac.
Spitting blood and faint from the kidney pain, Casey knew she couldn’t run away. At least not very far. She glanced into the Pontiac.
There were keys on the seat.
Dropping the man to the sidewalk, she stumbled around the back of the car and wrenched open the driver’s door, flinging herself inside. She grabbed the keys and poked one into the ignition. Not the right one. She pulled at the ring, but it was stuck.
The passenger door opened, and Bone lunged across the seat. She brought up her foot and kicked him in the face, his nose spraying blood as he shot backward.
“Come on, come on,” she pleaded, jiggling the keys.
Abandoning the keys, Casey scrambled to get out of the car, but Bone was up again, shaking his head, rounding the hood. He kicked the door, catching her right forearm and sending it back with a snap. She clutched the arm to her stomach as the door repelled against Bone. He kicked the door again, but she hopped backward, out of the way.
Bone wavered there, his face splotched with red. Casey felt her injured arm with her other hand. She didn’t think it was broken. She hoped not.
Bone’s eyes focused on her. Noting the curb several feet behind him, Casey aimed a kick at his stomach with her right foot. He stepped back, and she threw a sidekick with her left. He took another step away, and she went after him with a right kick, and then a left backward one. One more front kick, and he stumbled over the curb, falling onto his back.
Casey leapt forward to stomp on his stomach and he caught her foot, twisting it inside. She went with the twist and spun away, circling to face him. He stood up, his face a mask of rage now, his eyes horrible amidst the blood. Casey brought up her arms, the right one throbbing.
Bone grabbed at his ankle and came back up with a blade. He slashed at her and she spun away, but the knife sliced her left shoulder, through her jacket. He came at her again, thrusting at her stomach. She danced sideways, circling away. He was smiling again, his teeth smeared with red.
Casey shook her head, trying to focus. Her right arm throbbed, her left shoulder was staining her jacket red, and blood filled her mouth. She spat again.
Taffy groaned from his spot on the sidewalk, but neither Casey nor Bone broke eye contact. She could only hope she had hit Taffy hard enough he wouldn’t actually be getting up, or reaching for his gun.
Bone feinted to her right, and she spun away, circling. Her strength was fading. If Taffy got up, she was done. She couldn’t outrun Bone. She was losing blood. Her back ached.
She realized Bone had stopped coming at her. He was waiting. Waiting for her to make a mistake.
With a deep breath she stumbled left and clutched her bloody arm, exposing her neck. Bone came at her with an overhand strike. She reached up and passed his arm down, jamming the knife into his left thigh. He screamed. She pulled the knife from his leg, grabbed it with both hands, and stepped back, knife blade up.
Bone clutched his leg as blood spurted out, soaking his pant leg. Bright red blood covered his hands as he pressed against his thigh, and he yanked off his shirt, winding it around his leg. The shirt didn’t staunch the flow, but quickly turned red itself, the blood saturating the material within seconds.
He looked up at Casey, his eyes wild. Casey stayed where she was, brandishing the knife, watching with disbelief as Bone’s lifeblood flowed through the tourniquet and down his leg.
He blinked once, with disbelief, and Casey stared into his eyes, her teeth clenched, her breath caught in her chest. He lurched forward, his arms outstretched. She backed up. Her knife wavered.
“Please,” Bone said.
He stumbled toward her again, grabbing her shoulder with a bloody hand. She held the knife up, toward his throat. She was ready. But Bone’s eyes were glazing over, and his breath rasped in his throat. Slowly he leaned forward, his weight tipping toward her, his fingers clutching her shoulder.
“Please.”
Bone dropped to his knees, and Casey stepped away as he fell, his face twisting to the right as it met the ground. He jerked once. Twice. His legs spasmed, and he coughed, blood spurting from his mouth.
And then he was still.
“Oh, God,” Casey said. “OhGodohGodohGod.”
She fell backward against the Pontiac, the knife clattering to the ground. Nausea hit her, and she leaned sideways over the hood, vomiting onto the car and street. She wiped her face with her sleeve and tried to breathe.
Oh, no. Oh, God, no.
“Casey?”
Casey jerked her head up. Eric stood twenty feet away, his eyes wide. “What—”
The sound of a siren split the air, and Casey sucked in a breath. Of course. Of course, Eric would get the police.
“Eric,” she said. “I’m so…so sorry.”
She pushed herself off of the car, and ran away.