“So you’re not even going to stay till Tom gets back?” Death said. “Tell him how helpful his computer was? He is pretty cute.”
“He’s also pretty married. Besides, in case you’ve completely lost your mind. I’m not into guys at the moment.” She’d been a little interested in Eric VanDiepenbos the week before, and look how that had turned out.
Oh, Reuben.
She went suddenly breathless and leaned against a tree, several feet from the Southwest parking lot.
“Yup, there he comes,” Death said.
Tom pulled his pickup into his spot and went to his door, opening it with his key. A few seconds later he poked his head back out, looked around, then went back in.
“Too bad,” Death said. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“A nice family guy.”
“Such a stickler for details.”
“Yeah. Details that will keep me going to one place and not the other when I finally die.”
Death gave an exasperated groan. “Are you still going on about that? Dying?”
“Until you give me what I want.”
“Are you sure you still want that?”
Casey looked at Death, then at the ground, then at the blue sky peeking through the trees.
“What I thought,” Death said. “Now, what’s next on the agenda?”
Casey watched Death walk purposefully toward the road, and followed. As they picked their way through the trees she explained what she’d discovered.
“So Evan did tell somebody,” Death said. “Somebody knew he’d found out what was going on.”
“I don’t think he found out all of it. He didn’t seem to realize Willie Yonkers was involved. In fact, I think Willie Yonkers is the one he told.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He respected him. Yonkers was on the town council, had a flourishing business, lots of money…heck, he was even a better spitter than Evan. Plus, he was from Evan’s hometown. He liked him. He trusted him.” A bitter taste filled Casey’s mouth. It was so hard to know whom to trust.
“We need to go see Willie Yonkers,” Death said.
“Yes,” Casey said. “I’m afraid we do.”
They got to the end of the wooded area and stopped.
“How do you propose we do that?” Death raised an eyebrow and stuck out a thumb, as if hitching a ride.
“I don’t suppose Sheryl’s mom is still here.” She walked far enough along the road to see the Southwest parking lot. “Nope. I guess we could borrow Wendell’s truck again, although I really hate to.”
“After walking all the way back into town. Your feet have got to be hurting.”
They were.
“How about Tom’s truck? I’m sure he’d loan it to you.”
Casey looked back toward the building. Should she involve him any more? But then, it was just a truck she was asking to borrow.
“Okay. We’ll ask him.”
“Good for you.”
They made their way back through the trees and up to Tom’s door. He didn’t hide his surprise. “Back again?”
“Another favor.”
“Shoot.”
“May I borrow your truck?”
He regarded her for a few moments. “How long will you be gone?”
She calculated in her head. Forty minutes, Evan had said. With her driving it would be more like fifty. So, basically two hours of driving time, plus finding and talking to Willie Yonkers. “Three hours? Four?”
He glanced at his watch. “So you’ll be back by five?”
“Yes.” Her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
He held out the keys and dropped them into her hand. “Do I want to know where you’re going?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He gave a little grin. “Try to bring her back in one piece. I assume you know how to drive?”
“Uh, yeah.” If he only knew her history with vehicles.
She got in the truck, controlling her shaking hands, and was able to back out and leave without stalling, even with Tom watching.
“Score one for Casey Maldonado!” Death cheered when they were on the road. “Or, uh, Casey Jones! Whichever you are today!”
“Don’t start counting too soon.”
Death settled back and pulled out the harmonica. “So, where are we going?”
Casey groaned. “I have no idea. I just wanted to get out of the parking lot.”
“Ooookaaay. Plans?”
“Well, we know he lives in Sedgwick. His business is called Exotic Blooms.”
“Fancy. If not manly.”
“I figure we get to Sedgwick, we can find the shop.”
“And to get to Sedgwick?”
“Has to be west, because we were headed that way when we crashed. So we’ll get on the highway and go that direction.”
Death sighed. “If only Laura Ingalls Wilder could help us. Why do you even keep that phone with you if you’re not going to use it?”
“Because there might come a time when I will.”
“Whatever.”
The highway turned out being easy to find, and within twenty miles they began to see signs for Sedgwick.
“Hmm,” Death said. “You’re smarter than you smell.”
“Look, L’Ankou. The saying is you’re smarter than you look.”
“I know that. It’s just that your smell these days has begun to overpower even your looks. And they ain’t so great, either.”
Casey flinched, and sniffed at her underarm. Was she really that bad? Or did Death just have an extra-sensitive nose?
The exit for Sedgwick loomed up on the right, and Casey took it. This area was a bit more populated than Blue Lake, which made her nervous, but nobody should recognize her here—except for Dixon, Westing, their guys, and perhaps even Yonkers himself. Yikes.
She took a road that led to less built-up land and pulled to the side of the road, where there was a deep ditch. She clambered down to the deepest part and scooped up some mud, using it to cover up most of the numbers on the pickup’s license plate. She didn’t want to take any chance of the guys seeing this truck and tracing it back to Tom. Not that she was planning on running into them, but she was now traveling on their turf.
She found a rag under the seat and wiped her hands.
“Muddy hands,” Death said. “Perfect with your outfit.”
“We are going to a nursery,” Casey said.
Death laughed.
License plate obscured, Casey turned around and drove back toward town. “Think I can stop at a gas station?”
“One near the highway. They see so many people they’ll have less of a chance of remembering you. Even in your present state.”
“Will you stop already? I know I look—and smell—like crap, all right? It doesn’t help to have you going on about it all the time.”
“Sorry, sorry. Just trying to call it like it is.”
“Well, quit.”
Death was quiet the rest of the way back toward the highway.
Casey scoped out the Shell station, and was glad to see a pay phone and know she still had a quarter left over from Wendell’s money. When the pumps were vacant she pulled up beside the stand. The phone book had been stolen, the metal cover dangling from its chain. This left her with a decision—use up the last of her money to call information, or go inside and risk being seen?
Since she had a full stomach, the decision seemed obvious. She ponied up the necessary change and called information, which put her through to Exotic Blooms.
The woman on the other end of the phone, who identified herself as “Ruby,” was happy to give Casey directions from the highway, but laughed when Casey asked if Mr. Yonkers would be available to talk to her about some special orders. “Mr. Yonkers isn’t involved in the day-to-day work as much as he used to be. But I’ll be happy to help you with anything you need.”
“The person who recommended your nursery suggested I speak directly to him.”
A pause. “Well, I don’t know why they would have said that. I’ve done the ordering here for the past couple of years. Who have you been talking to?”
Casey gave a little laugh, like she was embarrassed. “I don’t want to get them in trouble. I’ll be happy to come by and work with you. In fact, I’d rather do that.”
Ruby sniffed. “That’s fine. I’m here every day—that is, Monday through Saturday.”
“I’ll be by. Thank you. But, um, just to tell my friend I tried, do you have any idea where I might be able to find Mr. Yonkers? Or talk to him?”
Ruby’s voice went just a bit chillier. “Mr. Yonkers doesn’t spend much time here at all anymore. You’d have better luck catching him at home, or on his cell. You do have that number?”
“No, no, I don’t.”
Ruby hesitated. “I’m not supposed to hand it out. But if you want to leave your name and number I’ll have him get back to you.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll just tell my friend I tried and leave it at that. I’ll be by soon to see if you can help me.”
“And what is your name?”
“Good-bye, then,” Casey said. “See you soon.”
She got back in the truck, pleased she hadn’t needed to go into the gas station, where she would most likely have been videotaped.
“We’re not going to just dance right in, are we?” Death looked concerned.
“Of course not. We may not even go in. I just want to see what I can see.”
“Do you see what I see?” Death sang from the familiar Christmas carol, and proceeded to play it on the electronic keyboard that appeared, which was so long it would have poked Casey, had it been solid. As it was, she shivered.
“Can you move that thing?”
“Oh, sorry.” The keyboard shrank to the size of one a child would play.
“Exotic Blooms is on one side of a shopping center. The usual things—Old Navy, Lowe’s, a Target, maybe. But there should be plenty of parking lot to hide in.”
“Can we get close enough to actually see anything?”
“We’ll try.”
The nursery, when they found it, took up more than its share of the shopping area, with three enormous greenhouses, and rows of plants and trees out toward the road. Behind the greenhouses was a gravel parking lot large enough for the loading and unloading of merchandise, but it was empty, except for a wooden two-wheeled trailer, tilted with its hitch resting on the ground, and lots of nursery-type tools: buckets, hoses, mulch, and pallets of plants. Next to the lot was the back of the next store, with its own loading bays. A semi-trailer was backed up to one of them, and two men stood on the dock going over paperwork. Yonkers must not have had an actual loading bay like the big store, but there was plenty of room for a semi to maneuver in the lot.
Casey parked three rows from the front door and to the left, between an over-sized pickup and a Navigator, with a minivan to her back. Tom’s truck was hidden unless someone would look at it straight on. From this vantage point she could see the entrance to the back lot, as well as anyone going into the store through the customer entrance. She recognized some familiar foliage sitting in rows to the side, and arranged on the sidewalk, but was astounded by the amount of things she couldn’t name.
“It’s a jungle in there,” Death said. “Are you going in?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to scope it out.”
“Don’t have a lot of time if you’re going to get this truck back Tom by five.”
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I want to be stupid about it.”
“Whatever.” Death pulled out the rubber band and twanged it for a few beats before stopping. “You know, it’s hard to get too scared of a guy who sells flowers.”
“That’s not all he’s doing.”
Death shrugged, and continued twanging.
At first Casey could concentrate. Only three people went through the front doors—two came out with purchases, and one went in. No trucks or vehicles of any kind drove into the parking lot. One woman strode back and forth across the store helping customers inside—Ruby?—and one young woman in low-slung jeans and a form-fitting shirt, with her hair piled on top of her head in a ponytail, slouched around the outside, flinging the hose this way and that, chomping gum so hard Casey was surprised her jaw didn’t fall off. The girl turned toward Casey to water a row of waist-high plants with shiny, dark green leaves and bright red blooms, and Casey sucked in her breath. “What time is it?”
Death stopped twanging long enough to say, “Little after three.”
“So that could be her.”
“Who?”
“Yonkers’ daughter. The one Evan wouldn’t let his own daughter go near. What was her name? Tara.”
Death looked at the girl, head tilted to one side. “Sulky, sexy, angry about something. Yeah, could easily be her.”
Casey watched Tara Yonkers as she moved from plant to plant. Perhaps the daughter was the way in, but should she risk it? Let Willie’s girl see her face?
Death began humming along with the rubber band, still playing that Christmas song, stretching the band to change its pitch. Casey tried to ignore the sound. She plugged her right ear with her finger. She held her hand up to the side of her face. She thought about how it would feel to punch Death in the solar plexus.
“Enough! All right! I’ll go in! Just…stop!”
Death regarded her with wide, innocent eyes. “Are you talking to me?”
Casey jumped out of the truck, slammed the door, and stalked toward the store.
The girl looked up as Casey approached. “Help you find something?” It wasn’t convincing. Tara Yonkers obviously didn’t want to help anybody, and her being able to find something in the immense nursery was clearly a crap shoot.
“Your dad. I’d like to talk with him.”
Tara snorted and pelted another plant with a stream of water. “Good luck. I haven’t been able to get him to listen to me for years.”
“So he’s not here?”
“Look, lady, my dad adores this place, but you’d never know it. I’m here more than he is.” She made a gagging sound.
“You don’t like flowers?”
“I like flowers. But I like them when they’re cut in a vase on the table. Not out here where it’s roasting and dirty and smells like somebody’s trash!”
The girl was right—it did smell. Nobody said flowers had to smell as pretty as they looked. Casey was glad if the stench covered up her own body odor.
“So where does your dad spend his time?”
Tara turned her hose toward another victim. “Why do you care?”
“Just figured it wasn’t fair if he was in air-conditioning and you were out here…” She gestured to the lot.
Tara’s lips puffed out, and she cocked a hip. “He hardly ever leaves home, can you believe it? Spends all day locked away in his precious office, eating popcorn and watching porn for all I know. It’s not like he ever lets me in there.”
Lovely father-daughter relationship. “So he never comes here?”
“Only at night, when he doesn’t have to deal with the customers. Says he has all that paperwork to do. I think he just wants to check up on things, make sure the rest of us aren’t messing it up, or stealing from him.”
Or he comes to load and unload trailers in his back lot without employees there to witness it.
“Your house far from here?”
Tara turned toward Casey, letting the water run onto the ground. “Who are you? Why do you want to know?”
“Just…making conversation. But I’ll go now. I have an appointment with Ruby.”
The suspicions left Tara’s eyes. “She’s inside. Works her ass off for this place. She figures if she does well enough, makes herself necessary, Dad will pay her more. Or marry her.” The girl shrugged. “Not that I care.”
Of course not. “Well, thanks. I’ll be going.”
Tara didn’t reply, but moved the hose so it was actually over a plant.
Casey glanced at the pickup as she walked toward the main greenhouse, and Death gave her a double thumbs-up.
The air that hit her was hot, humid, and smothering. Casey took a moment to get her breath as she studied the layout. Rows and rows of potted plants sat on tables that stretched from the front to the back of the building. Most were unfamiliar, but she did see some orchids, and something that resembled a rhododendron. On the floor at the front of each row a number had been painted onto the concrete, and overhead signs hung explaining the contents of each section. At the far end of the building several employees were unloading boxes of plants onto shelves. Their voices carried across the room, but Casey couldn’t understand what they were saying. Casey walked toward the front door, where a woman, probably Ruby, stood at a counter with a customer, packing plants into a flat.
Casey didn’t actually want to talk to Ruby, but she’d had to drop the name when Tara became too curious. Casey looked for another exit between her and the saleswoman—one that would take her out the front and to Tom’s truck without contact. Nothing. She looked back at Tara and waited for the girl to turn so she could slip out the side.
Someone called from the end of the room, and Casey looked up to see one of the gardeners gesturing to her.
“I’m fine,” Casey said, waving her hands.
But the gardener pointed to one of the others, who set down a box, clapped his gloves together, and started down the aisle toward Casey. Casey squinted at him. Did he look familiar? He was big, but his features—from this distance, at least—didn’t look like any she’d seen in the past few days. That didn’t mean he wasn’t one of Dixon or Westing’s guys.
Tara was still facing Casey’s way, but Casey had been in the greenhouse long enough it would be feasible she’d had time to talk to Ruby. She stepped toward the door, but stopped.
A man had walked up to Tara, checking her out as he neared. He said something, and Tara looked up, immediately morphing from sulky watering girl to seductress. But that’s not what bothered Casey the most. What bothered her was that the man was Owen Dixon.
Casey spun around. The gardener was halfway down the row now, getting close enough to see her face. She saw his, too—and she’d seen it before, at the crash site. She walked briskly toward the front counter. Ruby was just finishing up with her customer as Casey scooted past.
“Can I help you?” Ruby called after her, but Casey swung out through the front door, headed for the truck. She was thankful Tara wasn’t the kind of worker to inquire if she’d found everything she needed—in fact, she’d probably forgotten her already.
“Hello?” The guy from the greenhouse was calling her. Apparently he hadn’t recognized her, but was the kind of employee who hated seeing a customer leave without buying something.
Casey smiled and waved, trying to fend him off, but his call had alerted Dixon, and as Casey jumped into the pickup, she could see Dixon stiffen, like a dog on alert.
“Hey!” Dixon screamed. He sprinted across the lot, knocking plants aside and jumping over bushes. He was pulling something from his pants as he ran, and Casey ducked, waiting for the sound of bullets slamming into the truck. None came.
“He’s on the phone!” Death said. “Get out of here!”
Casey slammed her foot on the accelerator and swerved around a little hybrid just backing out of a spot, blaring her horn as she went.
Death knelt backward on the seat. “He’s still coming! And now the other guy, too!”
Casey swung out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a minivan, and yanked the truck into the left turn lane, where she screeched across an intersection in front of several cars.
“Yee-ha!” Death whooped.
Casey floored it, the truck screaming around two more corners, and headed away from the highway.
Death turned back around. “Where are you going?”
“They’ll look for us on the highway. We’ve got to find another way.” She reached across the seat and opened the glove compartment, dumping its contents.
“What are you doing? Watch out!”
Casey looked up in time to swerve around a slow-moving Volkswagen before resuming her hunt. “A map! I need a map!”
“There’s something in the door pocket over here.”
Casey unhooked her seat belt to give her the few extra inches she needed to pluck the folded paper from its slot. Keeping one eye on the road as it flew by, she shook the map open. “Look for another route. We need to get this truck back to Tom before they catch us and know he’s involved.”
Death scanned the roads. “There. If we can find Route 96 we can maneuver around back toward Southwest. But where is that?”
“Okay, we’re going north. What’s that road there?” She pointed to a road sign.
“Jackson.”
“Is it on the map?”
“Too small.”
They passed several more roads until they came to one large enough to be listed. “Okay,” Death said. “Turn right here. Right! Here!”
Casey spun the wheel, knowing she needed to get her driving under control. She slowed. “Okay. How far on this?”
Death directed her until they found the road that would lead them back the way they needed to go. Not directly to Southwest, but at least in the vicinity.
Casey took several deep breaths and tried to slow her thumping heart. “So Dixon and one of the others are known to people at the nursery. They could be regular employees.”
“And Dixon seems just a little too close to one of the kids.”
“Tara.”
“No.” Death looked at her pointedly. “One of your kids. The teenagers.”
“Right.” The reminder settled on her like a weight. One of that close-knit bunch had turned her in. She was going to see them soon, and have to determine which one it was.
“But he does seem a little too familiar with Tara,” Death said, shuddering. “He’s her father’s age, for heaven’s sake.”
Casey agreed. “Any sign of him?”
“Nope. I’m pretty sure you lost him. In a very adept piece of driving, I might add.”
“It’s called desperation.” Her hands were shaking now, and she clenched the steering wheel. “We’re lucky I didn’t crash.”
“Are we? I thought you would be happy for that. You could’ve run right into a telephone pole, taken yourself out for good.”
Casey swallowed, her throat tight. “I could’ve.”
“But you have something to finish here.”
She looked out the side window.
“Why?” Death asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you care so much about this? Why don’t you just walk away? It’s not like Yonkers stealing a few loads of this or that is going to change your life. It really doesn’t seem like big time crime. It’s not white slaves, or weapons, or even black market body parts. Now that would be interesting.”
Casey was quiet for awhile. “Evan entrusted this to me. I feel responsible.”
“There’s got to be more than that.”
There was. “Even if it’s not drugs or something it’s still destroying people’s lives. Evan’s. His family’s. All those truckers’.”
“But it’s their own fault they’re in this mess, isn’t it? Having affairs, avoiding child support payments, not heeding medical problems.”
“I know. But people are getting killed. And more will.”
“And you might get yourself killed in the process. Bonus.”
Casey didn’t say anything after that, and Death pulled out the harmonica. Somehow “Amazing Grace” fit the mood.