Grim Reaper's Dance, The

by Judy Clemens

  “We do. When would you like to come in?”

  “Actually, I’m sitting in your parking lot right now.”

  “Ah, yes, Tom said you aren’t real big on people.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly—”

  “On seeing people. Should I say it that way? Anyway, I’ll be out in a minute. Hang on, sweetie.” She hung up.

  The phone rang again and another text flashed onto the screen. Casey was ready to dismiss it as Bailey again, but saw it was Sheryl.

  can u plz txt B? shes drvng me crzy

  Casey sighed. For heaven’s sake. She brought up Bailey’s number and wrote:

  I am fine.

  She put the phone back in the door pocket and had to wait less than a minute before a short, stocky woman exited the building. Casey got out of the truck and waved. Nadine waved back, gesturing for Casey to join her on the sidewalk. “Now listen, honey,” she said when Casey approached. “The only one inside the office is my receptionist, and she’s more near-sighted than my granny, so you don’t have to worry about her. Anybody else comes along you can duck behind a corner, all right? Come on, then.”

  Not having much of a choice in the matter, Casey followed her into the building. The receptionist’s glasses were remarkably thick, but still Casey averted her face. They didn’t see anyone else, and Nadine shut a thick office door behind them.

  “Matt—my husband—might come in at some point, but you can trust him. Have a seat.”

  Casey sat in an old office chair, and Nadine scooted another one beside it and up to a computer monitor. “Now, Tom says you need to look up some people. Want to tell me any more about it, and why I should help you, other than the fact that I like Tom?”

  How much should she tell her? “You know outside Blue Lake last Sunday? A trucker died?”

  Nadine’s face fell. “Evan Tague? Oh, that was so awful. How they could be so careless with that construction equipment –”

  “It wasn’t an accident. Someone put those machines in the road to stop Evan. But since the road was wet, and he didn’t have enough time…” Casey shuddered. “He did his best.”

  Nadine eyed her. “And you know this how?”

  “I was in the truck with him when it happened.”

  Nadine blinked, and looked Casey up and down. “And you’re okay?”

  “I know. It’s crazy. But Evan got…I’m fine.”

  Nadine looked at the computer, and Casey could see she was trying to get her emotions under control. Nadine cleared her throat. “Evan drove for us different times. He was a good man. Matt was out at the crash site. He said even from where he was—” She swallowed. “Even where he was it looked like a bomb had gone off. He could see…could see blood on the windows.” She fiddled with the computer’s mouse. “You think some other truckers had something to do with…the accident?”

  “A company called Class A Trucking.”

  “Class A? Never heard of them.” She keyed something into the computer. “Hmm. There. Tells all about them. Founded eighteen months ago by two men. Owen Dixon and Randy Westing.”

  “No one else?”

  Nadine glanced at her. “You’re expecting a different name?”

  Casey thought back to Bruce, relieved when she mentioned Randy as being her boss. “Yes, but I don’t know who it is.”

  Nadine searched the screen some more, but ended up shaking her head. “Nobody else here that I can see.”

  “What about their business? Any problems?”

  “Nope. Squeaky clean.” She frowned. “Almost too squeaky clean. You mean to tell me nobody’s made a mistake on paperwork or gotten a speeding ticket?” She wasn’t convinced.

  “How far back does it go? Their whole history?”

  “No. Only a couple of weeks, so this actually isn’t all that helpful. Now, you wanted to look at truckers, right? Tom could’ve helped you a little—there are Internet-based trucker databases, like truckersearch.com, that he could access, but to get the comprehensive list you have to have special circumstances. Matt’s a part-time sheriff’s deputy, so that’s why we have it. I can check pretty much anything you want.”

  A cop? Davey hadn’t bothered to tell her that. Another cold sweat broke out along her scalp. She was going to have to take a shower every half hour the way things were going.

  “You okay?” Nadine’s face creased with concern.

  “Yeah. I mean…” She cleared her throat and tried to erase any guilt affecting her features. “That’s legal? For you to check on the drivers?”

  “Sure.”

  Casey had her doubts. “Okay, so how do we do this?”

  “Give me a name.”

  “Pat Parnell.” Might as well start with him.

  Nadine punched it in, and Parnell’s photo came onto the screen, with more information than Casey thought anybody should be able to get about a person. Yet another reason for her to stay as far out of the system as possible—anybody who knew her real name would know everything.

  Parnell’s likeness was from better times. He looked healthy, well-fed, and, if not supremely confident, at least comfortable with himself. The rest of the information was hard to read.

  “So, what does it say about him?”

  Nadine opened a new window and pulled up another database. “This is our own driver history. I thought his name sounded familiar. See, we used him a few years ago, even once early last year, but he’s been out of our system completely since then.” She flicked back to the official data. “Can’t find him anywhere. He might not be driving anymore. You think he had something to do with Evan’s death?”

  “Not directly. He probably didn’t even know about it. How about Hank Nance?”

  Nadine brought him up. “Same as Pat. Used to drive for us sometimes, now never. No traffic violations. Oh, here. Wanted for failure to pay child support.”

  “That’s on there? Why?”

  “Because he can’t drive across state lines. He does, he’s nabbed at weigh-in. Hasn’t driven for anybody for almost two years.”

  “How about John Simones?”

  Saying his name under her breath, Nadine put him into the computer. “He’s still driving periodically. Nothing regular. But I don’t see any outstanding warrants or indicators.”

  “Mick or Wendy Halveston?”

  Nadine made a face. “Don’t have to put them in. They won’t be current in the database, because Mick can’t drive. Everybody knows what happened two years ago. He can never drive again.”

  “Because he had an accident?”

  “Because he had a physical problem that caused the accident. Seems he has some kind of heart condition. Whenever he sneezed or coughed, or even laughed, he’d pass out. That’s what happened that day. He was talking on his phone, guy told him a joke, he laughed.”

  Casey closed her eyes. That entire family had died because Mick Halveston laughed at a joke. No. They died because he was driving when he should not have been. And talking on the phone while he should’ve been driving. “Mick was fine? And his wife?”

  “Brand new cab. Airbags, the whole bit. They were both in the hospital for a while, but nothing permanent.”

  Like dying.

  “Does Wendy drive?”

  “Nope. Just liked to travel with Mick when she could. Guess they’ve had to find something else to do now. Maybe they’ve started a new brokerage.” She grinned. “Who else?”

  Casey was trying to put it together. Mick Halveston could never drive again. But she had pictures of him with his truck, and talking to Westing and Dixon. So if he was driving, it had to be under one of the names from the manifests.

  “Casey?”

  “Oh, sorry. One more. Sandy Greene.”

  Nadine put in the name, but came up blank. “You sure that name’s right?”

  Casey dug in her bag and pulled out her papers, paging through them. “Here it is. Sandy Greene. Driver for Class A Trucking.”

  Nadine re-typed the name, but again came up with nothing.
She flipped to her own database, but he wasn’t there, either. “Can’t help you with that, hon. That’s it?”

  “How about on the manifests. Can you try these names?” She handed Nadine the stack, and Nadine typed in the first name. Bradley Hess. Lots of information—no picture.

  “Looks like Hess has been driving exclusively for Class A Trucking,” Nadine said. “Can’t see any reason we wouldn’t have used him. No traffic violations. No citations.” She shrugged. “Model driver. Let’s check out the others.”

  It was the same story with the rest of them. Each one showed records going back only two years, just about the time the other list of truckers had disappeared from the system, and each one had only a black and white box saying “no photo available.” So Casey was right. Either Evan had stumbled onto a huge and unlikely coincidence, and these were all brand new drivers, or the other drivers had new names, and Evan had discovered them.

  Casey looked down at her papers. What about Dixon and Westing? And the other thugs she had names for? She and Nadine went through them one by one, but none of them showed up in the system, except for Westing and Dixon, as owners of Class A Trucking.

  “Can I get addresses and phone numbers for any of the truckers?”

  “Sure.” Nadine went back to each man and printed out his information. “You need me to contact any of them for you? Hmm. This is strange. All of these drivers—” she waved at the manifests—“they all have P.O. Boxes. No home addresses. Anyway, want me to call ’em?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll do it.” Casey evened out the papers on the desk.

  “So, what do you think?”

  Casey sat back. “I don’t know yet. It’s all so…nothing’s clear.” Except that they were driving under fake names. But why? With the disappearing Class A logos and the fake IDs there was obviously something going on—but nothing she could put her finger on.

  “So, is there anything I can tell Matt about Evan’s death?”

  “Not at this point. Not yet.” Casey hesitated, then said, “Nadine…”

  “What, sweetheart?”

  “It’s probably best if you don’t tell anybody I was here. Or that you helped me look these guys up.”

  Nadine cocked her head. “And why is that?”

  “You saw what happened to Evan.”

  “And you think it could happen to me, too?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t want you to take the chance.”

  Nadine looked at the computer for a few moments, then clicked out of the screen and deleted the site from her browser history. “You were never here.”

  “Thank you.” Casey tried not to look too relieved. Besides wanting to protect Nadine, she also wanted to protect her own identity.

  “But if you need anything more,” Nadine said, “you have my number.”

  Casey stood. “Your receptionist still out there?”

  “And still blind as a bat. But I’ll check for others.” She opened the door and peered into the lobby. “All clear. Can’t promise about the parking lot, though.”

  Casey pulled the seed cap from her bag, where she’d stashed it for just such an occasion. “Thanks, Nadine. You’ve been great.”

  Nadine took a deep breath through her nose. “If someone’s out there endangering truckers, I want them stopped. And if you can stop them…I’m all for that.”

  Casey averted her head from the sight-impaired receptionist, and ducked out to the parking lot.

  Chapter Twenty

  Casey was surprised to find the truck unoccupied when she got in, and wondered what kind of trouble Death was off causing. She looked at the empty seat across from her and wondered if she would be able to drive without the distraction of a passenger—even if that passenger was the Grim Reaper.

  The dashboard clock said it was four-thirty, and Casey was determined to return Wendell’s truck on time. She started the pick-up and pulled out of the parking lot, narrowly missing a car pulling in. The man at the wheel looked at her with surprise, pulling sharply to the right. Casey waved an apology and turned onto the street. Great way to not get noticed.

  “Make a legal U-turn,” Laura Ingalls Wilder said from the door pocket.

  Casey didn’t need to go back to Deerfield Trucking, and she didn’t need Laura harping at her for this trip, as she knew where she was going, so she shut off the application. From what she could see, Bailey had left her several more texts. Casey sighed. Having a teenager after you was worse than a pet dog. She firmly pressed the Off button and felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

  It was almost five by the time Casey parked the truck at Blue Lake Gas and Go. Mr. Bored stood in the front door, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he talked to a customer, whose back was to Casey. Mr. Bored tilted back into the shop, hollering, and Wendell came outside, wiping his hands on a rag. “How’d she do for you?”

  “Perfect. It’s been a long time since I’ve been behind a steering wheel. I was more worried about how I’d do for your truck. But no scratches.” She smiled weakly, remembering the near miss in Deerfield’s parking lot.

  The customer talking at the office door turned to go, and Casey averted her face until she heard the car drive away.

  “I’m sorry about him,” Wendell said, meaning his boss. “He saw my truck was gone, and wondered what was happening.”

  “He’d seen me before. It’s not a biggie.” But the more people knew about her, the more nervous she became.

  “So,” Wendell said. “You get yourself something to eat?”

  “I did. Thanks.” She pulled out the change.

  “No, no, you keep it. Get something later, when your lunch wears off.”

  “But—”

  “Unless you want to come home with me for supper.”

  Casey groaned. A home-cooked meal. It was almost tempting enough… She stuffed the money back in her pocket. “Thanks, Wendell, I’d love to, but I’d better not.”

  “Figured that’s what you’d say, but I thought I’d ask. You know my wife would be happy to feed you.”

  “I know. I appreciate it. And under normal circumstances…”

  “But these are hardly normal. I understand. You need a ride somewhere? I’ll be done here in a half hour.”

  Casey thought about where she should go next. Her meeting with Randy wasn’t for seven hours, but she would be arriving a lot earlier. Until then? She needed to find a quiet place where she could make some calls to the truckers.

  And maybe take a nap.

  “I’m fine,” she told Wendell. “Thanks again for the wheels.”

  “Anytime. Need the truck tomorrow?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “If you do, come on by. You can have it.”

  “Thanks, Wendell. I really appreciate it.”

  “I know. Have a good night.”

  Casey walked down the sidewalk to the first corner, and when she turned to look back, Wendell was watching her. She waved and disappeared down a side street.

  The walk out to the shed felt familiar now, and very soon she saw the weathered wood. She began walking more briskly, but then halted. A harvester was kicking up dust in the field, shooting chaff out the rear as it gathered soybeans. So much for that location. At least for now.

  Looking around, Casey turned back toward town, then ducked off to the south and found a still-standing cornfield. There were no tractors in sight, so she clambered through the rows until she could no longer see the road. It was a bit claustrophobic, but she only had to make room for one, as Death was still in absentia.

  Not that she was complaining.

  Casey got herself settled with her back against three stalks which grew together and pulled out the information she’d gotten from Nadine. Where should she begin?

  At random, she picked Hank Nance, the driver who was wanted for failure to pay child support.

  “Yo,” he said, answering her call.

  “Mr. Nance? My name is Casey Jones. I was wondering if I could talk to you about—�
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  The line hummed in her ear. She dialed again, wondering if Randy or Owen had warned him off, or if he thought she was someone who had hunted him down for the money he owed. This time he didn’t answer, and she went straight through to voice mail. She left a brief message saying she wanted to talk with him about Class A Trucking, and that if he didn’t call her back, she’d be in touch.

  She tried Sandy Greene next.

  “Listen, lady,” he said. “I’m not going to talk to you, and you better not call me again, or you’ll be sorry.”

  Lovely.

  John Simones had a different attitude, but the message was the same. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know what to tell you. I can’t…please, don’t call me anymore.” And he hung up, too.

  Casey sat back, letting her head fall against the corn, feeling the prickly stalk against her scalp. These people were scared. Scared to talk to her—to even answer their phones.

  She only had one more number to call. Mick and Wendy Halveston. The couple in the photos. The driver who had killed an entire family when he’d overturned his truck. Casey hoped she’d be able to keep her feelings in check when she talked with them. She dialed. The phone rang until clicking into voice mail, and Casey sighed. Should she leave a message? No. It would just give them a chance to be warned of her call.

  She let her hand fall against her shin, her arms wrapped around her knees. She’d pretty much just blown that whole angle.

  The Bugs Bunny theme filled the air. The number displayed on the phone was the same one she’d just called.

  “Hello?”

  Silence.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” Casey wondered if the call had been dropped.

  “Um, hello?” A woman’s voice, quiet and shaking. “This is…this is Wendy Halveston. Someone from this number just called?”

  “Yes. Hi. My name is Casey Jones. I was wondering if I might talk to you about Class A Tr—”

  “Not here,” Wendy said.

  “Okay, then where—”

  “Tomorrow morning. The public library, in the reference section. Nine o’clock. I’ll be waiting.” She was gone.