by Judy Clemens
“No. But Evan did. And he begged me to help.”
Death turned and continued walking toward town.
“Where are you going?”
“Where you’re headed. To find out who killed Evan, and to keep them from getting what they wanted.”
Death knew her too well.
Blue Lake Gas and Go was open this time, and three men in dark blue coveralls stood in one of the bays, laughing. They stopped abruptly when Casey walked in, their expressions ranging from boredom to curiosity to shock.
Death chuckled. “Well, aren’t they just the sweetest things?”
Casey took a step away from Death, who stood so close Casey could feel the dropping temperature. “They should know where the cops took the truck.”
“They should.”
“Um, can we help you?” the bored mechanic asked.
“I hope so. Where would a damaged semi be taken?”
He blinked, and took so long answering she thought she should repeat the question. Finally, he spoke. “I’d say Wainwrights’ Scrap Metal. Sound right to you guys?”
The curious mechanic nodded. “I guess. How bad was it?” He looked at Casey’s blood-splattered clothes.
“The truck wasn’t running anymore. Cab wasn’t even…wasn’t even in one piece.”
“Oh. That wreck out on the highway? Guy died?”
“That was the one.”
“Yeah, I’d say Wainwrights’, then. Metal recycling and junk yard. You think?” He looked at the shocked mechanic, who still stood with his mouth hanging open. He closed his mouth, swallowed, and nodded, only to return to his dope-like state.
“Okay.” Casey gestured toward the road. “How do I get there?”
The bored man scratched his chin. “Few miles from here. Town doesn’t have public transportation. At least not to speak of.”
“I’ll take her.” Mr. Curious. “That is, if you guys can spare me.”
Bored Guy rolled his eyes. “Take the rest of the day, if you want. Then I don’t have to pay you.”
“Hey, now. I’ll be back soon. Don’t want you trying to run this place on your own.”
The bored guy showed some emotion at that, snapping the other with a greasy rag.
“Okay, um, Wendell.” Casey could just read the name on the patch sewed onto the curious man’s coveralls. “You ready?”
Wendell dodged away from the rag and grabbed a ring of keys off the wall. “Come on. I’ll take you in my truck.”
Like Casey wanted to get in another truck. The pick-up he indicated might not have been a semi, but it was enough to cause her to shudder. She hesitated by the passenger door while Wendell got in his side.
“Second thoughts?” Death sat on the hood, twanging that awful rubber band. Casey hoped it would break, and snap Death’s fingers.
“Of course I have second thoughts.”
“You know, someday you’re going to have to get over it.”
Casey inhaled deeply through her nostrils, telling herself it would do no good, trying to beat up Death. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was in another fatal accident yesterday.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten. I just know how to compartmentalize my feelings.”
Casey gritted her teeth and climbed into the truck. Death stayed on the hood.
“So, you leave something in the semi?” Wendell turned the key, and the truck roared to life.
“Yes.”
“Figured you were in it when it got wrecked.” He turned out of the lot and made a point of looking at her clothes. “You must be the one who got away. News said you walked out of the ER.”
Casey jerked backward, her hand going to the door handle.
“Don’t worry,” Wendell said. “I figure you got your reasons for skipping out. I hate hospitals, myself. But are you sure you’re okay?”
Casey looked at the man, trying to figure out whether he was driving her to the junk yard, or making a bee-line to the police station. “I’m fine. This isn’t my blood.”
“The driver’s?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Poor guy. You know him?”
“Just a little.” She pulled Evan’s family photo from her pocket and held it out so Wendell could see. “That’s him and his ‘girls,’ as he called them.”
Wendell glanced at the picture. “They got a bad visit last night.”
Casey nodded, her throat tight, and studied the photo a bit more before sliding it back into her pocket. A rush of anger welled up in her chest and she glared at Death, who now lay sideways across the hood of the truck, whistling, as if ushering someone to the other side had no more meaning than assisting them across the street. If only Casey had been able to help Evan, or even been at his side when he died, instead of getting wrenched away by those men who had pulled her out of the cab.
Casey thought back to that moment. Who were those men at the crash site? They obviously weren’t cops, as they had disappeared as soon as the real law had arrived, and cops wouldn’t manhandle her the way that guy had when he’d frisked her. The men were looking for something. Something Evan had.
“You know,” Wendell said. “The police don’t know why those construction vehicles were on the road like that.”
“I’d assumed they weren’t supposed to be.”
“Yeah. They’ve been doing some work out on that stretch of highway, but the machines had been parked way to the side, since Sunday’s a day off. Somebody moved them. Don’t know why someone else hadn’t seen ’em or crashed into ’em before you folks. That may be a quiet road, but it’s not that quiet.”
So they’d been watching. They’d known where Evan was traveling and had picked a place to waylay him. From the first man’s attitude—Goddammit, Evan, don’t you dare die on me—they hadn’t wanted him to die. At least, not until they’d gotten their information, whatever it was. It just so happened it was raining, and a semi plus a slippery road didn’t make for good stopping.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Casey shuddered. “Yes, I’m all right.”
Death regarded Casey with amusement, obviously hearing just fine through the windshield.
“How far yet?” Casey was ready to be out of the truck.
“Just up here. See that pile of metal on the other side of the corn field?”
She couldn’t miss it. A stack of car parts, rusty barrels, broken railings, and appliances, reaching as high as a barn. Higher, maybe. Behind it sat more piles, and two crane-like machines, with magnetic pinchers. A metal fence surrounded the yard, enclosing the piles as well as two large pole barns and rows of junked vehicles.
Wendell pulled into the open gate, bypassed a truck scale, and pulled up next to a trailer with “Office” painted on the siding. “Here we are.”
Death had disappeared from the hood, and Casey slid out of the passenger side. A little dog came running from beneath the trailer, yipping and prancing around Casey’s feet. She looked down at it nervously, hoping it wouldn’t choose to make her ankles its breakfast.
“Davey!” Wendell hollered toward the trailer, then stepped up to the door, poking his head in. “Davey? Oh, there you are.” He backed off the cement step.
A man in yet another set of dark blue coveralls filled the doorway, a powdered donut in his hand. “Wendell! Awful early to see you today.”
“Yeah, well, I brought you a visitor.”
Davey turned his attention to Casey, not batting an eye at the state of her appearance. “You had breakfast? Got a dozen donuts here looking for a home.”
“No, thank you, I—”
The dog barked louder, jumping, its nose reaching Casey’s waist at the peak of its leap.
“Trixie!” Davey yelled. “Come on, girl! Leave the poor woman alone. She’s not doing anything to you.”
The dog dropped onto its rump, grinning happily at Casey, its tongue lolling out of its mouth.
“Got coffee, too,” Davey said. “To go with the donuts. It’s fresh. Come on up.” He wav
ed Casey and Wendell in, and disappeared into the trailer.
Wendell held out a hand for Casey to go first. She went up, relieved when Trixie stayed outside.
The trailer was neater than she’d expected. A few chairs, some desks, and a counter with one of those big red “Easy” buttons on it. She fought the urge to push it.
“Have a seat,” Davey said, pointing to one of the vinyl-covered chairs. He handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”
She shook her head. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, my pleasure.” He held out the box of donuts, but Casey declined.
“No, thank you. Really.”
“You a health nut or somethin’? Got bagels. Granola bars. Fruit.” He said the last like it was a bad word.
Casey perked up. “Bananas?”
Davey rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Should’a known you’d bring me a body Nazi, Wendell.”
Wendell laughed. “She’s here looking for that semi.”
Davey paused, the bowl of fruit in his hand. “That one from yesterday?”
“That’s the one.”
Davey studied Casey more closely. “Sure is a popular vehicle.”
Casey sat up. “Someone else has been looking for it?”
Davey held the bowl closer, and Casey yanked out a banana.
“Few people. Cops, of course. Wanted to see if it’d been messed with. Brakes, so forth.”
“Had they?”
“Not that I could tell. But then, that truck was in bad shape. No telling what could’ve happened to it that we can’t see anymore.”
Casey gestured at him with the banana. “And someone else came?”
“Middle of the night. Set Trixie to barking something fierce. I came right out to see what was going on.”
“You live here?”
He jerked his thumb toward the road. “Across the street. Close enough I hear when something’s going on. Anyhow, I come over and Trixie’s got three men cornered by the scrap picker. One of ’em looks like he might be going for a gun, so I grab a pipe and tuck it under my arm, like it might be a rifle.” He gave a little smile. “Lighting’s not so great out here at night, so I thought it could pass, easy.”
“And what did they do?”
“Peed their pants, probably.” He grinned wider. “But I wasn’t close enough I could tell. I asked them what they thought they were doing, breaking into my property. The one smiles real nice, tells me they just want a look at the semi before it gets hauled away in the morning.” He shook his head once, hard. “Like someone was gonna bother taking that thing out once it finally got in here. Not something you want to do twice.” He took another bite of donut, powder sprinkling his shirt. “So I told them they could see just fine from where they were standing, and that they’d better get their eyefill, because if I saw them again I was calling the police.”
“So did they leave?”
“After a bit. Seems they were finally convinced by Trixie’s teeth and my pipe.” He laughed. “They figured I could shoot them quicker than they could shoot me.”
“And they haven’t been back today?”
“Nope. And believe me, Trixie would know.”
Casey found a new appreciation for the little dog.
She paused, wanting to word her question the right way. “Any chance you would let me take a look at the truck? Please?”
Davey ran his tongue over his teeth.
“She’s been in it before,” Wendell said.
Davey didn’t take his gaze from her face.
“In the accident,” Wendell said. “She was there.”
Davey’s eyes didn’t waver. “You a friend of the driver’s?”
“As much as you can be in one day.”
“You hitchin’?
“Yes.”
He chewed on his lip, then rose from his chair. “Rachel!”
Casey jumped as a woman stuck her head out from a door at the end of the trailer. She was mostly hidden behind a massive file cabinet.
“Going out for a minute.”
The woman nodded and disappeared back behind the cabinet.
“Come on.” Davey led them out the door and across the yard, Trixie dancing around their feet, panting joyously. “That’s a good girl.” He tossed her the remainder of his donut.
They rounded the corner of the first pole barn and Casey stopped abruptly, bending over, trying to catch her breath. The sight of the semi was like getting kicked in the chest.
It took the men a moment to realize she wasn’t with them. Wendell came back. “You all right?”
She filled her cheeks with air and let it out slowly. “I will be in a minute.”
Trixie ran over and snuffled up in Casey’s face, her wet nose cold against Casey’s. Casey ruffled the fur on the dog’s head. “Okay.”
The truck lay broken and battered, slumping sideways, two of its front tires flat, its remaining windows creased with spiderweb cracks. Casey was relieved to see the refrigerated trailer still attached. She’d been afraid it had been hauled away separately.
“Is the load still in there?” Casey asked.
Davey shook his head. “Company came and took it all away. Meats and stuff. Probably have to trash it all, but I guess they wanted to salvage what they could. It was still pretty cold in there, even by the time they got the rig here.”
“Cab’s not looking any too safe,” Wendell said.
Casey smiled grimly. “I don’t need the cab.”
Davey and Wendell glanced at each other.
“Well, then,” Davey said. “What is it you need?”
“A crowbar.”
Davey smiled. “I think I just might have one of those.”
In fact, he had about a dozen, and Casey picked the most heavy duty. Wendell and Davey each chose one, too.
“What are we looking for?” Wendell stood at the back of the truck, holding his crowbar over his shoulder.
Casey eyed the trim, still remarkably intact. “I’m not sure. But Evan said whatever it is was in the back trim, in the insulation, and that I shouldn’t let them have it.” At least that’s what she’d inferred. She had been, admittedly, rather shaken up at the time.
“Well, then,” Davey said. “Let’s have at it. Unless you want to look around a bit first.”
A good idea. If whatever Evan was hiding was something he’d want access to, he’d have to make himself a way to get at it. But after twenty minutes of fruitless searching, they hadn’t found anything.
Davey stepped back. “Looks like we need the crowbars, after all.”
With the screeching and wrenching of metal, the three of them tore away at the trim. It was harder than Casey had expected, and sweat soon ran down her scalp and between her shoulder blades and breasts. She stepped back, wiping her eyes, and felt something squish beneath her foot. Great. The banana, which she’d completely forgotten about.
Wendell and Davey were each pulling on a section of trim, their muscles straining with the effort. Casey took a breath and pulled back a new section, sliding out the insulation.
And she saw it.
She hollered for the other two to stop, and they hopped down from the back bumper to gather around her. Carefully she peeled back several more inches of trim and eased the insulation out from around the corner of a manila envelope. Soon she could get the entire thing out, and the three of them stood looking at it.
“What do you think’s in it?” Wendell said.
“It feels like papers.”
“Open it up,” Davey said. “Let’s have a look.”
She eased her finger under the envelope’s flap and wiggled it across, not wanting to rip anything, since this envelope’s contents were, in all likelihood, what Evan had died for.
“Come on,” Wendell said. “Let’s see it.”
Casey lifted the flap, and looked inside.
Chapter Four
“What is it?” Wendell leaned over to peer into the envelope.
“Lots of t
hings.” Casey was surprised how much Evan had stuffed in, and she tilted the envelope so the men could see just how many papers were there.
“Come on,” Davey said. “Let’s go back to the office so you don’t lose anything. And you can get another banana.” He looked at the ground, where Casey’s fruit had met its fate.
Trixie accompanied them back to the office, and Casey reached down to pet her. “Good girl.”
Trixie turned in a circle, chasing her tail.
Inside the trailer office, Davey cleared one of the desks with a sweep of his arm and pulled up two extra chairs before grabbing the donuts and the few pieces of fruit and plunking them on the surface. Casey peeled the last banana and took a bite before emptying the envelope onto the desk. Papers, photos, and forms slid out into a messy pile.
“Wow,” Wendell said.
Davey picked up a photo. “This is them.”
“Them who?”
“The guys who were here last night. I mean, not all of them, but a couple.” He handed the photo to Casey. She wasn’t surprised when the picture’s subjects looked familiar. The whole group of them had been at the crash, she thought, but a few in particular stood out.
“That guy messed with me.” She pointed to the guy with dirty blond hair and green eyes, the one who had frisked her. “And that one.” The man who had climbed into the cab and shoved her out, all the while yelling at Evan not to die.
Casey swallowed down a bad taste in her mouth. Davey got up, filled a cup at the water cooler in the corner, and set it down in front of her. She drank it all, then ate the rest of the banana in two big bites.
“So,” she said as she chewed. “What’s the rest of this stuff?”
“More pictures,” Wendell said. “Looks like truckers, along with these guys again. Truck stops. Highway signs. All with dates written on the back. Like Evan was making a photo journal or something.”
He was right. The photos—mostly Polaroids, which was interesting, since Casey hadn’t been sure Polaroids still existed—could be organized chronologically, with locations and names. A lot of the people were repeated, but several faces appeared only once.
“These papers,” Davey said, holding them out at arm’s length and squinting. “Some of ’em are truck manifests. Where the truck had been, where it was going, mileage, load, fuel stops, all that stuff.”