by Judy Clemens
Whistler motioned for Casey to move. “I got him. I promise. Plus, I have backup.” She indicated another cop who had arrived, huffing and puffing. His freckled, pale face, a bit haunting underneath scarecrow red hair, washed out in the bright light, but his eyes sparkled, intelligent and alert.
“So this is the woman I was telling you about.” Whistler jerked her thumb toward Casey. “The one who called when genius kid here did this last night.”
The new cop’s eyes lingered on Casey’s colorful cheek, which Casey had to assume glowed nicely in the bright lights. “Nice to meet you.”
Casey nodded. “I’d shake your hand, but…”
He smiled, suddenly looking as young as the kid under Casey’s knee. Casey grinned back.
Whistler nudged her partner and pointed at the wall. “Get a picture of that.”
When he was done documenting the crude painting, Whistler turned toward the crowd, hand over her eyes like a salute. She squinted toward the projector. “Turn that thing off, will you? Hey!” She waved and pointed to someone in the back. “Turn it off!”
The light blinked off. Casey was left in relative blindness. She knelt a little harder into Lance’s back so he wouldn’t get any ideas.
“Any time now,” Whistler said to Casey.
Oh. Right. Casey eased off Lance’s spine and stepped away so he wouldn’t try to kick her.
Casey’s eyes adjusted, and she could soon make out Lance and the cops. People milled around, using their phones to light up the wall. The beams cut across Lance, still lying on the ground holding his wrist. Whistler and the other officer took one arm each and dragged him to his feet.
“Come down to the station?” she said to Casey.
“Can I check on Vern and Dottie first?”
“Sure. You know where we’re located?”
Casey remembered seeing the city building on her way into town. “Brick building on the corner.”
“Right.” Whistler contemplated the defaced wall. “I wish we could nab the whole lot of these punks, but they’ve disappeared. It’s just Austin and me on duty, and we’ve got to take care of this little creep.”
Lance frowned. “Hey.”
“Shut up,” Austin said.
Whistler turned to Casey. “Think you can find somebody to clean this up? Nobody needs to keep it around. We have plenty of witnesses.” She gazed out at the people who hung around, watching the drama unfold. “A whole community of witnesses, in fact.” She raised her voice. “Go on home, everybody! Movie night’s over!”
Complaints of, “But it wasn’t finished!” and “It’s early!” pierced the air.
“You can thank Lance here for messing up your night.”
“Hey,” he said again.
This time Whistler told him to shut up, although she might have added something stronger, like, “Shut the hell up, you freaking idiot.”
She and Austin led the boy away, their expressions hard. Lance scowled over his shoulder at Casey, and she shook her head. Do not test me. The cops yanked him back around, and he was gone.
Casey relaxed her neck, swooping her chin to her chest. Who would paint over the words? She had yet to see anyone step up for this couple. She’d do it herself, using the paint left over from the night before.
A pair of black, old man shoes appeared on the ground under Casey’s gaze. She lifted her head.
“I found this in the back of the store.” Roger held up her can of white paint. “Should I cover up the words?”
Relief rushed through Casey, and she summoned up a smile. So at least one person had Vern and Dottie’s backs. “That would be great. Thank you, Roger.” When he stared blankly at her, she raised the volume and said it again.
He nodded and set the can on the grass in front of the graffiti.
“Does he need help?”
Casey looked down at a mop of bright white hair.
“You are awesome to ask, Nell. Thank you.”
Nell didn’t move.
“You okay?” Casey leaned over to see the girl’s face.
“I feel bad.”
“About what?”
“What he wrote. Because Mrs. Daily gives me the creeps.”
She was honest, at least. Casey understood how the girl felt. “Sometimes we do nice things for people even if they give us the creeps.”
“You do sometimes? Do nice things for creepy people?”
“Oh, yes.”
Nell’s lips thinned. She took a breath, then joined Roger at the wall.
Casey watched as Nell helped the old man open the can. “Your grandpa still here?”
Nell pointed toward the back, where the old guys had been. “But if he’s not, he lives close.”
“I’m going in the house for a minute. If you need somebody to walk you home, come knock.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Nell had lived there long before Casey showed up, so she most likely would be fine. But she also hadn’t had a night like this one. At least, Casey hoped she hadn’t.
Casey wove her way through the departing crowd. The tables were still set up, but Vern had put away the candy and chips during the movie, before Lance and his friends ruined everything. The popcorn-maker still sat on a rolling cart, so Casey pulled it into the store. By the time she got back out, someone had folded up the tables and carried them inside. They’d done this before, it seemed. Just not at this high level of drama.
Casey hesitated, her hand on the screen door. Nearly everyone had left, except for a few small groups talking, and some children squealing and chasing each other in circles. Casey wasn’t sure what to do. Should she wait until everyone was gone? Ask them to leave? She didn’t recognize anyone except Nell’s grandpa, and she only knew him because of the suspenders.
“I think you can go in. Tonight’s damage has been done.” Death stood beside her in a red-and-white striped Wiener Hut outfit, which would be right at home in a movie theater. The nametag read, Alfie. Casey had no idea who that was, but was sure Death could give her a whole lecture.
“You have no sense of pop culture.” Death read her mind, as usual. “Supernatural? The Winchester brothers? Angels?”
Casey shook her head.
“You’re hopeless.”
“No, I have bigger things to think about. Did you see what happened here?”
“I did. Nasty business.”
“Stupid business. Stupid kid.”
“He’s not alone.”
“Yeah, he has stupid friends, too.” Casey thought with fondness of a group of Kansas teens she’d met earlier that summer. For the most part they were kind and smart and nice. Did these Armstrong kids have those aspects, too, or were they somehow lacking?
“You checking on the Dailys?”
“Thought I should. Then I’ll head to the police station.”
“Want company?”
“I’ve been in police stations before.”
“But police stations are so interesting. And I could wear a uniform.”
Casey gave a big sigh and Death evaporated, this time smelling like buttered popcorn.
It was dark in the house, except for a light coming from the kitchen. Vern stared at the tabletop, his hands around a mug of what smelled like chamomile tea.
He glanced up.
“You okay? Dottie?”
He was quiet for a moment. “She didn’t see it.”
“Good.”
“She’s in bed. Rough day.”
The anonymous letter, then an aborted movie night. That was hard. Vern, already a mess, didn’t know it had also happened the night before.
“I’m headed to the police station. You need anything before I go?”
His head jerked up. “Why are you going there?”
“I stopped the kid. Caught him.”
> “But they know who did it. What will you have to add?”
“I don’t know. But I said I’d come.”
“You ready?” Death hovered by the front door, still in the Wiener Hut uniform.
Vern stared at the tabletop again, and Casey didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts. She opened the front door and stepped outside.
“It’s about time.”
Casey shot her arm back into the house and flipped on the porch light.
Lance Victor’s friends stood in an angry, ragged line, every one of them glaring up at her.
Chapter Seventeen
“Well, this is a fine pickle.” Death proved once more that modern lingo wasn’t the only language afforded immortals.
Coop stood at the center of the posse, fists clenched. Casey wished the kids had stuck around at the movie when the cops were there, so law enforcement could do the questioning.
“Who are you?” Coop barked, beating her to the whole questioning thing.
Casey sized up the group. She definitely did not want to engage. But she couldn’t go back inside. The cops were expecting her. And she didn’t want the kids banging on the door if she were to go through the house and out the back door. She stepped down the stairs and stood face-to-face with Coop. Three guys stood behind him, along with two girls hanging back and twisting their hair, eyeing each other. The boys were twitchy, the girls afraid, and Casey sniffed the air for the telltale scent of alcohol. She caught it.
“Whoo-eee.” Death waved a hand. “That’s more than beer, I’m afraid.”
“My name’s Casey.” She ignored Death’s theatrics. “What’s yours?”
“What do you care? And your name doesn’t answer anything. Why are you here?”
Casey held her hands at her sides, palms forward, making herself as nonthreatening as possible. She was not going to punch the kid in the face, no matter how much she wanted to. “I’m just traveling through.”
“Then why are you staying with them?” He jerked his chin toward the house.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
His jaw worked. “Are you related?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
Casey laughed. “Of course I’m sure. I never saw them before yesterday. Never saw anyone from this town. Never even knew of this town.”
“You don’t like our town?”
Casey held her hands up by her shoulders now, palms still out, as in surrender. “I like your town fine.”
“Then what do you have against Lance?”
“You mean besides him vandalizing the store twice in one day and writing horrible things about a very sick woman?”
“Sick? Yeah, she’s sick.” He gave a mean laugh, and the others followed suit.
“These kids have no respect for their elders,” Death said. “Of which you are one, I’m afraid. Show them who’s boss.”
Casey took another step forward. “I need to go.”
“No!” Death said.
Coop poked a finger toward her face. “You do. Away from this town.”
Casey pushed down a desire to snap at his finger with her teeth. “I need to go to the police station. They’re waiting for me.”
“Because you attacked Lance?”
“I didn’t attack Lance.” She sort of did, but he deserved it. And she wasn’t officially attacking. She was defending.
He looked sideways toward his buddies, who shifted, forming a tighter line.
Death drifted closer. “Watch it, sis.”
Coop’s lip curled. “I don’t think you’re going to make it to the police station.”
Casey tensed. This was not looking good. For them.
“Maybe you need to be chased away.” Coop leaned forward. “Or given a reason to leave.” He sneered at her black eye. “Looks like someone else wanted you to take off, too.”
“Yeah, but you should see the other guys.”
Coop blinked. “What?”
Casey liked the idea of both being chased away and given a reason to leave, but on her terms, in a more immediate manner. She was not going to beat up these kids—even if she really wanted to and had no doubt she could. So she did what she should have done when she first saw the drunk guys in Beltmore.
She ran.
A quick step to the right took her beyond the steps and around a bush. Before the guys could react she was past them, sprinting down the sidewalk. The streetlights gave enough illumination as she dodged between some parked cars to run down the middle of the street, where she could be sure not to trip over broken concrete, forgotten toys, or the last stragglers headed home from the half-seen movie.
Yells rose up behind her, and the sound of pounding feet. She smiled. This felt good. Her aching ribs didn’t even temper the joy.
The police station, being only a couple of blocks away, came into her sights within moments, and she let out a triumphant laugh. She would deliver the kids to the cops, after all.
Casey ran directly to the police station and yanked open the door. Officer Austin sat at a counter behind bulletproof glass, typing something into a computer.
“I’ve got a group of the kids coming,” Casey yelled.
Austin jumped up and buzzed the locked door open, joining Casey outside. Coop and one of the others ran up, puffing.
“Hey, guys,” Austin said, all friendly. “Come on in.”
“No, we’re not…we didn’t…” Austin circled behind them and held out his arms, herding them inside. Casey propped the door open, smiling sweetly. As soon as they were through and she ascertained none of the others were coming, she shut the door and allowed herself a few deep breaths.
“Now that was fun.” As expected, Death dressed as a cop, but not in a uniform. More like Columbo, with the trench coat and loosened tie.
Casey pressed her side. “It was fun at the time. Now, not so much.”
Death placed a hand over Casey’s and the chill seeped into her ribs. She groaned with relief. “Why didn’t we try this before?”
“Because you wanted to be all normal and everything.”
Casey closed her eyes. Death really was better than ice, which poked, stung, and ultimately melted. At least her face had stopped hurting, and was now simply holding a fiesta on her cheek.
Death moved away. “Time to go in.”
“Do I have to?”
“You’re the one who agreed to it.”
She entered the waiting area. Austin had disappeared behind the locked door with both boys.
Casey craned her neck, peering into the back hallway. “Shouldn’t their parents be here?”
“Could be Lance and his buddies are eighteen. And Lance’s parents have to be annoyed, seeing how they were here last night. Or early this morning.”
The door opened, and Whistler stuck her head out. “Ready?”
Death followed as they walked past a room with raised voices.
Death chuckled. “What did I tell you? I do believe I hear annoyed parents.”
“Lance’s folks?” Casey asked Whistler.
The officer snorted. “How’d you guess? They were none too happy to hear what he’s been up to this evening.” She shook her head. “Stupid kid. Here. Have a seat.” She led Casey into a small interview room with a desk and computer. Death floated along and hovered in the corner, taking in everything with manic glee.
“You good with computers?” Whistler asked.
“No. I mean, I can e-mail and Google and stuff, but that’s it.”
“Not a crack typist?”
Casey laughed. “Hardly.”
“No problem. You talk and I’ll type.”
It didn’t take long for Casey to make a statement which included both graffiti incidents. She gave her full name and home address, since her ID wouldn’t have matched otherwise. Whis
tler didn’t bat an eye, probably already figuring Brown wasn’t the real deal.
She eyed Casey over the computer. “I don’t suppose you want to say any more about why you’re here?”
“Nothing really to say. I’m traveling, didn’t know where I was going to go. Ended up here.”
“But how? I mean, this really isn’t someplace people, you know, end up.”
Except for Dottie. She kind of ended up there.
“I took the train up from Colorado, got off when it felt right, and started walking.”
“And when did that happen?” Her face, Whistler meant.
“Last night. No, two nights ago. Thursday. I stopped to sleep in a little town and some guys found me.”
Whistler waited.
“I should have run, but the window of opportunity vanished pretty quickly.”
“And they beat you up? No. Let me guess. They planned on assaulting you, but you took things into your own hands. They were drunk, you were not. You got the best of them and took off.”
Casey went still. “What do you know?”
Whistler leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingertips touching. “One of the Beltmore cops came by earlier asking if we’d seen you. Seems he has some questions.”
Casey stayed quiet.
“I didn’t give you up.” Whistler smiled. “And since Austin hadn’t actually seen you yet, he could truthfully say he hadn’t, either, since he’s a Boy Scout and would have a hard time lying to another cop. I, on the other hand, could lie to that particular craphole every day and never feel guilty.”
“You know him?”
“Oh, yes. All the cops around here do.”
“What will Austin do now he’s seen me?”
Whistler hit a key and the printer hummed. “Look, all us cops know what the other cops are like in surrounding towns. Most of them are good people. The force in Beltmore? Not so much. I called Wendy Justus, the only decent officer there, and asked what Craphole was going on about. She told me the story. Sounds like they’ve hired a new chief she’s got hopes for, but so far he’s reluctant to take sides without proper documentation of past bad behavior.”