Embrace the Grim Reaper grm-1

by Judy Clemens

  “Is there a Laundromat somewhere close I could use?” she asked, when she could get a word in.

  The two women looked at each other, brows furrowed.

  “There’s the one on Wilson,” Lillian said.

  “Or Second Street.” Rosemary tapped her chin with a finger. “If it’s still open.”

  “But really,” Lillian said, “the closest one would be—”

  “—in our back room.” Rosemary smiled, and Lillian crinkled her eyes at Casey.

  “Oh, but I couldn’t—”

  “Oh, but you could.” Lillian patted Casey’s arm. “We insist.”

  Rosemary stood and began clearing dishes. “And we also insist that you use our bicycle while you’re our guest. You’ll need it to get to play rehearsal.”

  “What?” Had she mentioned that?

  Lillian leaned toward her. “It’s a small town, remember?”

  Casey sighed. “Thanks. I’d love to use your bike.”

  Rosemary, at the sink, peered over her shoulder. “You’ll have to get the tires pumped up down at the gas station. No one’s ridden it for a while.”

  “Sure. Thanks. And thanks for lunch.” Casey got up and took her plate over to the sink. When she’d done that, she hesitated. “When’s the next time you go to a hapkido session, Rosemary?”

  Rosemary grinned. “Whenever I want. But probably not today.”

  Casey put her hands in her pockets. “Any chance I could tag along?”

  Rosemary’s smiled broadened. “Of course. Do you know something about it?”

  “Yeah. Something.”

  “I’d love to have you join me. How about tomorrow?”

  “That would be great. Thanks.” Casey turned to leave.

  “You’re taking Ellen’s place in the play.”

  Casey halted in the doorway and looked back. Both women faced her. She wasn’t sure which one had spoken. “I guess I am.”

  Lillian nodded. “That’s good.”

  “Is it?”

  Rosemary thrust a pan into the full sink. “This town needs something like Twelfth Night. Needs some laughter.”

  “But about Ellen. It’s terrible.”

  “Of course it is, darling.” Was Rosemary crying, or had she splashed herself?

  “We loved Ellen,” Lillian said. “The whole town did.”

  Eric did.

  “We just couldn’t believe it, when we heard.”

  Rosemary spun a metal spatula in a wide arc, sending bubbles to the floor. “We still don’t believe it. She wouldn’t leave those kids.”

  Casey bit her lip. “You don’t think she killed herself?”

  “Of course not!” The spatula was really moving now. “Just the thought that that sweet girl committed suicide is…is…”

  Lillian moved to the other woman and put an arm around her shoulders. “Shh, Rosemary. Quiet down, now.”

  Rosemary’s face went red, and her lips trembled. Carefully, she set the spatula in the water, wiped her hands on the towel beside the sink, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Casey shook her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Yes, there is,” Rosemary said. “There most certainly, certainly is.”

  Chapter Ten

  After lunch Casey walked upstairs to put her dirty laundry in the basket Lillian had loaned her. On her way out she stopped in the doorway to look back at the room. There was nothing to say she even existed. Her bag was stashed away, her bathroom supplies were in the medicine cabinet, and the bed was as smooth as if it had just been made.

  “I don’t understand why you don’t have any pictures.”

  Casey ground her teeth. “I wish you’d stop sneaking up on me like that.”

  Death leaned against the doorjamb, sucking on a lollipop.

  “And what’s with all the junk food lately?”

  “What? You afraid it’s going to kill me?”

  Casey bit back a reply and pushed through the doorway.

  Death stepped out of her way. “So why don’t you?”

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “Have any pictures?”

  Casey stopped at the top of the stairs. “I don’t need pictures. I have all the images I need.”

  “They can’t be very nice ones.”

  “They’re fine.”

  “If you say so.”

  Casey looked back. “What do you want me to do? Sit around all day and stare at photographs? Wish they were back here, with me?”

  Death pushed off of the doorjamb, meandering down the hallway, looking at the antiques spaced along the wall. “You already wish that.”

  “Of course I do. Having photos would just be worse.”

  “If you say so. Where are you going, Casey?”

  Casey looked at the laundry basket. “Where do you think?”

  Death peered into the pile of dirty clothes. “About time, too. I was beginning to think I’d have to keep my distance because of the smell.”

  Casey started down the stairs. “Why don’t you go bother someone else for a while?”

  “Aw. I’m beginning to think you don’t want me around.”

  “I would’ve gone with you willingly before. But you obviously have other plans in mind. Now you’re just annoying.”

  “Casey?” Lillian’s voice floated up the stairs. “Are you talking to me?”

  Casey looked up toward the second floor. Death gave a small, mocking bow, and walked back into Casey’s room.

  “No,” Casey called down. “Just talking to…the cat.”

  The fat cat stared at her from a bench on the stair’s landing, whiskers twitching, eyes wide.

  Lillian came into view. “Oh, that’s Solomon. He likes to get to know our guests. Don’t you Solly?” She ran a hand over the cat’s head, and he nipped at her hand. “What’s the matter with you, boy?”

  Casey indicated the laundry basket. “Thought I’d get this started, if that’s okay.”

  Lillian left the cat. “Of course. Right through here.”

  She led Casey through the living room—a huge flat-screen TV set incongruously on the far wall, amongst Victorian furniture—into a sunny room at the back of the house. Painted yellow and surrounded by large, uncovered windows, the room pulsed with life and light. A door led to the outside and stood open, letting in the cool afternoon air. Casey blinked at the brightness.

  “Everything you need is above the washer in this cupboard.” Lillian opened a little door to reveal various bottles and jugs. “Use whatever you like.”

  “Thank you.”

  Casey waited for Lillian to leave, but the older woman sat on a small chair in the corner. Casey set her basket on top of the dryer and began tossing her clothes into the washer, the silver HomeMaker symbol on the glossy white finish catching her eye.

  “I’m sorry about earlier,” Lillian said. “With Rosie.”

  Casey stopped, a shirt in her hand. “Like I said before. Nothing to be sorry about.” The shirt joined the rest of the clothes in the washer.

  “This past week has been very difficult for her. For the whole town, of course, but Rosie’s taken it very hard, and she tends to wear her heart on her sleeve.”

  “Were she and Ellen close?”

  Lillian didn’t respond, and Casey turned to see her staring out one of the windows, her hands clenched in her lap. Casey went back to sorting.

  “We offered to keep the children, you know,” Lillian said. “Ellen’s parents aren’t in the best of health, and we have plenty of room. But everyone thought it better if the kids weren’t…if they were with their own family.” Her voice was brittle.

  Casey finished up with the darks, measured out the detergent, and began the cycle. “Eric VanDiepenbos—do you know him?—was pretty close to her.”

  Lillian’s head jerked away from the window. “Oh. Oh, yes, poor boy. He’s had a hard time of it all. We had hopes… But with his family being what it is, there wasn’t much chance of anything happenin
g.”

  Casey opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but Rosemary bustled by the windows of the room and burst in the door with a handful of flowers. “For our table. Aren’t they lovely?”

  Lillian’s face lit up. “They are. Let’s go find a vase.”

  And Casey’s chance for questioning was gone. She followed the women into the kitchen, where Lillian was pulling a vase out of the china cupboard.

  “I’m going to take the bike downtown, if that’s okay.”

  Rosemary looked up from her flowers. “Of course, dear, you go right ahead. It’s in the shed out back. The door handle sticks a little, so you have to jiggle it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Casey actually had to jiggle the handle quite a bit to get the door open, but she eventually won the struggle. The bike, an old Schwinn three-speed, sat enmeshed in cobwebs and trinkets, and she had to work to rescue it from what looked like the detritus of many years. Perhaps from before these women had even owned the place.

  By the time she had the bike in the yard she was smeared with grease and dust, and spidery silk clung to her clothes. She left the bike in the shade and went back inside.

  “Oh, my,” Lillian said.

  “Yes. Would you have a rag I could use?”

  Rosemary laughed. “And a bucket for soapy water. You’ll find everything you need in the garage.”

  “Not the same shed?”

  “No. We actually use the garage. Just go in the side door.”

  Casey followed her directions and went into the garage. She flipped on the light. And stood staring at the shiny Pegasus Orion. One of those supposedly hybrid SUVs, huge on promise, not so big on follow-through. Twice as big as the company’s cars. Black, with brand new tires and not a speck of dirt, the SUV squatted there, like a predator. Casey pressed back against the door. In all of her dreams, she’d never have thought those women inside would have something like this…

  Standing in her spot, she tore her eyes from the vehicle and searched for the promised bucket. There it was, on a shelf, just down the wall. She scooted sideways for several feet, until she could reach out and snag the pail. Inside it were a jug of car wash, a sponge, and Turtle Wax. She didn’t think she’d be waxing the bike, so she took out the little container and tossed it back on the shelf.

  A few steps back along the wall she could feel the door behind her. Turning the knob, she spun out of the garage, and stood outside, breathing deeply. She let out a nervous sound, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. The idea of Rosemary, with her bright red robe and orange hair, at the wheel of the Orion was enough to give her something to think about for a while, something to take her mind off the idea of a Pegasus vehicle so close to hand.

  The bike cleaned up pretty well, and Casey was able to get the grease stains muted, if not completely off her pants, and the spider webs removed from her shirt. She rinsed out the bucket with the hose and set the sponge in the sun to dry before walking the bike down the lane and toward town. She hoped the tires would survive the trip, as flat and old as they were.

  They did, and she found a free air pump on the side of the filling station, a ten-minute walk from the B & B. The rest of the bike needed a little attention, however, and she spent a few dollars for a can of WD-40 to spray the chain, paying the middle-aged attendant who seemed to be manning the station on his own, and squeezed the brakes several times to loosen them up. She took a couple of minutes to ride slowly around the parking lot, and was soon convinced the bike was ready to roll.

  The town was quiet, as it was the evening before. The occasional car passed Casey as she pedaled around the streets, but she saw only two people outside, both walking briskly, with their heads down. No young parents occupied the playground—probably taking the opportunity for their children’s afternoon naps—and Casey met no other bikes.

  Casey rode past Home Sweet Home, even stopping to peer inside, but the interior was dark. There were still a couple of hours until Eric and his crew would be getting ready for their subdued dinner crowd.

  The church down the street stood just as silent as the day before, and Casey didn’t stop. Instead, she continued down the block of shops, where she found a bike stand. She parked the bike, considering briefly that she didn’t have a lock for it, and scanned the stores. Only a few of them seemed to actually be open for business. The bakery, of course. And the antique shop. And, on the corner, Wayne’s Pharmacy.

  She went in.

  A bell tinged when she opened the door, but no one came running. The check-out counter stood empty. She assumed someone was actually watching the place, but from the looks of it she was pretty much alone. Slowly she walked up and down the aisles of wrapping paper, Willow Tree angels, and summer toys on clearance. Eventually she found the personal items aisle, where she stocked up on sunscreen, toothpaste, and Band-Aids. The pharmacy section had the vitamins she used, and she grabbed a small bottle.

  By the time she made her way back up front to the check-out, the cashier was behind the counter.

  “Becca?”

  The woman she’d last seen at play rehearsal glanced up from wiping the glass countertop. She smiled, looking surprised, but pleasantly so. “Casey, right? So you didn’t leave town?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I’m glad. You’ll be at rehearsal tonight?” She looked down at the countertop, then back at Casey, obviously trying not to appear too eager.

  Casey sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

  Becca’s shoulders relaxed. “Great. I’ll be there, too.”

  “A smaller role?”

  “Bigger one, actually. Just a different kind. I’m going to be the stage manager.”

  “Oh, good. I was wondering about that. I didn’t see one last night.”

  “We had one. But she quit. She and Thomas didn’t get along.”

  Casey grunted. “Imagine that.”

  “He’s not all bad.” Becca grinned.

  “I guess there’s always hope.”

  The bell above the door dinged again, and Casey watched as a man in a suit hustled into the store. He nodded at Casey, but continued toward the back, where the actual drug part of the pharmacy stood behind a tall counter.

  Casey paid for her items, and Becca was bagging them when the man got in line behind her.

  “See you tonight, then?” Becca said.

  “Seven-o’clock.”

  Becca turned to the man. “Hello, Mr. Willems.”

  Casey hesitated, then took her time checking out a rack of cards at the front of the store. Could this be Karl Willems? The CEO of HomeMaker, who had laid off all of those people at Christmas, and planned to do the same to the rest of them? Casey peeked around the display to check him out.

  Handsome in a business kind of way. Gray hair, trimmed close. Tanned skin. Face beginning to show signs of age. Taller than Casey, by at least several inches.

  “Yes, good afternoon,” he said to Becca.

  Becca glanced outside. “Looks like a nice day out there. Is it warm?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Warm enough.”

  Becca rang up his purchase and slid it into a bag. “Will there be anything else today? One of those candy bars you like?”

  “Hmm?”

  “A Hershey bar with Almonds?”

  “Oh, yes, I do like those. How did you know?”

  Becca’s smile looked forced.

  “I don’t need one today, though,” Willems said. “Thank you.”

  He took his bag and left, again nodding to Casey as he passed her. Casey stepped out from behind the display.

  “He never remembers who I am,” Becca said, not looking at Casey. “You’d think after all the times he comes in here…”

  Casey shrugged. “Some people are like that.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it makes it even harder…” She broke off, and went back to rubbing her rag on the countertop.

  Casey tried to finish the sentence. “Harder to see him fire people, when he can’t even remember their names?”


  Becca kept up her scrubbing for a few moments before dropping her hand and looking at the floor. “Not only names. It’s the faces, too. He doesn’t even remember them.”

  Casey looked at Becca’s face. It was a pretty one. Not one she’d think men would forget so quickly.

  But then, some people had a hard time seeing past their own.

  Chapter Eleven

  Karl Willems was driving away in a black Cadillac STS when Casey got outside. She watched the car turn right at the stoplight, heading out toward The Burger Palace and The Sleep Inn. It was also the direction of HomeMaker. She remembered seeing the building as she and the trucker had driven into town.

  Casey strapped her pharmacy bag to the back of her bike with a bungee cord she’d brought from Rosemary and Lillian’s garage, and swung her leg over the seat. The factory wasn’t far; she’d walked much farther in the recent weeks, and she could use the exercise. Her laundry was probably ready to be switched back at The Nesting Place, but it could wait. She pushed off from the curb and headed out of town.

  Once she’d made the turn and gotten close to the hotel she began to see cars. People, too, lunch boxes dangling from their hands as they walked toward her. Their clothes were uniform, each light blue button-down sporting a HomeMaker patch on the left breast. Casey assumed their names were the cursive splotch below the company’s emblem.

  She eased to the side of the road and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket to check the time. Just after three. Change of shift. She returned the phone to her pocket and resumed riding toward the factory, scanning the faces of the people as they passed. No one she knew, of course.

  As she got closer the factory loomed large and white. Not depressing, actually, as she’d expected. The HomeMaker sign on the side of the building—blue and red—shone brightly. No letters with burned-out bulbs. No weeds growing up through cracks in the pavement. She circled the building, skirting the edge of the massive parking lot, avoiding the main flow of the exiting traffic. Well-maintained grass surrounded the building, mature trees lined the borders, and a manmade pond, complete with fountain, graced the open space toward the highway.