Embrace the Grim Reaper (26 page)

Yvonne’s phone rang, and Eric jumped, squinting at its glowing window. “It’s Jimmy.”

Yvonne bit her lip, then reached for the phone. “Hi, honey. Yes. I’m okay. They’re asleep.” She listened for a bit as she breathed with her mouth open, her eyes on Eric’s face. “It’s just…they’re here, Jimmy. Right now.”

Casey grabbed Eric’s sleeve and yanked him toward the door. He stopped, looking at Yvonne, his face filled with betrayal.

Casey jerked him toward her. “Come on, Eric!”

With a last look back, Eric ran after Casey into the back yard. She could hear the dogs, barking and whining at the door, their toenails scraping the metal.

“I’m sorry!” Yvonne called as they ran away. “Eric! I’m sorry!”

Gritting her teeth, Casey ran even harder, praying Yvonne’s door was strong enough to keep those dogs in the house.

Chapter Forty-four

Casey careened down the alley, sprinting through yards and across dark intersections. Eric kept up as well as he could, but his breathing was growing heavy and labored. Casey jumped over a fallen stick, but Eric nailed it, stumbling and skidding along the gravel alley on his hands and knees. Casey ran back and reached to pull him up. He staggered to his feet, spreading his hands to show several imbedded stones.

Casey grabbed his wrist. “Later. We need a place to go, Eric. Not your house. Where?”

He swallowed and scratched his forehead feverishly, as if it would help him think. “Ellen’s? No. Mom’s…Home Sweet Home…” He brought his head up. “The theater!”

Casey didn’t like it. Didn’t like it, but didn’t know where else to go, other than the parking lot of The Burger Palace, where they could hop on a semi and hightail it out of town.

But the cops had probably already thought of that.

She nodded. “Okay. We can take stock and patch ourselves up there.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“About as far away as we can be.”

Of course. “Take us there.”

Eric led her back toward the center of town, sticking to dark side streets and yards. Sirens were audible, and two cop cars hurtled past a street over, but Casey and Eric hunkered down in the shadows until they could no longer see the flashing lights. Soon the theater came into view.

Casey grabbed Eric’s shirt to keep him in the dark as she scanned the area. No cars in the back, and no lights visible from the few windows. She gestured for him to wait, then snuck toward the front of the theater, staying in the neighboring yard. No cars in the front.

She returned to Eric. “You have a key?”

“Same key ring as HomeMaker. Right here.” He patted his pocket.

“Get it out and ready. Is there an alarm system?”

He gave a quiet snort. “Hardly. We’re lucky the lock even holds.”

“Let’s go.”

They skirted the parking area and approached the door from the side, sliding along the building. Eric unlocked the door with one twist of the key, and they were inside, closing and locking the door behind them. Casey put a finger to her lips, and they stood listening for several minutes. When all that greeted them was silence, they stepped further into the dark hallway.

“No lights,” Casey whispered, gesturing to the windows in the outside wall. They found their way to the stage door, and entered. The blue work light spread its eerie glow across the stage and through the curtain legs toward the back, where they’d entered.

Casey stepped forward and stumbled over a cable. Eric grabbed her arm and she gasped, reaching up to hold her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Eric said.

She swallowed. “Where’s that first aid kit Becca used?”

“Back here.” He led her slowly toward the backstage bathroom, where the kit hung on the wall. He took it down and opened it on the toilet tank.

“Painkiller,” Casey said.

Eric popped open a bottle of ibuprofen and offered her a couple. She washed them down with rusty water from the sink.

She grabbed one of Eric’s wrists and turned it over to look at his hands. “You need to get those stones out.”

“Not until we work on your shoulder.”

She sagged onto the toilet seat, feeling suddenly weak.

Eric pulled his dark turtleneck over his head and tossed it aside, a sheen of sweat already forming on his forehead in the tiny, airless bathroom. He squatted in front of Casey, his back pressed against the sink, and helped her pull off her sweater. Once it was off he started unbuttoning her shirt.

“Eric!” She swatted his hand away.

He reached back up. “No time for modesty, Casey. I need to work on your arm.”

He was right, of course, and she closed her eyes, gritting her teeth when he slid her shirt off and peeled away the bloodied ace bandage. Without a word he wet a wad of paper towels and swabbed the mess, the towels coming away red. He kept at it until he’d cleaned it all.

“You need stitches,” he said.

“Yeah, like I need a hole in the head. You know what will happen if I go anywhere for that.”

He shook his head. “Then sit still.”

“You are not going to sew me up with costume thread.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He rummaged around in the kit and came up with a tube of antibiotic cream, which he spread liberally on the cut. The bandage box held several butterfly strips, which he used to close the wound, and he covered them with sterile gauze pads. There were no ace bandages this time, but he found several extra large Band-Aids, which he placed side by side over the gauze.

He sat back. “That’s the best I can do.”

“Thank you.” She shrugged the shirt back on and buttoned it up, her right hand working slowly, the injury to her forearm swelling her wrist, causing her fingers to stiffen. “Now you.”

With the tweezers in the kit she was able to pick out most of the stones from his palms—only a couple were too deeply embedded to reach. When she’d finished, he washed his hands with soap before Casey poured peroxide over the wounds.

He grimaced, but kept his hands under the stream of antiseptic. “What now?”

“Now?” Casey screwed the top back onto the bottle and tossed it into the box of supplies. Her head swam and she leaned forward onto the sink.

“You need to rest,” Eric said.

“I can’t rest. They’ll be coming here eventually.”

“The Nesting Place. Mom and Rosie will hide you.”

“No. I won’t do that to them.” Besides, the Pegasus folks had compromised their home.

“There’s got to be someone we can call…”

“But who, Eric? Who do you trust?”

He clasped his hands together and pushed their sides against his forehead. “I don’t know.”

“There’s no one, Eric. We have to keep moving.” She stood, but the movement sent her spinning, and she fell against the wall.

Eric grabbed her waist and held her upright. “Come on.”

She lurched out of the bathroom, his arm around her. “Where are we going?”

“You know those Equity cots the union requires theaters to put backstage for weary actors?”

“Well, sure, but—”

“This theater may not be Equity, but I insisted on the bed.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He guided her to another room, where he unlocked the door and pulled the string on a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. “Props, costumes, and a cot. What more could you want?”

She could think of a few things, but had to admit the mattress looked inviting. “Just for a few minutes,” she said. “We can’t stay long.”

He closed the door and pushed the lock on the knob. “You have to rest.”

She sat on the cot. Not a very comfortable one, but better than the floor. She studied the room—shelves of old props, a treasure chest at the foot of the bed, a rack of varied costumes. She lay down, struggling to find a comfortable way to lie. Nothing worked. And she was starting to shiver. “Eric, is there a blanket or anything?”

He grabbed an old army blanket from a shelf—probably from a production of South Pacific—and spread it over her. She continued to shiver. He stood looking down at her, then reached up to turn off the light. Without a word, he scooted onto the cot and under the blanket, wrapping his arms gently around her, her arms up between them, trying to conserve what body heat she had.

“Eric…”

“Shh. Just rest.” He placed his hand over her mouth, then slid her hat off of her head, pulled her hair out of its knot, and ran his hand over her scalp, rubbing from her temples to the back of her neck. Casey let her head drop back, her nerves tingling as he kneaded her sore muscles. She groaned, twisting her head into his hand, her body arching toward him as his hands brought her closer.

“Casey,” he said.

Casey’s breath caught in her throat. Oh. Oh, yes.

Casey pulled her hands out from where they were trapped between her body and Eric’s, and turned them around, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, desperate suddenly to feel his skin, to feel his heat against her. When the buttons wouldn’t cooperate, she yanked his shirt from his jeans, skimming her hand up along his stomach and chest. He rose up just enough she could pull the shirt over his head. The buttons caught at the ends of the sleeves and she jerked the shirt, ripping the buttons from the fabric and forcing the shirt over his wrists. His back was warm, and she flattened her hands against it, pulling him against her.

His hand slid up the back of her shirt, and she shivered, a moan coming from deep in her throat. Eric unclasped her bra one-handed and forced her shirt up, his hand closing over her breast. She reached down to his jeans, unbuttoning the fly and wrenching down the zipper.

He groaned and leaned in to kiss her, stopping at the first touch of her swollen lips, kissing instead her chin, her eyes, the hollow of her throat. Casey moved her hand down to her own fly, undoing the button and zipper, pushing her jeans down over her hips. Eric rose above her, reaching down to free himself from his clothes.

“Reuben,” Casey whispered.

Eric froze.

Oh, God. Oh, no. Casey let her head fall back and she gasped.

Eric rolled away and off of the cot, up onto his feet.

“Eric,” Casey said.

Eric picked up his shirt and left the room.

Chapter Forty-five

Casey was dressed in a black sweatshirt from the costume rack, her back against the wall, when he returned. “Eric, I’m sor—”

He shook his head. “Don’t say it. It was…” He wiped his hand over his face. “What are we going to do?”

“Nothing, Eric. I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t—”

“I don’t mean about…that.” He gestured at the bed. “I mean about everything else that’s happened tonight. What we found out about Karl. Breaking into HomeMaker. The cops. You killing that man.”

Casey winced at the icy tone of his voice. “You should do what…what you should’ve done from the beginning. Go home. Let me take the blame. I’ll make it out of town on my own. Leave you be.”

“Leave me to clean up the mess, you mean.”

She looked away.

He paced away from her, and then back, stopping halfway across the room. “Okay. We need to get you out of town. How do we do that?”

Casey thought about her backpack, hanging in the garage close to Eric’s house. Omar’s little hat. Her wedding ring… “I’ll just go. I’m used to running. I’ll be all right. But you? What are you going to tell the cops?”

He shook his head. “That I tried to keep you here, but you wouldn’t stay.” He looked at her from under half-closed eyelids.

“What about Ellen?”

“What about her?”

“You want to know who killed her, don’t you?”

He blinked. “It wasn’t someone from HomeMaker.”

“Probably not.”

“Then who would it be? No one would’ve killed her over anything else. Everyone loved her. Her family, her co-workers, the theater people…”

“You.”

He turned away. “A lot of good that does. She’s dead, and here I am a week later…” He glanced at the bed, his face red.

“Eric, I miss my husband, too—”

“Obviously.”

She stopped. Took a deep breath. “What almost happened…it doesn’t make that pain any less. It doesn’t mean we love them any less.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Casey wrapped her arms around herself, trying to quell the shivers that had begun again. She felt her shoulder and was relieved to discover her injury had not reopened. “Eric, don’t you want to know what happened to her?”

He shuddered. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong. We were all wrong. Maybe it really was too much for her. She just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t believe it.”

He let out a short laugh. “And what do you know? You never even met her.”

“But I know you.”

“For what? Five whole days? And what does that matter, anyway?”

She stepped forward, close enough she could feel his tension. “Because I know you wouldn’t love someone who was shallow. Someone who would leave her kids when the going got rough.” She paused. “You wouldn’t do it. Just like you haven’t left me.”

He looked away, at the shelves of props, before dropping his head toward his chest. “She wouldn’t have,” he whispered. “She wouldn’t have done it.”

Casey stepped around him and looked at his face. “So who would’ve?”

A sound echoed through the theater and into their room, like the scrape of a door opening. Eric reached up and pulled the string on the light, plunging them into darkness.

Casey winced. If whoever it was hadn’t known they were there, they would now, seeing the light go off. And Casey couldn’t see as well to defend them.

Eric stepped forward, hand out as if to close the door, but Casey held him back, a finger on her lips. She pointed to the wall on the hinge side of the door, and he went to stand there, out of the line of vision, and out of her way. Casey quietly and slowly closed the door, pushed the lock, and stepped further back into the room, where she would be able to see the door if it opened, but the person might not see her in the shadow. She balanced herself on the balls of her feet, body at the ready.

They waited for several minutes, the only sound Eric’s ragged breathing. Casey questioned the wisdom of shutting them in the room. She should’ve scooted out, leaving Eric protected behind the door, herself on the outside. Her judgment, as well as her physical strength, had definitely been compromised by the events of the night.

The doorknob jiggled, and the sound of a key scraping the lock preceded the click of the lock popping. Casey scooted further back behind the shelf of props. The door swung open, hiding Eric from view. The silhouette of a woman stood in the doorway, before she stepped forward and pulled the overhead string. Light filled the room, casting jagged shadows between the shelves, clearly illuminating the cot, the blanket, and the distinct impression that the bed had been used.

Holly stepped forward, her hand reaching toward the blanket. She stopped and pulled back, scanning the room. Casey squinted, making the whites of her eyes smaller, should the light reflect off of them.

“Hello?” Holly’s voice was loud in the small room.

Casey prayed Eric would stay silent.

Receiving no response, Holly pulled the blanket off the bed and shook it, as if expecting something to fall out. When nothing did, she dumped it onto the floor and leaned over, smelling the cot. Eyes narrowing, she focused on a section toward the middle of the mattress.

Casey burned with shame and anger at her lack of self-control. She and Eric hadn’t completed their lovemaking, but it was certainly possible they’d left incriminating evidence of their encounter.

Holly stood, her face thoughtful. She turned toward the door, toward Eric’s hiding place.

“Holly.”

Holly spun around, a hand on her chest. “Holy… Casey?”

Casey stepped out of the shadow.

Holly studied Casey’s face, her swollen lip. “You know everyone’s after you. They’re saying you killed somebody.”

Casey didn’t respond.

“You really did, didn’t you?”

Casey swallowed. “Yes.”

Holly laughed quietly. “Poor Eric thought you were so good. So perfect for this town. For our play.”

“It was self-defense.”

“Yeah,” Holly said, obviously not convinced. “Yeah, I’m sure it was.”

Casey took another step forward. “What are you doing here, Holly? It’s the middle of the night.”

She gave a tight smile. “I heard the sirens, and turned on the radio to see what was happening. It didn’t seem like there was any chance of you getting away, with all the cops out. I looked all over for you, and finally thought of looking here. I should have looked here first. I mean, where else would you go? You can’t stay at Eric’s. Even though it seems like you might want to.” She tipped her head toward the bed. “Eric, why don’t you come out from hiding? I know you’re here.”

When he didn’t respond she pivoted and grabbed the door, revealing him. “Hello, stepson.”

“Holly,” Casey said. “What do you want?”

Holly smiled, still looking at Eric. “What do I want? What do you think I want? I want life to go back to how it was last year. How it was supposed to be when I married the most important man in town.”

Eric’s face had turned greenish, and Casey hoped he wasn’t about to be sick.

She cleared her throat. “Holly, Karl is—”

“—an ass. I know. But he’s a rich ass. At least for now. If you two will keep what you’ve learned to yourselves.”

“What we’ve—”

“I know all about the boy.”

Casey gritted her teeth. Of course. Of all people, Karl would certainly tell his wife.

“It’s a mess,” Holly said. “The killer dryer, the parents. The contract. No one was going to know Karl’s part in it all. No one would have known if you hadn’t butted in.”

She reached into her purse and Casey leapt forward. Holly spun away, behind Eric, and pressed a tiny pearl-handled gun hard against his temple.

Casey froze, her hands up. “Holly, don’t.”

“Don’t? Don’t?” She laughed, a high, frightening screech. “Karl came home tonight. Said he found you in his office. Said you’d discovered the dead boy, and were going to reveal his part in it.”

“We don’t know his part.”

“Bullshit. You know it very well. He said you’d figured it out.”

Eric’s mouth had fallen open, and he breathed heavily through it. Casey met his eyes. Hang in there.

There was no way Casey could get to Holly in time to keep her from shooting. Eric didn’t have a chance if she pulled the trigger. His head would be gone.

“Holly,” Casey said. “We’re not going to tell anyone.”

Holly snorted.

“Look at me, Holly. Do I look like someone who can go to the police? What do you think they’d say to me if I tried telling them that story? They wouldn’t care. All they care about right now is nailing me for the dead guy. And all I care about is getting out of here. I don’t want to stick around this town. I don’t want any more to do with it.”

Holly clenched her jaw. “But what about him?” She shoved the gun against Eric’s head, forcing him to the right.

“Karl’s his dad. Why would he do something to hurt him?”

“Oh, come on. We all know what Eric thinks of his dad. He left town to get away from him.”

“Sure. But he also came back. He has an office at HomeMaker. Right next to his father’s.”

Holly’s mouth twitched.

“He’s not going to tell, Holly.”

Eric’s eyes stayed on Casey as she inched forward. Casey willed him to remain calm. To watch for a cue, should she have an opening to go after Holly.

“Don’t move.”

Casey froze as another figure filled the doorway.

Holly gasped. “Thomas?”

He took in the sight of her with Eric, and lifted his own gun, pointing it at Casey. “You killed Bone.”

Casey took a slow breath through her mouth. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He stared at her coldly. “You realize what this means?”

He didn’t mean that she was wanted for murder. “They’ll be coming after you, Thomas.”

“I’ve cost them too much now. Even if I pay them back it won’t matter. I might as well have you kill me, too.”

Two guns. Two crazy people. Casey didn’t like the odds.

“I was never in this town for you, Thomas,” she said. “It was never about that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. Karl doesn’t have the money to give me, anyway. There’s no way I can get them what they want.”

Holly’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Thomas gave a short laugh. “He didn’t tell you, did he, sweetheart? Karl’s broke. He’s got nothing. Not even spare change to get the mob off my back. Some trouble at the factory, and he was using personal money to bail himself out.”

Holly’s mouth closed, her lips almost disappearing as she clenched her jaw. Karl apparently hadn’t told her that part of the mess.

Thomas kept the gun on Casey. “Holly? What are you doing here?”

She shook her head. “It’s over. It’s really over. I did what I could. I thought…”

Casey swallowed. “You thought with Ellen gone your secret—Karl’s secret—would be safe. You’d go back to your old life and everything would be fine. Karl would move on to another job somewhere else, and you could play the role you’re best at.”

“A rich man’s wife,” Holly said. “It’s all I ever wanted to be.”

Eric’s eyes sparked, then went flat. His hands clenched into fists by his sides.

“How did she know?” Casey asked. “How did Ellen ever find out?”

Holly’s lips quivered, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought we were friends…”

“So you told her Karl’s secret. That he’d known there was a problem with the dryer latches, but he didn’t change them.”

“I was scared. Worried. I thought Ellen cared about me.”

Casey nodded. “But she cared more about the boy.”

“And the other people at HomeMaker. Thought they should have their jobs back.” Tears streamed down Holly’s cheeks now, and snot shone on the end of her nose. She began to shake, and her grip on the gun tightened. “She couldn’t see that the factory was finished. Karl didn’t need to be exposed. No matter what he’d done, it was over. If HomeMaker hadn’t agreed to shut down the boy’s family would’ve brought a lawsuit against the company, against Karl, and nothing would be able to repair the damage. At least this way the workers get a severance package. And they keep their reputations…” She rubbed her nose on Eric’s shoulder, keeping the gun in place.

Casey glanced at Thomas. He was staring at Holly, his face filled with disbelief. “You killed Ellen?”

She raised swollen eyes to him. “I had to, Thomas. I had to.”

With a primal cry Eric thrust his arms upward, knocking Holly’s hand away from his head. The gun went off, and plaster showered the room. Casey snapped her foot at Thomas’ hand, knocking his gun to the floor, where it skidded against the wall. He reached for it, and she leapt on him, kicking the gun out of range at the same time she wrenched his arm behind his back, pinning him face-down.

Eric had Holly against the wall, but hadn’t been able to dislodge the gun from her fingers. She was turning her wrist, pointing the gun at his head. Casey rolled off Thomas and snatched up his gun, training it on Holly.

“Holly, freeze!”

Holly’s knuckles were white as she gripped the gun, and she didn’t stop the slow arc toward Eric’s head. Casey jumped across the room and threw an uppercut at Holly’s arm, sending both guns and Eric flying. Eric regained his balance and dove back toward Holly, knocking her to the ground, squeezing his hands around her throat. She gasped for breath, her eyes popping.

“Eric, stop!” Casey wrapped her arms around his chest, locking her hands together, and pulled back. His grip loosened, and they fell backward, Eric landing on top of her. Holly turned onto her stomach, retching, and Eric ripped himself from Casey’s grasp, lurching toward Holly again. Casey grabbed the waistband of his jeans, holding him back.

“Everybody freeze.” Thomas was on his feet, breathing hard, Holly’s gun in his hand. “Don’t. Move.” With his free hand he pulled a phone out of his pocket.

Casey eased upward, onto her knees, and Thomas placed his gun a foot from Eric’s head, his eyes not leaving Casey’s face.

“Yes, hello,” he said into his phone. “The people you’re looking for? They’re at the theater. I have to go.” He closed the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. “Now let’s all just play nice until they get here.”