Embrace the Grim Reaper (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Death was right. The hotel certainly wasn’t interesting. Gross, maybe, but not interesting. Casey lay in her own sleeping bag on top of the covers, far removed from the sheets, which apparently hadn’t been washed after someone with lots of dark curly hair had slept there. The cable TV wasn’t working, and the air conditioner made such an awful racket Casey wouldn’t have heard the Second Coming if it happened right outside in the parking lot. The temperature in the room really didn’t need lowering, either, so Casey turned off the malfunctioning equipment.

By the time dawn broke and light began seeping through the too-small curtains into the room, Casey had gotten only a few hours of sleep and had had enough of counting the little dots on the lowered ceiling. She got up, moved enough furniture around she could just manage her morning routine of calisthenics and hapkido techniques, took a quick shower in barely heated water, and headed out, hoping nothing too disgusting had crawled into her backpack while she’d slept.

The sky was brighter than the day before, and Casey doubted rain was in the forecast. It would be nice to be dry for at least a little while. She stopped at the desk to ask the sleepy, barely-out-of-high-school attendant where she might get some breakfast, and he directed her across the street to what she’d assumed was a closed diner, not having seen any cars there earlier. But inside the restaurant she was pleasantly surprised at the light and the cleanliness—both a nice change from The Sleep Inn.

After a good mushroom omelet Casey brushed her teeth in the bathroom and asked the cashier if there was a library anywhere close. He assured her there was, right downtown, and Casey headed back the way she’d come the night before.

Her path took her past the bus stop where she’d seen the fliers. She stopped to look again at the notice of the benefit for Ellen’s family. A garage sale. A fitting event for a struggling community. Probably not a huge fundraiser, but something these folks could afford.

Walking on, Casey took one turn and soon stood at the doors of the library. Closed. The schedule on the window said the library would open at eight-thirty. Casey checked her watch. About eight. She slid the bag from her back and took a seat on the bench outside the front door. It wouldn’t hurt her to sit for a while. Her night’s sleep certainly hadn’t been the greatest.

But by the time she was roused by the jingle of the doors being unlocked she was ready to move again. The librarian, a young man almost as wide around as Casey’s right leg, opened the door with a smile. Casey was careful not to knock into him as she passed. The slightest touch would likely break a bone.

“Visiting town?” the man asked. Stacy, it said on his nametag.

“Yes. Could I use one of the computers?”

Stacy sat behind the counter. “Do you have a library card within our system?”

“No. I’m from out-of-state.”

“All right. How about a driver’s license?”

She did have that, but she hesitated. “You hold it as collateral?”

“That’s right. It’s the only way I can allow you to use a terminal.”

Nothing new. “Okay.” She took her license from her wallet and handed it to him, watching as he set it in the slot for Computer #1. So no written record of her library visit. Good.

“That’s your station, right there,” Stacy said, pointing. “If you need anything else, please let me know.”

Casey thanked him and took her place at the computer. Going on-line, she first checked her e-mail. A gmail account. Non-traceable, and entirely non-geographical. She found the usual smattering of spam, which she deleted, but not much else except the usual note from her brother. This time it was brief: Call me. Ricky

She sighed. He couldn’t ever just write what he wanted to talk about.

No other e-mails needed her attention, as she never gave out her address. How the spammers found her, she never knew.

Clicking out of e-mail, she typed in the name of the other site she had memorized. One that repulsed her, but drew her at the same time. Taking a deep breath, she hit Enter.

Pegasus.com came up immediately. Bright colors, flashy advertisements, End-of-Season sales announcements for the new line of hybrid cars. Of course lots of space describing their all-star rating for gas mileage.

Somehow, there was never anything about mechanical malfunction, accident rating, or the way their cars burst into flame upon impact. Nothing noting any pending lawsuits.

Suddenly dizzy, Casey rested her head on her hand and took a deep breath. Breathe in, breathe out. In. Out.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?” Stacy’s voice held a tinge of panic.

Casey lifted her head and managed a small smile. “I’m fine. Thank you. Just tired.”

“If you’re sure…”

Casey put her head back on her hand, this time tilting her face away from the inquisitive librarian and toward the monitor. Could Stacy see the screen? She snuck a peek toward him. No. Wrong angle.

Casey focused her attention on Pegasus, going to the bio for the company’s owner, Dottie Spears. Same smile, same glossy hair-do. Same exact photo as last time. Casey clenched her jaw, making the same unfulfilled promise she always made—to never go to that web site again.

A crick in her neck called her to sit up straighter, and again she regretted her night at The Sleep Inn. Leaving the Pegasus web site behind, she typed in parameters to find a bed and breakfast in Clymer, if there was such a thing. And there was. One. The Nesting Place.

Hmm. Sounded a bit out there, but it was the only place in town, and the pictures of the renovated Queen Anne looked appealing. Casey grabbed one of the scrap papers and sharpened golf pencils from the basket by the computer and wrote down the address. It was worth a try.

In the midst of writing, she stopped. Did she really want to get involved in this town? In that play? In the soup kitchen?

She wasn’t sure.

Tucking the paper into her pocket, she went back to the search engine and typed in Ellen… What was her last name? She pictured the garage sale announcement. Ellen Schmucker? Snyder? Schneider. She hit Return.

A wide array of Ellen Schneiders filled the screen, and Casey realized she’d made the search too wide. She added the words, “Clymer,” and, “Ohio,” and tried again.

This time it became clearer, and she was presented with several articles from local papers about the untimely death of the young single mother of two.

WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN HOME

FORMER HOMEMAKER EMPLOYEE

DIES BY OWN HAND

SINGLE MOTHER LEAVES

CHILDREN TO STARVE

Casey frowned at the tabloid-style headlines, and clicked on the first article, dated the earliest.

Ellen Schnieder, 31, was found dead in her home yesterday afternoon when her neighbor, Mrs. Bea Tilly, stopped by to ask about the Schneiders’ dog. “I’ve never seen Griffey in such a state,” Mrs. Tilly told this reporter. “He’s always such a calm little fellow. It was like he was trying to tell us something.”

And it seems he was. Entering her neighbor’s unlocked front door, Mrs. Tilly found Griffey’s owner slumped onto the kitchen table, an empty coffee mug and a spilled bottle of prescription pills in front of her. “All I could think was that I needed to do something before the children came home,” Mrs. Tilly said. “They didn’t need to see that.”

They didn’t. By the time Schneider’s children were released from school, law enforcement had closed off the scene, and the new orphans were in the custody of their grandparents. The Schneiders, Ellen’s parents, were unavailable for comment.

“I’ve never seen anything like this here in Clymer,” Police Chief Denny Reardon said. “I can’t comment on what happened, but can assure you it is under investigation.”

The town of Clymer is eager for answers. “It’s horrible that she could do this, if it really is what it looks like,” Clymer resident Becca Styles said. “Everyone loved Ellen, she was so level-headed, so the idea that someone like her could make this choice is scary.”

Casey looked up from the screen. Becca Styles? Could this little town have more than one Becca? Probably not. And with the small population it wasn’t that strange that Becca would be quoted. Especially if she and Ellen were involved in the theater together.

The article finished with a promise for up-to-date news, and Casey moved on to the next.

FORMER HOMEMAKER EMPLOYEE

DIES BY OWN HAND

When HomeMaker CEO Karl Willems performed last December’s lay-off of more than fifty employees, he knew it would be rough. What he didn’t expect was for one of his former workers to commit suicide. “Ellen Schneider was a wonderful woman, and a hard worker,” he said. “I always thought she would be one to land on her feet.”

Unfortunately, such was not the case. Overwhelmed by her climbing debts, lack of employment, and the pressure of raising two children on her own, Ellen Schneider, a thirty-one-year-old single mother, of Clymer, Ohio, allegedly took her own life two mornings ago while her children attended school. “It’s a sad, sad thing,” Chief Denny Reardon said at this morning’s press conference. “This town has been through some rough months, and this will only make it harder.”

When asked for details of Ms. Schneider’s death, Chief Reardon said only that she was pronounced dead at the scene, apparently from an overdose of her own prescription sleeping pills. More information, he said, would be coming.

Casey sat back, swallowing the bad taste in her mouth. With a flick of her finger on the keyboard she wiped the article from the screen, and sat staring at the library’s home page.

Did she really want to take this poor woman’s spot in the play?

“Miss, um, Kaufmann?” Casey jerked around to see the librarian at her elbow, her driver’s license in her hand. “I’m sorry, but your time on the computer is up, and we have someone waiting.”

Casey blinked and glanced around. While she’d been working the library had gotten busy. Well, as busy as it could in such a small town. And there were only three computers for the patrons. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“No problem. Feel free to come back later.”

Casey grabbed her bag, took one last look to make sure she hadn’t left anything on the desk, and accepted her license back from Stacy, glad it still bore her birth name, rather than her married one. Stacy, if he ever got curious, wouldn’t have much to go on. She hadn’t lived in the licensing state for years, and her social security number was not on it. She nodded at the man waiting for the computer and pushed out the library doors into the bright mid-morning. She glanced at her watch. Almost nine-thirty. Too early to find the bed and breakfast. If she decided to stay.

A mother with a toddler in a stroller went past on the sidewalk, heading across the street to a small park. Casey watched them, an ache spreading through her chest. Benches and a few picnic tables sat under two big trees, and Casey made her way over, settling at the picnic table farthest from the play equipment. Digging through her bag, she pulled out a cell phone, one that was paid ahead, with a number that would die a quick death when she’d used all the minutes and bought a new phone.

She punched in a number she knew by heart.

“Hello, Wilson’s Catering, may I help you?” The voice, as always, made her smile, but also brought tears to her eyes.

“Ricky.”

He paused. “Casey? Where are you?”

She gave a half laugh. “How are things?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Paying your bills, gathering your mail, having a builder repair your roof.”

“What? What happened?”

“Storm. That big maple in the front yard dropped a load on your porch.”

“Oh, no. The tree?”

“Gone. I’m sorry, sis.”

Casey pushed on her lips with her fingers until she evened out her breathing. “The house?”

“Taken care of. Had a few prospective buyers go through, but no offers. The realtor’s still hopeful, but I don’t know…”

“You’re not really trying, are you?”

“Now, come on—”

“Ricky.”

“All right. I’m not pushing it. But I have it listed with an agency, okay? I just…” He hesitated. “You’ll be back sometime, and wish you hadn’t sold it. You know you will.”

“I don’t know that. In fact, I’m sure I won’t.”

“But Casey—”

“Enough. Tell me other stuff. How’s Mom?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“Ricky—”

“She worries. You know she does. She’s not used to the idea of women striking out on their own, with no place to call home. Well, I mean you have here to call home, of course, if you only would.”

Casey sighed and rested her elbows on the picnic table, dropping her head back to look at the leaves above her. The happy screams of the little toddler pierced her heart.

“They’ve been here,” Ricky said.

Casey sucked in her breath, sitting up. “When? Which ones?”

“A few days ago. Came to my house. Said they’d given up on yours. The same two as always. The woman with the bad dye job and the guy with the face.” The face with the unusually asymmetrical look. Like it had belonged to two different people, and been molded onto one skull.

“What did they want?”

Ricky snorted. “What do they always want? To know where you are, of course. And what your plans are in regards to Pegasus.”

Casey concentrated on her breathing, trying to calm her racing heart. “Did they threaten you?”

“No more than usual. Said their lawyers would be contacting yours. Like that’s anything new.”

“Did you tell them—”

“That you have no interest in pursuing the case? That they were legally forbidden to contact you? Of course I did. I always do. But do they listen?”

“I’m sorry, Ricky.”

“I know. And really, you know I don’t mind helping out. I just wish…”

“Yeah. Me, too, bro.”

They sat quietly for a few moments.

“More papers came in the mail,” he finally said. “Stuff for you to sign.”