“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.
The traffic dwindled. Those taking over this shift had already begun work, and most of those leaving were on their way home. Casey braked to a stop close to the front door, studying the cars in the parking lot. American cars, mostly, with a few Hondas and Toyotas thrown in. None of the Pegasus hybrids. Only a few parking spaces held vehicles in the upper echelon of the car world, and those were the ones up front in the reserved spots. The ones designated for Karl Willems—his Cadillac STS—, the Senior VP—a shiny Indian motorcycle—, and the Executive Assistant. That space held a new-looking Acura Integra. Not hugely expensive, but more than the assembly line workers could afford.
The front doors whooshed open and Eric VanDiepenbos exited, his eyes on the sidewalk as he strode toward her.
“Eric?”
He jerked to a halt, his tight expression easing as he recognized her. “Casey? What are you doing here?”
She gestured to the bike. “Trying out my new wheels.”
He checked out her ride. “Nice. Where’d you get it?”
“The place I’m staying.” She got off the bike and pushed down the kickstand. “I have to tell you your hotel recommendations are now suspect.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Pretty gross, huh? But that bike doesn’t belong to The Sleep Inn.”
“No. I found a nice B & B.”
A smile flickered on his face. “The Nesting Place?”
“That’s the one.”
“You’ll like it there. I didn’t recommend it last night because it was so late and because…well, you said you wanted something cheap. Are the ladies cutting you a break since you’ll be there for a while? At least I hope you will, since the play won’t be done for over a month.”
Casey bit her lip. “Actually, we haven’t gotten around to talking about the price. With me getting there in the morning, and them being busy…”
Eric laughed. “Sounds like them. But you might want to find out the price before you get too settled.” He held up a hand. “Not that they’ll cheat you or anything. It’s just…” He swept a hand at her.
“I know. I don’t exactly look like a high roller, do I? But their place is so nice. Clean, even.”
He grinned. “It would be.” He studied her some more. “I’m sorry. You just don’t look like a bed and breakfast kind of person.”
She winced. “You know you can’t judge a book by its—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m being incredibly nosy and rude.”
She smiled. “That’s okay. I won’t take it personally.”
“So, in the vein of nosiness…why are you here? At HomeMaker?”
“Just curious. I’ve heard so much about it since I got here yesterday. I wanted to check out the big, bad wolf.”
His face clouded. “I guess it’s hard to be in Clymer and not hear about it.”
“It’s like any big business. They sort of…take over.”
“You sound like you’ve had experience.”
“Some.”
They stood quietly, watching as mist blew across the pond from the fountain.
“I hear a happy birthday is in order,” Casey said.
He kept his eyes on the fountain. “Not sure how happy it was.”
“No. I guess not. But Loretta and Johnny felt good about getting you a cake.”
“Yeah, they would.” He turned to look at her. “I’m headed over there to get ready for dinner. You coming?”
“Is it time already?”
“Not quite, I guess. But sometimes Loretta and Johnny get there early. I want to make certain they aren’t burning the place down.”
“Sure, I’m coming.” She walked back to her bike, disengaging the kickstand.
“You want to put that in my car?” Eric said. “I’m pretty sure it would fit in the trunk.”
“No. I mean, thanks, but I’ll ride. It’s not far.”
“If you’re sure.”
She straddled the bike. “I’ll race you.”
He grinned. “You’re on.” He shot off, sprinting toward his car.
Casey took off down the parking lot, waving good-naturedly when Eric passed her in a dark green Camry. She followed him, catching up as he waited for traffic at the end of the drive, then cruising up onto the sidewalk, now devoid of people.
About a block from Main Street, trailing only by a few hundred feet, Casey ducked down an alley, which she believed would take her behind Home Sweet Home. Pausing at the cross streets to make sure she didn’t get hit, she bounced through the rutted, gravel lane, counting buildings and looking for the church steeple.
She found the church sooner than she realized, and skidded to a stop as the alley dead-ended at a cast iron fence surrounding the church’s back yard. The grassy area was barely visible through the branches of thick bushes, but Casey could make out some flowers and a pathway among trunks of larger trees.
The gravel lane angled sharply to the right, toward Main Street, and Casey turned her bike quickly in that direction, hoping she could still beat Eric to the kitchen.
“But it’s not fair!”
Casey froze at the words, the woman’s shrill voice traveling easily through the air, along with footsteps and the slap of the church’s back door. Casey leaned toward the bushes, squinting through the leaves into the church’s garden.
“I don’t like it either, Holly, but what was I supposed to do? Eric made it clear what he would do if I didn’t cast her. And we have to replace Ellen if we want to do the play.”
Thomas. The play’s director. Casey grimaced. And he was talking about her.