“And how would you get there?”
“One of us would drive everybody. It’s about six miles.”
Casey couldn’t go that distance. “Can you make sure you go to the pizza place?”
“Yeah. They usually listen to me.”
Casey had noticed. “Will you walk from the stadium?”
“It’s right down the street, so yeah.”
“What route will you take?”
Bailey’s face scrunched up as she thought and she rubbed her face hard, smearing her eyeliner. “Up Adams to Main. It’s simple.”
“Any way you can go a different path, where there won’t be many people?”
“I guess. I’d have to come up with an excuse.”
“I have confidence in you. They’ll do what you suggest.”
Bailey paled even more in the illumination from the house’s outside lights. “Okay. So I guess we’ll go back behind the library, you know how you can see the stadium from there? There’s a road that’s more like an alley, and we can take that up toward the pizza place.”
“What time?”
“Six?”
That should work. “Thanks, Bailey. I’ll be keeping the phone off until then. No sense in leading them to us. Goodnight.” She turned to go.
“Casey?”
She stopped.
“Why did you come to me? Why didn’t you think I was the one who’d talked?”
“Because you’re the real deal, Bailey. You care about the others, and about your group. You would never give away your hiding place.”
Bailey frowned. “I care about you, too.”
“Which only proves you’re crazy. But thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. And remember…” She put a finger to her lips.
Bailey smiled brightly, her teeth shining. “You know me. I can keep a secret. Goodnight, Casey.”
Casey smiled back, and slipped away into the night.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The bed was huge. It was also soft, and warm, and there was someone else in it.
Casey sat up.
“Did I wake you?” Death stopped playing the Native American flute.
“No…no, I…” Casey sank back down to the grass in the little grove of trees. “What I wouldn’t give for a mattress.”
“And miss the wonders of nature? The fresh air, the blue sky—”
“—the pain in my backside.”
Death looked hurt. “I certainly hope you are not referring to me.”
“Hey, you said it.” Casey crawled to the creek and splashed water on her face. “What time is it?”
Death squinted at the sun. “I would say…seven? Seven-thirty?”
Casey was meeting Wendy Halveston at nine. And she was starving. “I’ve still got a few dollars left. Suggestions on where I can go for food and not be noticed?”
“Honey, wherever you go, you’re going to get noticed. It’s like you haven’t taken a shower in several days.”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, then, no wonder you look that way.”
Casey bit her tongue. Arguing wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Too bad women don’t still make pies and put them on the window sill to cool.”
Death looked thoughtful.
“What?”
“Terry’s parents own a bakery.”
“So?”
“Think they throw out the things that don’t sell, and that Terry doesn’t take to the shed?”
“Oh, great. Now you want me to go Dumpster diving for stale bread?”
“It’s not like it would ruin your clothes.”
“No, but it might ruin my stomach.”
Death played a quick tune on the flute. “You could go by the hospital again, grab some peanut butter and crackers.”
Casey ignored this and stood up to do some stretching, careful not to break open the finally-healing scab on her shoulder.
Death groaned. “You’re not going to exercise again, are you?”
“Don’t have time.” She stretched her arms to the sky, feeling the pull in her back. A mattress sure would be welcome. And she had no idea when she would ever sleep on one again.
“You should probably get a move on if you want to make your meeting on time,” Death said.
“Yeah.” She looked at the rock where the papers were hidden. “Think I should take that?”
“Be a little heavy.”
“Not the rock, you moron, the bag of papers.”
“Geez, I think you forgot your sense of humor back there in Ohio with the rest of your stuff.”
“I think I’ll leave the papers here. Wendy Halveston seems to want to talk. She doesn’t need encouragement. And just in case I run into those guys…” She straightened suddenly. “Yonkers!”
“Gesundheit.”
“No. The guys mentioned Yonkers last night.”
“So?”
“Evan was talking about somebody named Yonkers…Willie Yonkers…right before the crash.”
“And what did he say?”
She pushed on her eyes with the heels of her hands. “We were talking about kids, and families, and jobs…he said Willie Yonkers’ family can’t stand him, but that he has more money than he knows what to do with. Evan was jealous.”
“And you think this is the same man?”
“How many people named Yonkers can travel in the same circles? It’s got to be him.” She glanced up at the sun. “If I hurry, I can…no, I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“Use the library’s computer. They won’t let you without an ID.”
“Bailey will probably have her laptop after school.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to wait that long.” She growled with frustration. Not having identification was more of a problem than she had ever realized.
“Well, you have to go anyway, or you’re going to be late.”
Death was right. Casey crept from her hiding place, leaving the bag, but taking her turned-off phone. Whenever she heard a vehicle she ducked into a field, if one was available, but each day there were fewer fields remaining unharvested. She just had to cross her fingers and hope the farmers on the tractors didn’t wonder too much who she was and what she was doing, traveling along their quiet road.
She arrived in town about fifteen minutes early and tried to walk as unobtrusively as possible, going down Main Street instead of the residential sections, where a stranger would stand out. There weren’t many people about, and when a car drove past she simply averted her head, looking toward shop fronts. The library parking lot, when she arrived, was mostly empty. Casey didn’t see Westing’s Explorer—not that she really thought it would be there, but it would be stupid not to look—and of course didn’t know what kind of vehicle Wendy Halveston drove.
Casey stood in the shade of a tree for several minutes, waiting until the clock on the bank’s sign across the street showed nine-o’clock. The library was a two-story building, the first floor actually a sort of basement, down the side of a hill, with the main entrance on the upper level, on Main Street. Casey avoided the front door and went inside on the lower floor, through a back door. The basement was cool and quiet, with dark conference rooms and a closed door declaring AV Equipment.
She came upon the open door of a staff room and would have snuck in for one of the bagels she saw on the counter if it hadn’t been for the woman dunking a tea bag into a cup of steaming water. Stomach rumbling, Casey walked quickly past.
She took the stairs slowly, listening for other people, but saw no one until she reached the upper floor. The door opened into the children’s section, and Casey moved quietly past a small play area, where a few mothers sat with toddlers, and found the reference section. Watching a few rows over from between stacks of books she could see only one person in the reference area. She hoped it was Wendy. She went over.
“Mrs. Halveston?”
The woman spun around.
“I’m Casey Jones.”
“Where did you come from? I was watching.” Wendy’s hand fluttered toward the front desk, and then down. Casey recognized the older woman from the picture in the diner. She didn’t look angry today, however. She looked worried.
“Shall we sit?” Casey indicated a table with chairs, which was surrounded by dictionaries, encyclopedias, and books on such varied topics as the greatest American plays and Civil War-era foods.