Mrs. Halveston’s head sank even further.
“What did they have on Pat Parnell?”
“Oh, that poor man. He had a family, you know. A wife and children—I don’t remember how many—and then had that unfortunate affair out in California. Every time he would drive out that way he would meet up with his lover, and…” She shrugged.
So Pat Parnell had lost his family over another woman. That was awful, surely, but Casey couldn’t see how that could be used as blackmail anymore, since his wife obviously knew and had left him.
“The affair,” Mrs. Halveston said quietly, “was with a man.”
Oh. Casey remembered the notes in Evan’s journal. Carl Billings, SF. The name of the other party, and, most likely, San Francisco, if he’d been heading out west, to California.
Mrs. Halveston continued. “His wife divorced him and took the children, and the company he’d been driving with—a conservative Christian outfit out of Bingham, said they couldn’t have people like him driving for them, and fired him.”
“But other companies wouldn’t be that way. Why couldn’t he go somewhere else?”
Mrs. Halveston shook her head sadly. “He and his wife had just built that house. When she divorced him, she left him with the house and all of the debt. He couldn’t contest it—plus felt he didn’t have a right to. Jobs would come in, but free-lancing full-time wasn’t enough to satisfy all the lenders. Until Class A called him. I guess they knew him from somewhere. Told him they’d give him a better-paying job if he kept it quiet. The way he acted it was like they were his saviors. Now look where it got him.”
Casey could picture it. A man sinking deeper and deeper, and suddenly a lifeline. He grabbed it, and it only got worse.
“It was all too much for him,” Mrs. Halveston said. “What with losing his family, and his job, and then the bank called and said they would be foreclosing. He went to them to ask for help, but they turned him away.”
“The bank?”
“No. Class A. He couldn’t go drive for anyone else, because the guys had him over a barrel. If he left to drive for another company, they’d turn him in for something—believe me, they had plenty with all the jobs he did for them—and he’d lose everything for sure. Besides that, they hold his money. They say they’re short on cash and they’ll pay after his next job, or after the supplier pays the trucking bill. Half the time we don’t see a paycheck for three or four months. But what are we to do? It’s the same for the others. We all have something to lose.”
“Hank Nance?”
Wendy nodded. “Turn him in for crossing state lines, and he’d owe all those months of child support.”
Probably the months listed in Evan’s notes. “And John Simones?”
“Paying his son’s dues. Got charged with date rape at college, and John had to cough up the money for the legal fees. He took the job with Class A because it paid better, but now they have him on the wrong side of the law, since he’s been driving stolen goods.”
“But if Westing and Dixon turned any of these men in, wouldn’t it just lead back to them?”
She snorted. “To whom? You can bet your life they don’t have their real names on those false papers. Not like they have the drivers’ names. Whether they’re the drivers’ fake names or the real ones, they have the truckers in their pockets.”
Casey knew Wendy was right—she couldn’t remember seeing any names on the manifests other than the truckers’. Dixon and Westing were listed as Class A’s owners, but if that company was supposedly doing the legitimate work, they wouldn’t be connected to the other. Besides, it would be their word against truckers who were breaking the law just by getting behind a wheel.
Westing and Dixon were taking a huge chance, though, with their names on the business. Their boss’ name wasn’t anywhere. “Mrs. Halveston, do you know the name Yonkers?”
“Like in New York?”
“No, like in a person. Is the name Willie Yonkers familiar?”
She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”
Exactly what Casey thought. If Willie Yonkers was involved he kept it a secret from just about everyone.
“What are you going to do?” Mrs. Halveston’s eyes were bright with tears and fear. “If they know I met with you they’ll quit having Mick drive, and that would just kill him.”
“I’m not going to tell them.”
Mrs. Halveston scraped her chair back and stood. “I need to go.”
“May I call you again?”
She licked her lips. “We’re leaving this afternoon.”
“On a job?”
“To Montana.”
Great. All of those people in danger on the road. “Drive safely.”
“Oh, we will.”
Not seeming to hear the irony in the exchange, Mrs. Halveston peeked around the book stacks and scurried out of the library.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The downstairs break room was empty when Casey walked past, so she went in and slathered two bagels with cream cheese, wrapping them in a napkin. She pulled a wrinkled dollar bill, left over from Wendell’s cache, from her pocket and stuck it in the tin designated for coffee money. She wasn’t yet so desperate she was ready to start stealing from libraries.
She stood just inside the library door. Where to go? She couldn’t go back to the shed. The men had seen her at Davey’s. She shouldn’t bother Wendell again—even if he wasn’t going to turn her in, one of his co-workers might begin to wonder what she was doing, hanging around.
“Tom Haab would probably let you use his computer,” Death said.
Casey jumped. “You enjoy that, don’t you? Scaring me?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
“Um, may I help you?” A woman with a library nametag stood at the far end of the hall.
Casey turned partway, hiding her bagels. “I was just leaving. Thank you.” She pushed out through the door and headed up the incline, away from the library and toward a side street. When she looked back, she could see the librarian watching her through the glass door.
Super.
“So how do we get to Southwest Trucking?” Casey tried to remember how Davey had driven. “It was a few miles west, wasn’t it?”
“Kinda far to walk.”
Death was right. And she’d been walking so much. For a moment she yearned for the old Schwinn she’d been riding back in Clymer just a few days ago. Old, but serviceable. And lots faster than walking. She sighed. “I guess I’d better get started.”
At least she had the bagels to eat on the way, which instantly gave her more energy. She pulled the seed hat out of the bag and pulled it low on her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun and her face from observers.
About a mile out of town she heard a vehicle coming. The field beside her was harvested, and there were no trees anywhere within hiding distance.
“Steady,” Death said. “She’s already seen you, so there’s no point in freaking out now.”
The car pulled up alongside Casey and slowed to a stop. The passenger window lowered and the woman at the steering wheel leaned out. “Give you a lift?”
The car was an older model that probably should have been traded in as a clunker long before. Despite the rust spots, however, the car was clean both inside and out. The woman wore jeans and a plain blue knit shirt, and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity in her tired face.
“Too interested?” Casey mumbled to Death.
“I’m getting in.” And suddenly the back seat was no longer empty.
“Thank you,” Casey said to the woman. “I would appreciate it.”
Once Casey was buckled in the woman glanced in the rearview mirror and continued on. “How far are you going?”
“Southwest Trucking. I’m not sure of the address, but it’s a few miles out this way.”
“Sure, I know them. In fact, it’s where I’m going. Makes sense, I guess. There’s not a whole lot else on this side of town.”
“Do you work there?”
The woman’s mouth tightened. “No. My husband’s done a little driving for them in the past.”