Casey kept herself from looking at Death. “And you live here in Blue Lake?”
“For now.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “What about you? You’re new to the area, I take it? Or just traveling through?” She glanced at Casey’s clothes, taking extra time with the second pink shirt Casey had had to wear. Casey wished she had a jacket to pull around her.
“Yes, just…traveling through.”
“And you know someone at Southwest?”
Casey did glance back at Death now. How much to tell?
Death shrugged and pulled out the bagpipe.
“Tom Haab,” Casey said. “I’m going to see him.”
“I know Tom. He started that company years ago, with his cousin, I think. Bob, my husband, grew up with them—I mean, he was a little older than Tom, but went to school with his older brother. They’ve done well for themselves. Bob says they’re good at what they do. He recommends them all the time, but then, that would have helped him get jobs, too, when he was still driving.”
Exactly what Tom had said was the best publicity—word of mouth.
“So do you know the other truckers?”
She shook her head. “Out of my circle. Bob didn’t drive for Southwest often—he had a full-time job at Snyder’s furniture, in Castleton? You don’t know them? Well, they…he got laid off last month.” Her mouth did that tightening thing again, pinching her lips together, making wrinkles in her face.
“I’m sorry.”
The woman waved her hand. “No, I shouldn’t be burdening you.”
“It’s okay. I just—I know a lot of people who recently lost their jobs. A whole plant shut down, and basically laid off the whole town with it. Really sad.”
“That would be. But this wasn’t the whole company. Just my husband.”
Casey winced. “No seniority?”
“Oh, he had that. But he’s also in the early stages of Parkinson’s, which means he can get a little shaky. They decided he was a risk, didn’t want to pay extra insurance on him, and—” she banged her hand on the steering wheel –“he was outta there. Nothing we could do.”
This was sounding awfully familiar. “You didn’t want to fight it?”
“Don’t have the money, and apparently there’s not a good enough guarantee we would win for lawyers to take the risk of getting paid on contingency. Bob can’t even get another job. With that diagnosis he’s certainly not going to be able to drive trucks—not that we would even put Tom in the position of making that decision.”
“So what are you going to do?” Although Casey already knew the answer.
“What else could we do? We’re moving back to my home, in Kansas City. My folks run a little hardware shop. They’re barely making it, what with Walmart moving in, but they said they’ll give Bob some work, let us move in with them until we get back on our feet. I sell jewelry—you know, I go to people’s houses, have parties where we sell to their friends—but there’s no way that can keep us going.” She smiled sadly. “Our daughter is threatening to stay here. Wants to live with one of her friends. But I can’t let her go, not yet.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Casey pictured Sheryl’s beautiful, angry face.
“I understand. You’re doing the best thing you can for your whole family.”
Sheryl’s mom sniffled and reached for the tissue box in the back seat. Just when she was about to grab it she jerked away and fiddled with the knobs on the dashboard. When she’d made sure the air conditioning was off she reached back again, and Death scootched out of the way so she wouldn’t come into contact. “Our son doesn’t mind moving so much. He’s not happy about it, but he’s in sixth grade, he can still make friends easily. Sheryl—our daughter—she’s a junior, and I hate pulling her out of school and putting her somewhere new, because your friends from high school, well, they’re so important, aren’t they? I mean, hopefully she’ll go on to college or something, but it could be that these friends are the ones that will be with her forever. But the bills are already piling up, and we can’t pay our mortgage, and what are we supposed to do?”
Casey didn’t know how to respond. She knew how miserable Sheryl was, but her mother seemed just as miserable, and what does a teenager know about how much money it takes to keep her in clothes and food and shelter? Not enough.
Sheryl’s mom pulled into the parking lot of Southwest and stopped the car. “I’m sorry.” She blew her nose. “I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that, tell you my whole life story.”
“It’s okay. It’s the stranger thing—you know you won’t see me again, so you can tell me whatever you want and it won’t matter.”
Sheryl’s mom smiled. “You’re right.” She pulled down the visor and wiped smeared mascara from her face.
“You’re not here to apply for a job, are you?” Casey asked.
“No. I wish. I asked Tom about it, and he said they don’t have anything at all right now—and I would have taken anything to keep our family here. But what Tom did say was that he’d figure out a way to get our stuff to Kansas City. He told me to come out and talk to his assistant about scheduling a truck, so…here I am. The trucking connection will come in handy, after all. You ready?”
“Yes.” They got out of the car. “Thank you so much for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. I hope…well, have a good trip, wherever you’re going.”
“And I hope things go well with your move, and your daughter, especially.”
“Thanks. I need all the good vibes I can get. You going in?”
“I think I’ll wait just a bit.”
“Okay, then. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye. And thank you.”
Sheryl’s mother straightened her shoulders and walked away, a picture of grace, sadness, and acceptance.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Poor woman,” Death said. “Nice, too. How come her daughter can’t be more like her?”
“We’ve caught Sheryl at a bad time. Who knows what she’s like when she’s not having to leave everything she loves?”
Death didn’t look convinced.
“Are you coming?” Casey headed toward the back of the building, where Tom’s truck sat. Casey knocked on his office door. Death had disappeared, but Casey could hear a banjo playing from the grove of trees in the next lot. She knocked again, and heard a voice drawing closer. The door opened on Tom Haab, a phone at his ear. He hesitated, then waved her in.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” he said into the phone. “But I’ll call you back. I don’t know, a little while. Okay.” He flipped the phone shut and laid it on his desk. “So, what can I do for you?”
“If you’re willing to help I’d appreciate it. But if you don’t want me here, I’m gone.”
“No, no, that’s fine.” He sat on his office chair and swiveled toward her, gesturing to another chair. “Dave seems to like you. Keeps asking if I’ve heard from you.” He gave a quick smile. “Up till now I’ve had to disappoint him.”
“I don’t want to get him in any more trouble. Or you.”
His eyebrows rose. “Am I in trouble?”
“I hope not. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“So why are you here?”
“Because I need a computer, and yours was the only one I could think of.”
“All right.” He got up from his chair. “It’s yours. I’m about ready to head out for lunch, anyway, so you can have the run of the office. I’ll lock you in. No one will bother you.” He went to the door and stuck his head out. “Kim, I’m going out, I’ll be back after lunch.”
Casey heard a woman’s soft voice, but couldn’t understand the words.
“One-o’clock?” Tom said. “I’ll be back in plenty of time. Thanks.” He shut the door and locked it. “Anything you need before I go? Oh, just a minute.” He went back out the door, being careful to shut it behind him, then returned with a bag. “Here.” He re-locked the door and dropped the bag on the desk. “Lunch.”
Casey smiled. “Thank you. You can’t imagine how grateful I am for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“One question before you go—do you know anyone named Willie Yonkers?”
He grinned. “What kind of name is that?”
“A rich one, apparently.”
“Oh. No, I’ve never heard of him. If I had, I’d remember.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“That’s it? Nothing else? All right, then. See you in a while.” He went out the back door, and Casey heard the bolt slide home.
She looked at the computer, but something didn’t feel quite right. The room was too bright—too open. She closed all of the blinds, and turned out all of the lights except for a lamp sitting on Tom’s desk. Much better. And now…
She had the computer and the entire office to herself. She could get all kinds of things done. She sat down…and opened the lunch bag. Egg salad sandwich. Chips. An apple. Two homemade chocolate chip cookies. And a can of Coke.
She was in heaven.
Keeping the food away from the keyboard, she typed in Willie Yonkers’ name. Lots of hits, and they were all positive—working with a local Habitat for Humanity project, a celebration of his and his wife’s 25th anniversary—mustn’t have been a recent event, since Evan had said she’d left him—and his son Brad winning some big college debate. His daughter, Tara, was homecoming queen—wearing a dress Casey wouldn’t let her own daughter be caught dead in, Willie had been appointed to the town council, and he had made a top ten list of “best small businesses in north-central Kansas.” Business for what? Ah. Nothing even close to trucking. Flowers.
Flowers?
Not just a nursery. Fancy stuff. Orchids. Trees from South America. Even some special moss that was supposed to level off acidity in the soil. Things you couldn’t get down at the local greenhouse. According to the testimonials Hollywood folks and television evangelists landscaped their properties with plants and trees from Yonkers’ place, and there were several photos with NBA stars, politicians, and even one late night TV personality. In every one of the pictures, Yonkers stood smiling beside the famous customer, his expression smug, with a visible sense of entitlement. Casey hated him on sight.
Yonkers’ expertise, naturally, led to one last article. Willie Yonkers’ residence had a prestigious spot on the region’s home and garden tour. Casey clicked on the images of his home to enlarge them. Inside shots of amazing interior design. Outside shots highlighting trees, flowerbeds, and fountains. Even one aerial photo. Wow. Quite the opposite of poor Pat Parnell’s place. But then, Yonkers could afford the help of gardeners, housekeepers, and a whole slew of underlings Casey couldn’t even imagine. Employees hired with the money Yonkers made by blackmailing people like Pat Parnell.
Yonkers obviously enjoyed his position in the community. He had his fingers into a little bit of everything, and somehow always came out on top, looking good. Where were the articles about his destroyed marriage, or the broken relationships with his children? Not newsworthy, apparently. Or else he’d paid to keep them out of the papers.
Casey drummed her fingers on the desk. Had Evan gotten too close? Did he know Yonkers was involved? She pushed her fingers against her temples, trying to remember exactly what she and Evan had talked about before… She shook herself away from the horrible images of the crash. What had he been saying?
Willie and Evan had spitting contests in first grade, Willie had more money than he knew what to do with, Willie’s family hated him… But there had been no anger. Nothing to give even a hint that Evan had caught Yonkers in a criminal scheme. If anything, there was envy, and…admiration.
Casey closed her eyes and pictured Evan’s information. She wished now she’d brought it with her. He’d matched the names to the photos—he probably knew some, if not most, of the drivers. Perhaps he’d seen some of them on the road—truckers run into each other at truck stops, diners, rest areas—especially if they frequent the roads in the same general area. Pat Parnell had even mentioned seeing Evan. Most likely Evan knew some of the drivers weren’t supposed to be behind the wheel anymore and wondered what was happening. He’d found all their disqualifications. Knew they were driving illegally.
She thought about the manifests, all clipped together in a neat stack. Those papers—the physical papers themselves—were different. They, as compared to his notes and even the photos, were newly copied, all on the same pristine white paper. That’s when she realized—Evan had just discovered the fake names. The copied papers hadn’t had time to get bent and dirty and fingerprinted because they were brand new.
So why hadn’t Evan told anyone? Why was the information still squirreled away in his truck?
And this time? I’m staying for a good long while. I’ve been working my tail off and I need a break.
Evan’s words about home came back to her, as if he were sitting right there in the room. He’d known he finally had them cold, and he was going to turn them in. The problem was…someone else had known it, too.