“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.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“So you’re not even going to stay till Tom gets back?” Death said. “Tell him how helpful his computer was? He is pretty cute.”
“He’s also pretty married. Besides, in case you’ve completely lost your mind. I’m not into guys at the moment.” She’d been a little interested in Eric VanDiepenbos the week before, and look how that had turned out.
Oh, Reuben.
She went suddenly breathless and leaned against a tree, several feet from the Southwest parking lot.
“Yup, there he comes,” Death said.
Tom pulled his pickup into his spot and went to his door, opening it with his key. A few seconds later he poked his head back out, looked around, then went back in.
“Too bad,” Death said. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“A nice family guy.”
“Such a stickler for details.”
“Yeah. Details that will keep me going to one place and not the other when I finally die.”
Death gave an exasperated groan. “Are you still going on about that? Dying?”
“Until you give me what I want.”
“Are you sure you still want that?”
Casey looked at Death, then at the ground, then at the blue sky peeking through the trees.
“What I thought,” Death said. “Now, what’s next on the agenda?”
Casey watched Death walk purposefully toward the road, and followed. As they picked their way through the trees she explained what she’d discovered.
“So Evan did tell somebody,” Death said. “Somebody knew he’d found out what was going on.”
“I don’t think he found out all of it. He didn’t seem to realize Willie Yonkers was involved. In fact, I think Willie Yonkers is the one he told.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He respected him. Yonkers was on the town council, had a flourishing business, lots of money…heck, he was even a better spitter than Evan. Plus, he was from Evan’s hometown. He liked him. He trusted him.” A bitter taste filled Casey’s mouth. It was so hard to know whom to trust.
“We need to go see Willie Yonkers,” Death said.
“Yes,” Casey said. “I’m afraid we do.”
They got to the end of the wooded area and stopped.
“How do you propose we do that?” Death raised an eyebrow and stuck out a thumb, as if hitching a ride.
“I don’t suppose Sheryl’s mom is still here.” She walked far enough along the road to see the Southwest parking lot. “Nope. I guess we could borrow Wendell’s truck again, although I really hate to.”
“After walking all the way back into town. Your feet have got to be hurting.”
They were.
“How about Tom’s truck? I’m sure he’d loan it to you.”
Casey looked back toward the building. Should she involve him any more? But then, it was just a truck she was asking to borrow.
“Okay. We’ll ask him.”