Casey nodded. “Good. That would be helpful.”
Leila cleared her throat.
Eric looked back at her, then turned again to Casey, a violent shudder running through his body. He looked at the window, but it was closed. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“Go on back out to the dining room,” Casey said. “We’ve got things under control in here.”
“All right.” He leaned closer. “But that means I’ve got to deal with Leila.”
Casey grinned. “You’re a big boy. You can handle her.”
He glanced over at the girl in the doorway, who now had her fists planted on her hips. “I’m not so sure.”
Casey nudged him out of the way as she leaned over the sink, and he left.
“That wasn’t nice,” she told Death.
Death shrugged. “I was here first.”
Loretta walked past Casey, a stack of pizzas in her arms as she headed for the stove. “Another volunteer for the kitchen, Praise God! Did you bring a friend, Casey?”
Casey shook her head, somehow not surprised that Loretta could see Death. “No. This friend was just leaving.”
Death frowned. “I was?”
“Nice lady’s friend?” Johnny turned from his task in the corner and headed for Death, arms open.
“No! Not you, too!” Casey stepped in front of Death, and Johnny’s face fell. “I mean,” Casey stammered, “my friend has…a cold, Johnny. I don’t want you to get it.”
“Oh. Sorry, nice lady’s friend!”
“Well,” Loretta said, pointing at Death. “If you have a cold, baby, you get out of the kitchen. Praise the Lord we don’t need anyone else getting sick.”
“But I’m not—”
“You heard the woman,” Casey said. “Get out.”
Death frowned. “I’ll be back.”
“Oh,” Casey said, sighing. “I have no doubt about that.”
With a final glare, Death stomped out the back door, leaving it flung open.
Loretta clicked her tongue. “With a temper like that, we don’t need more help, do we, thank the Lord?”
“That’s right,” Casey said.
For some reason cutting up lettuce got a whole lot more enjoyable after that.
The smell of pizza soon filled the kitchen, and Eric and Leila carried it out to the diners—Leila shooting Casey smug, angry looks—along with the salad and some chips. Leila must have felt so strongly about Casey’s presence it was worth it to serve her own family. Casey stayed in the kitchen, helping Loretta and Johnny with dishes and refilling the pizza trays as necessary.
Before long the people were gone and the volunteers were standing around eating the leftovers. Leila didn’t leave Eric’s side, her demeanor daring Casey to make an issue of it. For the second time that night Casey had to remind herself that martial arts had no place in a charity kitchen.
“Well, it’s about that time.” Eric said, glancing at his watch.
“I’ll drive you to rehearsal.” Leila batted her eyes at Eric.
He glanced at Casey. “I’ll just walk. Thanks, though.”
“Oh, then I’ll walk with you,” Leila said. “I can leave my Bug parked in the back, can’t I?”
Eric looked at Casey. “You coming?”
She smiled. “Why don’t you two go ahead. I’ll catch up with you there.”
Leila’s narrowed eyes widened, and she smirked, grabbing Eric’s arm. “Come on, Eric, let’s go.”
With a pleading backward glance, Eric allowed Leila to lead him from the room. Casey listened until she heard the front door open and close.
“You should go, too,” Loretta said. “You’ll be late for rehearsal, Praise God! ”
“I’ll go in a minute. I just didn’t want Leila to kill me before I got there.”
Loretta chuckled. “You just take that friend of yours along, babydoll. Then that girl will behave.”
A good idea, but there was no way Leila would be seeing Death. Casey was quite confident of that.
She picked up a pizza tray to take it to the sink, but Johnny was already coming at her for a hug, and the tray came up, smashing against her chest. He backed up, and they looked down at the mess, splotches of tomato sauce and cheese clinging to Casey’s shirt.
Johnny cried out and grabbed a dishcloth, swiping at the spots, making little sobbing noises.
Casey gently took his wrists, holding them away from her. “It’s okay, Johnny.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He jerked against her hold, wanting to go at the stains with the cloth.
“Really, Johnny.” She tried to make eye contact. “It’s okay. I’ll wash it out.”
“Just don’t you put that blouse in the dryer until those stains are all gone, baby,” Loretta said. “Or they’ll be there until kingdom come, Lord willing.”
Johnny gasped. “Not the dryer!” He jerked his hands upward, flinging the dishrag, narrowly missing Casey’s face.
“I’ll spray the spots really well,” Casey said. “And I’ll double check before throwing the shirt in the dryer. I promise.”
“No!” Johnny said, coming at her again with the dishcloth. “Stay away from the dryer!”
Casey again grabbed his wrists, forcing him to look at her, but his anxiety had climbed way past a simple messy accident. “Johnny. It’s okay. I’m not angry. The clothes will be fine. I promise.”
“No! No!” He jerked and writhed, sudden tears running down his face.
Loretta was there now, laying soothing hands on Johnny’s shoulders, praying for God to come and throw his calming presence over their beloved brother in Christ.
“The dryer!” Johnny screeched. “You have to stay away from the dryer!”
Casey shook her head. “Why, Johnny? Why do I have to stay away from the dryer?”
“Because dryers kill people!” he sobbed. “They kill people!” He wrenched his arms from Casey’s and fell to the floor, grabbing her around her knees. “I don’t want you to die, nice lady! Don’t die!”
“I’m not going to die. I promise.” She stroked his head, smoothing his hair back from his face. “But the dryer, Johnny. Why are you afraid of those?”
“When people use dryers they die,” he said. “Ellen told me so.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Casey could get nothing more out of Johnny, partly because he was too distraught, but mostly, she thought, because he knew nothing further. Loretta couldn’t remember hearing Ellen ever talk about dryers. Just that she had discovered something that could save the factory.
“She was happy about that, praise God,” Loretta said, “but behind the happiness was something sad, too. Like what she’d found out was haunting her, may she rest in peace.”
Which Casey could understand. If the saving of HomeMaker came at the expense of someone’s life, Ellen would have to feel the irony, and sadness, in that.
“What do you know about this, L’Ankou?” Casey muttered as she walked to rehearsal. But Death, when wanted, chose not to come. “You really are an ass, you know,” Casey said.
The air in front of her shimmered, but nothing materialized.
Rehearsal had already started when Casey slipped in the double doors, and Eric, Aaron, and Jack were on-stage. She scrambled to find her place in her script, glad to see the others rehearsing a scene she wasn’t in. Becca showed obvious relief at her arrival, and Casey waved her an apology.
Lonnie squeezed into a seat beside her, his eyes glowing. “And where have you been, our mysterious stranger? I was afraid Thomas was going to blow a gasket when you weren’t here at seven. Eric promised you were coming, but Thomas looked ready to pass out until you came in the door.”
A glance at Thomas provided only his stony profile, his focus—at least the one he was showing—on the stage.
“Any clue why he was so freaked out?” Casey asked.
Lonnie grinned. “He’s really anal about practice time?”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s it.”
“No.” He laughed. “Me, either. He never acts that way when Holly’s late. Which she is again today.”