“And who are the other people?”
His eyelids fluttered. “Don’t know.”
Casey licked her lips, watching him steadily. She set down the photo and pulled out another one. “How about him?” Pat Parnell.
A look of disgust flitted across his face. “Don’t know.”
“Um-hmm.”
She pulled out another photo, and another. “I suppose you don’t know any of these people, either.”
“No, ma’am, not by name. Just Randy and Dix and Craig.”
“And a few others of your group.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Okay. I suppose you have no idea why these people are in the photos with your friends. Or with you, for that matter.” She held up one of him with Hank Nance.
Bruce swallowed. “I suppose they could be…truckers?”
Casey gasped and clapped her hands twice, slow. “Good answer, Bruce. Now, try again. Why are you guys bothering the truckers?”
He shook his head.
“Are the truckers driving with fake licenses?”
He bit his lips together.
“And who is your boss?”
He lifted his chin. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are. You show up in Evan’s truck, and we don’t know why, or what you’re doing there. Well, I ain’t telling you anything more. And you can’t make me.” He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling.
Death’s forehead furrowed. “He’s not going to answer you. He’s made up his mind and he ain’t changing it.”
“Okay, Bruce.” Casey patted his thigh. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Hey. Look at me.”
He did.
“You’re going to get in touch with your buddies—”
“—I don’t know how—”
“—and you are going to tell them I have what they’re looking for—” she dangled the bag where he could see it “—and that I want to deal.”
“But—”
She placed a finger just above his mouth, not touching him. “I am going to call you tomorrow. If you’re in surgery I’ll call back. You are going to tell me where and when to meet them and…” She held up a finger to keep him from talking. “You are going to give me a number where they can be reached.”
“And if they don’t call me before then?”
She leaned close, whispering. “Then I’ll be back.”
He whimpered. “Lady, who are you?”
“You shouldn’t be worried about me. You should be worried about that.” She pointed at Death.
Bruce looked where Casey was pointing. “The television?”
Casey opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Remember what I said about the nurse’s button. Don’t even breathe on it until I’ve been gone several minutes.”
He shook his head. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” She held up the bag. “Until tomorrow then. I’ll be talking to you.”
Casey exited the room, leaving the rolling computer desk beside Bruce’s bed. As the door eased shut, she glanced back. Bruce was turned toward the TV, but she would’ve bet none of it was registering.
Chapter Sixteen
“Wow, you were like Clint Eastwood in there,” Death said. “Or maybe even the Terminator.”
Casey jogged down the hospital steps and into the night air, taking a deep breath. She walked briskly down the sidewalk and into the residential section, leaving the bright ER sign behind her.
Death skipped ahead and stopped, studying her as she walked past. “But you look much more like Uma Thurman. Now she’s a badass.”
“I wish you wouldn’t use words like that.”
“Uma Thurman?”
Casey stopped, getting herself acclimated. “That way.” She retraced a few steps and turned a corner.
“We going back to the shed?”
“I am.”
“Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be.” Death pouted, and disappeared in a poof of smoke, a choir sounding in the night, like the last few measures of a choral symphony. Or like angels.
No, not angels.
It took Casey about forty-five minutes to make her way back. By the time she arrived the shed was already full of kids, and John Mayer was playing on Martin’s iPod. Bailey and Martin were dancing to “Daughters.”
“See! I told you she’d be back.” Bailey bounced away from Martin. “She promised.”
Sheryl lay on the floor, picking at a chocolate cake in the middle of the blanket. “Well, whoop-de-doo.” Terry sat beside her, carefully not looking at Casey.
“I was right.” Martin grinned at Casey. “You cleaned up pretty good.”
“I’ll take the credit for that.” Bailey walked around Casey, examining her. “You didn’t even destroy your hair. But you haven’t slept on it or washed it yet. Then we’ll see.” She stopped in front of her. “So, did it work? Could you do whatever it was you wanted?”
“Well enough. I take it you didn’t get caught this afternoon?”
“No problem. Dad was gone when I got back, and by the time Mom got home I was all set up doing my homework—my teachers sent my stuff home with Sheryl. So, you still have all the make-up?”
Casey held up the now-bulging bag. She had removed the scrubs when she was a safe distance from the hospital. If Bruce was brave—or stupid—enough to tell somebody at the hospital about her visit, she didn’t want to be too obvious on the streets. “Can I keep them for a day or two? Just in case?”
Bailey waved her hand. “Keep them forever. Not exactly my style, you know. So sit. We’ve been waiting for you before we cut Terry’s cake.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Bailey insisted.” Terry held up a knife. “But now that you’re here…”
Casey lowered herself to the blanket, wondering where Death had gone. She expected to hear that annoying rubber band twanging any second. She also wondered what had happened to the store-bought cookies. Terry must’ve skipped his nap and made a trip to the bakery, after all.
“Here.” Bailey set another bag beside Casey. “Food. And more clothes.”
Casey stomach rumbled in response. “Thank you. You guys are all really— Hey, where’s Johnny?”
“Football.” Bailey rolled her eyes. “His dad makes him play. He doesn’t seem to realize that one more good knock to the head and Johnny’s history.”
“Really? Why? Too many concussions?”
“No,” Sheryl said. “Because he’s already dumb as rocks. Where can he go from there?”
“Sheryl…” Terry said, but it was half-hearted.
“Oh, Terry, don’t be such a sap. You know it’s true.”
Terry looked away, obviously uncomfortable.
Bailey wrinkled her nose at Casey. “We all love Johnny, you know? He’s a great guy, just—”
“—stupid.” Sheryl said.
A heavy silence fell, with only Sheryl willing to lift her eyes.
“Anyway,” Bailey finally said, “Johnny’s dad’s this bigwig doctor at the hospital.”
Casey blinked. “Not Dr. Shinnob?”
“Shinnob?” Bailey laughed. “Hardly. Dr. Cross. That’s Johnny’s last name. And Dr. Cross seems to realize Johnny’s never going to be doctor material, so he figures he’d better do something, like play football. You’d think the big doctor, of all people, would realize what that could do to Johnny’s head, but…” She shrugged. “Oh, well.”
“So, Martin,” Casey said, feeling sorry for Johnny. “Bailey says you have something for me. Oh, thank you.” She took the piece of cake Terry offered.
“I do.” Martin waggled his eyebrows. “What you gonna give me for it?”
“Martin!”
“Just joking, Bail, don’t have a shit fit. Here.” He dug in his bag and pulled out a manila file. “One accident report, fresh from the cop shop.”
“Thanks.” Casey wiped her fingers on a napkin and took the folder. “Anything you noticed?”
“What? You think I read it?”
“Yes.”
He grinned. “You’re right. I did. And you know what bugs me? Those machines on the road. They weren’t supposed to be there.”