Free The Grim Reaper's Dance by Judy Clemens Page A

as Casey stashed her bag under a pile of towels in the bathroom’s sink cabinet. “I’ll guard your stuff.”
    “Oh, great. And how will you respond if Bailey comes in and looks around? Chill her to death?”
    “No.” Death’s voice held exaggerated patience. “I’ll tell you.”
    “Oh.” Casey slid off the ball cap and waited.
    “What?”
    “Can you at least turn around?”
    With rolling eyes Death spun toward the wall. “You are so sensitive these days. Are you having body-image issues?”
    Casey pulled off her bloody sweatshirt. “I’m not— Never mind. How about you just pretend to respect my privacy?”
    “Whatever. Maybe I’ll just go see what your little friend is doing, instead.”
    “Fine.”
    “ Fine .”
    Casey watched Death walk through the closed bathroom door before she stepped into the shower. She stood under the steaming water for a long time, shampooing her hair twice and scrubbing her body roughly with the washcloth. The cut on her shoulder looked a little better than the day before, even with it re-opening after Davey’s. The cleaning at the hospital had done wonders.
    By the time she was done, her skin felt raw, and after patting it dry she slathered it with the scented body lotion on the counter. She rooted through the cupboard and found a large Band-Aid for her shoulder, and even some of that sticky wrap-around gauze. Finally, she pulled on Bailey’s sister’s clothes, which fit remarkably well, except for the length in the jeans; she was obviously taller than Casey, so Casey simply rolled up the hems.
    “Feel better?” Bailey asked when Casey rejoined her in the kitchen.
    “Much. Thank you.” Casey put her bag of papers under her chair.
    Death was nowhere to be seen.
    Bailey stuck a grape in her mouth. “No problem. Heather’s clothes fit you all right, huh? Hope you don’t mind pink. That’s pretty much all she owns.”
    Pink wasn’t, in fact, one of Casey favorites, but she wasn’t about to complain. “What can I do with these?” She held out her old clothes.
    Bailey wrinkled her nose. “Burning barrel. Here.” She rummaged under the sink and held out a grocery bag, into which Casey stuffed the clothes. “I’ll take them out while you’re eating.”
    “It sure smells good in here.”
    Bailey brightened. “Spaghetti. Sounded good to me, so I hope you like it.”
    It took a few minutes for Bailey to finish cooking, so Casey picked up the newspaper, which sat on the counter. Nothing on the front page about the accident or Wainwrights’ Scrap Metal, but page three held a little of both. Investigators Unsure of Accident’s Cause , one article said, and explained that it was a mystery as to why the construction vehicles were on the road. It described Casey’s appearance and reiterated that she was wanted for questioning, as were a group of men who had been at the accident site.
    Yeah, well, good luck finding them, Casey thought. Or me.
    But there was more.
    “It was so strange,” Bethany Briggs said to reporters at the crash site. “I stopped to help, and the woman had a man in a headlock. She let go when I arrived, and pushed him out of the way. I don’t know what she was doing, but I guess she was in shock. I mean, why else would she be wrestling with someone right after being in an accident?”
    Casey rubbed a hand across her eyes. She’d forgotten about her Good Samaritan in the bright red suit, and hoped she wasn’t going to become a problem. There wasn’t anything more from Ms. Briggs in the piece; just the usual stuff about law enforcement keeping the public up-to-date.
    She looked at the next article.

    Junk Yard Trespassers Surprised
When David Wainwright, owner of Wainwright Scrap Metal and Recycling, heard his dog barking, he didn’t think much of it until he saw the men on his property. “They just showed up,” he said. “I don’t know what they were doing there.”
Wainwright and Wendell Harmon, a mechanic visiting the office, looked