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

outside in time to see the two men confronted by a third, who immediately attacked the other two.
“He just went crazy,” Harmon said. “We couldn’t hear anything they were saying, and we weren’t about to go outside. Instead, we called 911.”
Wainwright, Harmon, and Rachel Inskeep, the scrap yard’s secretary, watched from safety as the third man incapacitated the other two.
“As soon as we heard sirens,” Harmon said, “the man took off.”
The two men, whose names are yet to be released, were taken to the local hospital, where they remain under a physician’s care. Police are waiting to question them further.

    Casey set down the paper. The men and Rachel had completely covered for her.
    “ Ta da! ” Bailey set a steaming bowl of pasta on the table, dumped a bag of salad into a bowl, sliced some bread, and set out the grapes. While Casey filled her plate, Bailey took the bag of clothes outside. Casey dove into the food, pushing aside her anxiety. Bailey soon came back and ate her share, as well.
    When they were done, Bailey put away the leftovers while Casey placed the dirty dishes in the high-efficiency dishwasher. Bailey wiped the table and threw the dishrag into the sink.
    “Ask for a tour.” Death’s breath was cold in Casey’s ear. “You’ll find something interesting.
    Casey raised her eyebrows and mouthed, what is it ?
    “Ask,” Death said.
    “So,” Casey said. “Any chance I could get a tour?”
    Bailey shrugged. “Sure.”
    She took Casey through the sunroom, the den, the living room, the rec room, the master bedroom and bath—which were large enough to comfortably serve an entire family—and the entertainment room, which housed an enormous flat-screen TV and surround sound. In each room Casey looked to Death, who hung back with crossed arms, head shaking “no.” Finally, they stood in front of a closed wooden door, and Death’s face became more animated.
    “Dad’s office,” Bailey said, and swung open the door.
    Casey gasped. All of those corner offices shown in movies or talked about in business circles, had nothing on this place. Bookshelves lined what walls weren’t taken up by floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on miles of golden grain. Thick carpet lay under Casey’s stockinged feet, and colorful artwork dotted the room—paintings, sculptures, even a quilt over the back of an antique sofa. A fireplace with dark red brick sat cold and clean along the far side of the room, with two comfortable—and beautiful—chairs in front of it.
    “Does your father spend a lot of time in here?”
    “Not most of the year. During the winter he’ll use it, but the rest of the time he’s too busy. He doesn’t believe in hiring other people to do work he can do himself.”
    Casey wandered to a table that displayed an array of photographs and thought of Evan’s family picture, which she’d transferred from her old clothes to the pocket of the jeans she was now wearing. On the table were pictures of Bailey’s family throughout the years—as evidenced by Bailey’s changing form and style, as well as her sister’s—photos of dogs, and one of Bailey’s father with another man, standing beside a tractor.
    “My grandpa,” Bailey said. “Dad took over the farm from him. He died a few years ago.”
    Casey didn’t hear the sadness she would acquaint with losing a grandparent, and Bailey’s face showed nothing. “You weren’t close to him?”
    Bailey shrugged. “He worked all the time. I didn’t see him much. Kinda like Mom and Dad.”
    “Who’s this?” Casey pointed to a photo of Bailey’s dad with a group of men, sitting around a table at a restaurant.
    “Dad’s friends. Other farmers. Dad’s known them forever. That picture was taken ages ago, like, five years.”
    Casey took a closer look, then sent a shocked glance toward Death, who sat smugly with a hip hitched up on the big desk. Sitting just two chairs away from Bailey’s dad in the photo was one of the men from