Grim Reaper 01 - Embrace the Grim Reaper

apparent on their faces. Eric spoke to them gently. “She needs to look. It won’t take long.”
    Yvonne grabbed a stack of papers. “I have things for him to go over and sign. I can keep him busy for about five minutes. Six or seven, maybe, at the most.”
    That would have to be enough.
    Casey motioned Eric back to his office and stayed out of Willems’ sightline as Yvonne knocked, opened the door, and entered, closing the door with a soft click. Kathy pointed out Ellen’s desk and Casey raced to it, immediately turning on the computer. While it booted up she opened the drawers, beginning with the top middle and moving methodically down each side.
    There was nothing there. No folders, no memos, not even a stray Post-It note. Quietly she slid each drawer out of its slot, looking under and over it, feeling into the space. Nothing.
    She turned to the computer, searching for anything remotely personal. Again, nothing. The hard drive had been wiped clean of everything but boilerplate forms, the word processor, and the company logo. She glanced at the clock. Five minutes had already elapsed. The doorknob to Willems’ office turned, and she ducked behind the desk.
    “He’ll be busy a few more minutes,” Yvonne said quietly, once the door was closed. “That’s all I can promise.”
    Casey sprang back into the seat and went to the search engine’s history. Cleared. The bookmark column—empty.
    Growling under her breath she flicked the computer off, slid the chair in place, and went to Eric’s office door. “Thank you,” she mouthed to the women.
    They acknowledged her gratitude with obvious relief.
    Eric looked up as she entered his office and closed the door behind her. “Anything?”
    “Zip.”
    His shoulders sagged. “Nothing here, either. At least, that I know of. This stuff isn’t exactly… I mean, I’m an actor .”
    Casey swiveled, leaning her hip on the desk. “It’s too much to ask for it to be that easy. Is there any point in your looking further?”
    Eric rested his elbows on his desk, his fingers twisting his hair until he looked like a mad scientist. He flicked a thumb toward the two secretaries. “If they knew something that would save their jobs they would have told somebody. Right?”
    Casey rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other hand keeping her balanced on the desk. “Probably.”
    Eric sat back, checking his watch. “We need to go. Loretta and Johnny will be waiting.” He stood up and pushed in his chair. “There’s nothing here.” His hands gripped the back of his chair. “Nothing but the livelihoods of hundreds of people in this town.”
    He looked at her bleakly, and Casey felt the sudden urge to smooth his hair and take him in her arms, comforting him. “Come on,” she said, instead. “Let’s go do the little we’re able to. Thanks to you they’ll at least have full bellies tonight.”
    He stood for a moment, head bowed, knuckles white on the chair. Finally he looked up, gave a ghost of a smile, and held out a hand. “Shall we?”
    As they left he turned to look at his office once more, as if seeing what it could have been, before turning off the light.

Chapter Twenty-seven
    Eric was right. The people really did seem to enjoy the dinner. Somehow just the sight of pizza rounds on the table made the room more festive. Not laugh-out-loud, party favor kind of festive, but a more subdued hum of contentment. Children took huge, sticky bites, cheese stringing from their mouths, while adults wandered from pizza to pizza, trying out varieties of Veggie Special. A few of the pies even featured pepperoni, that coveted pizza foundation.
    To complement the main course, Loretta had tossed up a salad of slightly wilted greens, garnered from neighboring grocery stores for cheap, and the diners had their choice of several kinds of generic soft drinks. All the room needed, Casey thought, was a clown to pop out of the kitchen and perform bad party tricks.
    “Nice,” she told Eric at the kitchen door.
    He didn’t say, “I told you so.”
    The cheery atmosphere lasted until the pizza was gone—except for one forlorn piece missing half of its cheese—and the two-liter bottles were empty. Napkins lay strewn on the tables, and tomato sauce dotted the floors and the children.
    But then reality came crashing down, and the look of quiet desperation began to leach back into the adults’ eyes. The children, oblivious to the changing emotions, continued to skip or run around the room