The Opposite of Dark (18 page)

“She won't succeed.”

“I don't know about that.” Rhonda hugged the grocery bag. “She'll accuse me of killing Marcus, and Summer will wonder if it's true 'cause I've kept this huge secret from her.” She again glanced at the kitchen. “Lillian's setting me up, you see. She still hates me for getting engaged to Marcus, can't let it go.”

“How did Mother react when you first told her?”

“She spewed that crap about him never understanding me as well as she did.”

“When Mother called, did she ever talk about her life, what she was up to?”

“She dropped clues now and then.” Rhonda gazed at the wayward orange lying on the grass. “Lalonde's been badgering me about the murder, so I got mad and said that if he needed suspects, I'd seen a notebook
full of them.” She bit her lip. “You're going to give him the book, right?”

“Yeah, I'm done with it.”

Darcy's Porsche pulled up. No way did she want to talk to the manipulative bastard.

“Here's my guy,” Rhonda said.

Casey stood. “Your guy?”

“Obviously, he's no Marcus, but he's behaved himself and we're having fun. Which reminds me, are you going to see Lou today?”

“Right after I take a nap; couldn't sleep on the plane.”

Casey hurried inside and up to her apartment. She dialed Simone's number, but a recorded voice informed her the number was no longer in service. Why would she disconnect her phone and not leave a new number? Casey made her disheveled bed then crawled under the comforter.

•  •  •

A knock on the door woke her. She looked at the clock. A ninety-minute nap was long enough. She stumbled out of bed, opened the door, and smiled at Summer.

“Come on in, sweetie. How are things?”

While Summer described her swim practices and Sports Day events, Casey worked up the courage to raise the next topic. “I heard you had a nice chat with my mother.”

“Yeah, she was cool.”

Casey manoeuvred her way through the debris to the kitchen. Until now, she'd never discussed Mother with Summer. Too afraid her anger would show through. She didn't want Summer to know how much shame a child could feel toward a parent.

“What did you and Mother talk about?” Casey retrieved a jar of instant coffee from a cupboard.

“Stuff you did when you were little.”

To hide her annoyance, Casey looked for milk in the refrigerator.

“I know Mom's still a little mad about it,” Summer said. “I tried telling her that your mom was nice to me, but talking's been hard with stupid Darcy always around.”

Casey shut the door. “I thought you liked him.”

Summer fidgeted as she looked at a collection of postcards taped to the fridge. “He thinks he can go wherever he wants.”

“Like where?”

“Like here.”

Oh, hell. “When was this?”

“Thursday night. I had to go to the bathroom and when I got back to my room, I heard your door close. I peeked out and saw Darcy coming downstairs.”

“Did he see you?”

“I only opened the door a tiny bit. He had his head down and was in a big rush.”

Casey gazed at the textbook and papers on the floor under her kitchen table. “You're sure this didn't happen last night?”

“Yep.”

“Was Darcy carrying anything?”

“Nope.”

“Did you tell your mom?”

Summer shook her head. “She likes him, and besides, Mom asked him to fix your leaking tap.” She nodded toward the kitchen sink. “That's why I thought he was here at first, but I didn't see any tools.”

They looked at the still leaking tap.

“Your mom knows something's been bothering you. Is it Darcy?”

“Yeah, all he does is talk to her now, especially at night. Sometimes I just want to squish his head and stomp on it.”

She probably knew their relationship was sexual. Poor kid. “You should tell your mom when Darcy's out.”

“I know, but it's just that she seems, like, happy.”

Too happy to notice that her affair bothered Summer? Casey dumped a heaping teaspoon of coffee in her mug.

“Why would Darcy trash your place, anyway?” Summer asked.

“I don't know.” But she had a theory. Casey put her arm around Summer. “Tell me, has Darcy done anything else that makes you uncomfortable?”

“No. Mostly, he just ignores me, and he's gotten cranky.”

“Thanks for letting me know, but I need to tell your mom about this, okay?”

Summer nodded. “I gotta go. My friend Lisa and her parents are taking me to their cabin at Whistler in an hour, so I won't see ya till Monday night.”

“No camping with your mom this weekend?”

“Darcy didn't want to go, so she canceled it. Oh, and she wants to know if you're hungry. She saved you some soup.”

Casey smiled. “Thank her for me, but I'm going to see Lou.” She hugged Summer. “You sure you're okay?”

Summer smiled, “Totally, now that you're back.”

After she left, Casey called work and learned that Lou's shift wouldn't end for two hours. Plenty of time to eat, change clothes, and meet him at Mainland. Boy, would he be surprised.

•  •  •

Casey thumbed through the contents of the file Stan had left on her desk. She'd already read everything once, and had memorized enough new info about the kid to easily recognize the pimply twerp the moment he stepped onto the bus.

She checked her watch. Forty-five more minutes before Lou pulled into the depot. Drumming her fingers on the desk, she looked at the long, rectangular room. Since the administration staff didn't work weekends, the place was quiet. Casey closed the file and stood. Why not meet Lou a couple of stops from here? It'd be fun to see the look on his face when she climbed on board.

As often happened during Victoria Day long weekends in Vancouver, the good weather had left town along with the camping and cottage folks. Cool air and a gloomy sky warned of an approaching rainfall. Casey exited through the front of the building and headed down Lougheed, grateful for the busy mix of retail outlets, car dealerships, restaurants, and light industry along this stretch of highway. Plenty of people around. No reason to feel alone or vulnerable, to look over her shoulder every minute.

She had to admit that recent events haunted her dreams. Separating truth from lies was tough, and the suspect list kept growing: Theo, Gislinde, Mother, Daphne Reid, Vincent Wilkes, and possibly two Mexicans named Joseph and Carlos. Reid was the only one with no clear motive. As for the others, Theo was out three million dollars and a partner. Gislinde might have discovered that Mother was still in the picture and that Dad had been hoarding a lot of cash. Vincent might have worried that Dad wanted his house and architectural firm back. As for Mother, well, their history spoke for itself. Also troubling was the one name Casey hadn't added to her list, yet couldn't forget: Gustaf Osterman.

By the time she reached the last bus stop before the depot, the sky rumbled and a raindrop plopped onto her forehead. As she moved to the covered area, she spotted two men, possibly Mexican, heading for the stop at a quick pace.

They were staring at her. The older man wore a suit while the younger one sported jeans and a T-shirt. She had no idea how long they'd been behind her, but their grim expressions didn't indicate a leisurely stroll. As they drew near, Casey's breathing quickened. She looked for signs of weapons.

The men walked past the covered area. The older man kept his eyes forward and the younger one lowered his gaze. His hair hung to his collar. She watched the men until Lou's bus came into view. Neither of them looked back at her.

The bus pulled to a stop, Casey climbed on board, and wondered if she looked as shocked as Lou did. Bruises surrounded his eyes. Another purple-green bruise discolored his chin. He opened the door and Casey climbed the steps. Cuts and scrapes covered his cheeks. He looked far too battered to be working.

“Casey!”

As Lou stood, she wrapped her arms around him. Two large tears spilled onto his shoulder. “I'm so sorry, Lou. If I'd stayed home this wouldn't have happened.”

“Then he would have gone after you.” He stroked her cheek and then closed the door. “Have a seat, or passengers will think we've got something hot and heavy going on.”

Casey looked around. “Your last passenger just left.” She chose the seat closest to him.

“How was Europe?” he asked, merging into traffic.

“Lousy. I'll tell you everything over beer and pizza.”

“Could we eat in? I'm kind of tired.”

“Sure.” She was amazed he'd managed a full shift at all.

“I stayed over three times,” he said. “Summer seemed fine, and I never saw Darcy near her.”

“Did you meet him?”

“No, the guy was always out; big coincidence, huh?”

“Yep, and he's pretty much ignored Summer since he's become involved with Rhonda.”

“I figured that, yeah. So, now that you're home, what's your next move?”

“A talk with Dad's old associate, Vincent. After that I'm pulling the covers over my head and not coming out until the guilty parties are in jail.”

“Parties? Meaning more than one?”

“Sure, why not? I've learned that nothing about my family's ever been simple and straightforward.”

Her eyes filled again and she wanted to sink through the floor. Where was all this emotion coming from?

Lou pulled into the depot and turned off the ignition. “What has you so upset?”

She wiped her eyes. “The deception went much deeper and for much longer than I thought. Why wasn't Dad straight with me?”

“Lots of parents don't want their kids to know about their dark side, or their failures, or things they're ashamed of. I remember how mad Dad was with Mom for telling us about his mistress.”

Lou's parents had been divorced almost as long as Casey's. Every year, he went to see his dad in Winnipeg. Every year, he came back out of sorts, fluctuating between love, anger, and pity. It usually took a couple of days to cheer him up.

“Dad and I went through a lot of crap,” she said. “I really believed it was just the two of us sharing secrets and troubles and good times, until he and Rhonda hooked up. Turns out he and Mother had had this whole other life all along.”

Lightning flashed. Thunder exploded and the rain that had been sprinkling the windshield became a deluge.

“I talked to the security company,” Lou said. “No one's tried to break into the house since the guard was attacked. I don't get why someone had to destroy the floorboards, though.”

Probably to look for three million bucks, but why choose that spot?

“The alarm's been installed,” Lou added, “and another guard's patroling the grounds, which must be costing you a fortune.”

“I'll be discontinuing that. Did they catch the guy who beat up the first guard?”

“No, but he's the same maniac who ambushed me—tall guy with shaded glasses, wearing a hoodie.”

Casey forgot to take a breath. “Were the guy's lenses blue?”

“It was too dark to tell, why?”

“Did you see his hair?”

“The hood covered it.” Lou winced as he got to his feet. “What's up?”

“Are you sure you've never seen Darcy? When we left for the airport, he was watching us from the porch.”

“I don't remember looking back.”

The rain tapped the windows. It was the only sound she could hear.

“Remember me telling you that I hit my attacker with the flashlight and never saw his face?”

“What about it?”

“When I met Darcy the next day, he'd claimed to have had knee surgery, and went down the stairs awkwardly. The knee seemed fine by the time I left for Europe. Darcy Churcott's tall and he wears blue tinted glasses.”

“Shit.” He shook his head. “I want to see this loser.”

“Rhonda said your attacker spoke to you. What did he sound like?”

“Gravelly voice.”

Casey shivered. “It's him.”

“How does the jerk fit into this?”

“He knows Theo Ziegler and he may want the money.”

“What money?”

“I'll fill you in while we eat.”

Lou put a comforting arm around her. “We'll need evidence against this freak.”

Casey nodded. “I gather you didn't describe your assailant to Rhonda?”

“No, she seems hyper-sensitive these days. I didn't think I should go into detail.”

“Good move. She really likes the sick bastard. I'll call Lalonde.”

Another bus pulled into the depot. Casey breathed in the familiar smells of diesel fumes. Someone shouted a greeting to a coworker and again her eyes filled with tears. She was home.

CASEY STOOD IN
Vincent Wilkes's humid kitchen and sipped a mug of coffee. She'd shown up unannounced to catch him off guard, and the plan had worked, more or less. Vincent was surprised all right, but he was also with a client in the work area upstairs; not something she'd anticipated on a Sunday. When she asked if she could wait, Vincent suggested she pour herself a coffee in the kitchen. He hadn't looked happy to see her, but then Vincent and happiness
had always been at odds. Or was there another reason he didn't want her here?