The Opposite of Dark Read online

  Rhonda watched her a moment, then turned to Summer. “Finish your cake in the kitchen, hon, and then brush your teeth. I’ll come say goodnight in a few minutes.”

  Casey hugged Summer. “Sweet dreams.”

  When she left, Rhonda said, “Lou would treat you a thousand times better than Greg did.”

  “Until our last year together, Greg was one of the good guys, remember?”

  The night he proposed, Greg had surprised her with a bottle of champagne and a rowboat ride, both handled awkwardly. In the middle of the lake, he’d given her a diamond chip on a thin gold band now abandoned in a safe-deposit box.

  “Anyhow, I wasn’t completely blameless.”

  Rhonda’s mouth fell open. “How is his adultery your fault?”

  Casey couldn’t make Rhonda understand that she’d worked harder at her job than she had at her marriage. The depression after Dad’s funeral hadn’t helped. If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed she would have realized how far she and Greg had grown apart.

  “What’s wrong?” Rhonda asked. “Did Greg say something nasty?”

  “No, I didn’t even mention Greg. You did.”

  Rhonda strolled to the kitchen table. “I see you’ve been trying health food again.”

  “Just rice and beans.”

  “You’ve been going through albums.” Rhonda turned a page. “Feeling nostalgic?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I remember when most of these were taken.” Rhonda closed the album. “So, when are you going to kick Greg and his bimbo out of your house? You need to sell the place, Casey. Invest in RRSPs and stuff.”

  “I have an RRSP.” Casey took her dirty plate to the sink.

  Rhonda had never approved of her renting Dad’s old house to Greg, the same place she and Greg had shared after Dad died. But Greg paid the rent on time and took good care of the yard, or so she assumed. It had been a long time since she’d driven by. She could have rented the house to someone else; could have quit her job so she wouldn’t have to see Greg at work, but she’d needed to show people that a broken marriage hadn’t destroyed her.

  “I’ll sell it when I find something I want to buy.”

  “Mutual funds are good.”

  Every time Rhonda went on about money, it meant she was having financial problems. No surprise there. The studio suite had been empty for three months. Only university students would put up with a hot plate and teensy shower, and most of them, including Rhonda’s other tenant, had gone home for the summer.

  “Rhonda, if you need cash, I can help.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  She never did. Dad had left Rhonda only a few personal mementoes in his will. Casey still felt guilty for benefiting from a hundred-thousand-dollar insurance policy. After paying his debts, funeral expenses, and taxes, she’d offered half of what was left to Rhonda. Rhonda’s stubborn streak, however, was unparalleled in this universe.

  “How about going camping with Summer and me on the Victoria Day long weekend next month?” Rhonda said. “We could clean that grubby sleeping bag in your car.”

  Casey sat at the table. Three days without the frequent knocks on her door was too appealing to give up. “It’s still four weeks away.”

  “That’s okay.” Rhonda sat beside her. “Whatever’s bothering you should have passed by then and you won’t look so sad.”

  Damn, should have done a better job of hiding it. Rhonda was a pit bull when she wanted to know something.

  Casey took a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you about Dad. It’s bizarre and kind of horrible.”

  “Out with it then.”

  “I saw him today,” she said with a dry feeling in her mouth, “at the morgue.”

  “What?” Rhonda didn’t blink. “What are you talking about?”

  While Casey told her about Detective Lalonde’s visit, Rhonda’s face grew pale. “I don’t believe this.” By the time Casey finished describing her trip to the morgue, Rhonda was rubbing her temples and dragging her fingernails down her face. Mention of the Marine Drive place brought her to her feet.

  “I take it Dad never said anything about it to you?”

  “He’d talked about building us a house once.” Rhonda’s voice trembled as she wandered around the room. “I thought it was one of his pipe dreams.” She picked up two teddy bears from the collection on the shelves and hugged them tight. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Forensic evidence isn’t in but, yeah, I think it’s Dad.”

  Bears squished between them, as Casey embraced Rhonda, who clutched her for long, anguished seconds.

  “I could have identified the body.” She put the bears back and sniffled. “You should have been spared that.” She wiped her eyes with her shirttail. “Why didn’t Marcus contact us?” Her voice broke. “We were his family.”

  “Don’t know.” She’d been asking herself that question for hours. “We didn’t see him much those last months. Now there are three years to piece together. I want answers and Lalonde won’t share much. I’ve already phoned Dad’s old friends, but no one knows anything. Tomorrow, I’m going to Marine Drive.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Casey had hoped to see the place alone. “I’m leaving before six.”

  “Then we’d better get some sleep.” Rhonda’s hand shook as she opened the door. “Guess it’s my turn to arrange the burial.” She grimaced. “Can’t wait to tell the funeral people we’re doing it again because the first try didn’t last.”

  “Thanks for offering, but I’ll do it. What’ll you tell Summer?”

  “No clue. But she’ll know something’s up the moment I say goodnight.” More tears slipped down Rhonda’s cheeks. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I will be.”

  After more hugging and sobbing, Rhonda left. She’d taken the news better than expected. Still, Casey’s heart ached for her. She would probably spend the night wondering why the man she’d adored had faked his death.

  Casey tried neck and shoulder rolls to ease the strain. She attempted a full bend, but felt light-headed from too much stress and coffee, too many questions darting through her mind.

  She retreated to the window seat. Gazing at the enormous weeping willow in Rhonda’s front yard, she took slow deep breaths. Not exactly meditation, but close. Under tonight’s bright moon, the leaves almost glowed, and the darker recesses of Rhonda’s weedy corner lot were gently lit. Through the trees, Casey could see part of Napier where it crossed Violet, and a glimpse of a black Saab parked in front of the house. She leapt up.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Casey had known the stranger would reappear. She darted out the door, hoping the guy wouldn’t anticipate her behavior as well as she did his.

  Four

  CASEY MADE IT as far as the sidewalk before the Saab’s engine started up. She was three steps away from the vehicle when the driver sped off toward Victoria Drive. Damn, she should have gotten into her car this time, instead of trying to run after him again. Stan sometimes lectured her about her impatience, but the habit was hard to break. After all, she was her father’s daughter. That’s what everyone had told her . . . that’s what she’d always believed.

  Casey rubbed her arms in the cool night air. Streetlights illuminated fences and empty sidewalks. Usually, at least one person would be out walking a dog. Not tonight. She inhaled the scent of freshly mowed grass and then headed inside.

  • • •

  Crawling out of bed in the morning had been tougher than usual. After leaving a message for Lalonde last night about her stalker, she hadn’t slept. She’d been tempted to watch TV and tidy up a bit, but Summer and Rhonda’s bedrooms were below her living and dining areas, and this old house wasn’t soundproof. She’d finally dozed off some time after three. The alarm rang at five-fifteen.

  Casey picked a thread off her navy pinstriped jacket, tucked her clutch bag under her arm and inspect
ed her appearance in the mirror. Skirts weren’t her idea of comfort, but the business outfit might attract the purse thief on today’s agenda. While she pulled a brush through limp, old-perm curls, Rhonda’s knock broke the silence. Casey tossed the brush on her bed. She’d hoped Rhonda would still be asleep when she left. She opened the door and found Rhonda holding a pan of blueberry muffins. The ladybug hair clips still drooped over her ears, and she had on yesterday’s sweats and flannel shirt.

  Rhonda looked her over. “My, my, how conservative. Who are you after today?”

  “A teenager who steals purses and the occasional wallet. Apparently, he’s a cash-only guy.”

  She looked at Casey’s running shoes. “Are you expecting a chase?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Then you’ll need breakfast.” Rhonda offered her the pan. “Thought we could eat on the way to West Vancouver.”

  Casey’s stomach growled. “Thanks. Let me fix your hair.” She retrieved the brush. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  Rhonda’s pale complexion was a sharp contrast to the dark, puffy sacs under her eyes. Last night, she’d been doing laundry in the basement when Casey ran outside. Thank god she hadn’t heard a thing. Rhonda looked too vulnerable to know that a stranger had been watching the house.

  “I reread Marcus’s postcards,” Rhonda said. “He left no clue about going underground. I could go over the stuff he sent you, if you want.”

  “I did. There’s nothing in them.”

  Rhonda used to read Dad’s postcards out loud. To spare her feelings, Casey had never told Rhonda that she’d received a couple of long letters inside birthday cards.

  “Wish I’d gone the hi-tech route,” Rhonda said. “He and I would have kept in touch better.”

  Rhonda refused to spend money on a cell phone and hated computers. Wouldn’t even try out Casey’s PC.

  “Rhonda, are you sure you want to see the house?” Casey slowly brushed Rhonda’s thick dark hair. “And what about Summer?”

  “I told her about Marcus last night and that I’d be going to his place this morning.”

  “How’d she take the news?”

  “More confused than anything.”

  Who wasn’t? “I’ve got to be at work by eight, so you’ll be back before she leaves for school.”

  “What if the cops aren’t finished looking around?” Rhonda asked. “How will we get in without a key, especially if there’s an alarm system?”

  “As closest relative, I could inherit this place, and there’s nothing illegal about dismantling any alarm system and using lock picks on my own house.” She didn’t add there was plenty wrong with trespassing on a crime scene, but Dad’s secret life would torment her until she had some answers.

  “I wonder if he left this place to you in a new will?”

  Casey put the brush down. “I’ll call his lawyer later.”

  “What about the lock picks? Aren’t you out of practice?”

  She smiled. “I still play with them now and then.”

  When she was twelve, an uncle gave her a nine-piece set for Christmas. Her parents’ disapproval had sparked a heated argument during dinner that night, but Casey had begged to keep the tools. Dad only agreed when she promised not to use them for anything illegal. By age seventeen, she’d become skilled enough to impress friends at parties. After moving here, she taught Rhonda, who’d become fed up with tenants changing their locks then losing their keys. Learning to pick locks was much cheaper than calling a locksmith.

  “We’d better go,” Casey said.

  The trek downstairs and along the narrow hallway toward the back felt longer than usual. She didn’t look forward to this excursion to West Vancouver. Much as she wanted to see the house, she worried about what she’d find and how Rhonda would cope. She entered Rhonda’s kitchen and opened the back door.

  “I’ll leave some muffins and a note for Summer,” Rhonda said, trailing behind.

  “Okay.”

  Casey flipped on the porch light, then took her time down the rickety wooden steps. Heading out before daybreak was depressing, but it’d be lighter within the hour. She trudged through the overgrown grass, climbed into her Tercel, and tossed fast food wrappers onto the sleeping bag in back. She hadn’t had to stake out troublesome bus stops for months. One of these days, she should do a little spring cleaning.

  “Too bad you don’t drive something nice,” Rhonda said as she clambered inside. “The wealthy folks of West Van are going to sneer at this rust-ravaged garbage can.”

  Casey had once thought about buying something newer and then decided to keep her money until she drove this one into the ground. Besides, she rode buses for free. Unfortunately, Mainland Public Transport didn’t have West Vancouver routes.

  “Would you like to take your old beater instead?”

  “No.” Rhonda removed a muffin from a plastic bag as Casey cruised down the back lane.

  “Detective Lalonde asked about Mother yesterday,” Casey said.

  “Really?”

  “He found her name and number in an address book.” Casey made a right turn onto Commercial Drive. “It makes me wonder if she knows more than she told Lalonde. I mean, she knew about me, and Mother always did attract trouble.”

  “Lillian didn’t attract trouble, she sought it out. That’s partly what made her so interesting.”

  “She came from a corrupt family, Rhonda. Wasn’t Mother’s policy to run away before anyone asked questions?”

  “Not always.” Rhonda picked at a blueberry. “Danger fascinated Lillian. In tenth grade, a classmate had a seizure in the science lab after school, and only Lillian and I were there.” Rhonda popped the berry in her mouth. “I went to get help, but Lillian wanted to watch.”

  Casey turned left onto Venables. “Watching people suffer evolved into making them suffer. How many marriages did her affairs destroy? Six? Seven?”

  “Five, but things worked out for some of us. Your dad and I fell in love.”

  What about all the other families? “You sound awfully forgiving.”

  “The older I get, the more I understand Lillian’s instability.” She turned to Casey. “She needed men to feel alive. She couldn’t control it. My lousy ex, on the other hand, could have controlled his lust if he’d wanted to.”

  “Semantics.”

  “I’ve known your mother since we were seven years old, sweetie. I knew her better than her folks and Marcus did. She’s to be pitied, not hated.”

  Maybe, maybe not. Minutes later, she drove across the Lions Gate Bridge, grateful for not having to use this aging three-lane structure often. Beautiful as West Van was, with its executive homes and panoramic views of ferries gliding back and forth, she preferred living among the wider variety of incomes, lifestyles, and ethnic backgrounds in East Vancouver.

  By the time she reached Marine Drive, Casey found herself brooding over Dad again. Had he lived alone? Given his charm and looks, he should have found a lover. She glanced at Rhonda, who was trying to see beyond all the locked gates and tall hedges. The sky had lightened up enough to provide glimpses of elaborate, multi-level houses. Some were built closer down to the water, so only roofs and skylights were visible from the road.

  “How could Marcus have afforded this area?” Rhonda murmured.

  “Do we want to know?” Casey scanned house numbers posted on gates. “There it is, on the left.”

  She pulled over and studied a two-story structure partially concealed by bushes bordering the property. Two police cruisers and a familiar Sebring were parked in front. Crap, what was Lalonde doing here so early?

  “We’ll never get inside now,” Rhonda said.

  “This is waterfront property. There’s probably beach access somewhere.”

  Casey drove on until she spotted a footpath between two homes. She parked on the shoulder, four houses down from Dad’s place.

  When they reached the beach, Rhonda said, “Oh god, Marcus b
rought me here once. Showed me where he wanted to build his dream home.” She walked on.

  While Casey picked her way along the narrow rocky beach, she remembered Dad saying that Rhonda made him feel good about himself, that he felt easy and relaxed around her. Why had everything changed?

  “When did Dad bring you here?”

  “A month after we got engaged. Then he got busy with work and we never came back.”

  Five years ago. They’d never set a wedding date. Surely Dad wouldn’t have faked his own death to avoid marriage. He’d ended relationships before, maturely and face-to-face. He wouldn’t have run from Rhonda, would he?

  Dad’s trademark rectangular design was easy to spot. Homes on either side were varying levels and angles, but Dad had preferred straight, simple lines that critics had called boring. Truth was, he hadn’t cared as much about exteriors as he had interiors. Casey studied the thirty-foot high cliff. Rocks and boulders provided a gradual incline. She hitched up her narrow skirt and began to climb.

  “You can’t be serious,” Rhonda said.

  “I want a closer look at the house.”

  The cold rocks were sprinkled with damp sand, pebbles, twigs, and the occasional beer can. By the time Casey reached the police tape along the perimeter, her hands were gritty.

  Open, vertical blinds covered first-floor windows that ran the length of the house. Second-floor windows were exposed. The left half of the sloping roof was mostly skylight.

  “Pull your skirt down,” Rhonda called from behind. “We’re attracting attention.”

  Casey spotted a guy leaning over the second-floor balcony of the house on their left. Brown, shoulder-length hair shielded most of his face. A moment later, she saw Lalonde strolling toward her. Damn.

  “What are you doing here, Miss Holland?”

  “Satisfying my curiosity.” She ducked under the tape and rubbed grit from her hands. “Do you always start this early?”

  “There’s been a break-in, and I got your message about the Saab.” He watched Rhonda climb up. “You should have called before you went after him.”

  “There wasn’t time,” she mumbled, so Rhonda couldn’t hear.