The Opposite of Dark Page 7

  “Not if circumstances forced him underground.”

  “Circumstances that could have got him killed.”

  Watching Rhonda turn the pages, Casey wondered if that book was the reason someone had broken into the house on Marine Drive. Was it possible that the locker break-ins at work were also connected? Probably not. After all, several were opened and cash was stolen. Or was that what the perp wanted people to think? Was the key to an expensive home the reason for the book’s value, or the names in that book?

  “Vincent Wilkes and Lillian are in here.” Rhonda put the book down. “How much do you think she knows about Marcus’s other life?”

  “No clue.” But she hoped to find out soon.

  “You should give the book to Lalonde.”

  “I will when I’m done with it.” Casey put her beer down to pick up the bowling shoes she’d left by her stationary bike. “At the moment, he’s probably busy contacting names in the current book.”

  “Casey, there might not be any difference between investigating a crime and researching Marcus’s life.”

  “If there isn’t, I’ll back off.”

  Rhonda put the book down and sighed. “No matter what you discover, Marcus is still gone. Maybe the secrets should stay buried.”

  Wrong. He’d bloody lied about his life and he died violently. Secrets had to be exposed.

  • • •

  As Casey swallowed the last of her hamburger, Lou said, “Think you’ll be able to toss a bowling ball after all that food?”

  “Totally, and I bet my score will be higher than yours.” She looked around. “Marie should be here by now.”

  “Actually, she’s not coming. Her babysitter canceled at the last minute.”

  “Too bad,” although not entirely. She welcomed the break from her coworker’s competitive streak, one that covered everything from bowling scores to landing assignments and grabbing Lou’s attention. Casey used to chalk it up to insecurity, but she later realized that Marie had a thing for Lou and had decided Casey was a rival.

  “By the way, that purse thief struck again and Marie nearly caught him.”

  “Crap, the count’s up to four purses and one wallet now. What happened?”

  “She was eastbound on the M8 around lunchtime when the guy struck at the Broadway and Renfrew stop. Marie saw it happen, but the kid took off fast. She got a good look at him, though.”

  “Really?” A twinge of jealousy rippled through Casey, though she wasn’t sure if this was because Marie had made a point of telling Lou about it or that she could ID the guy. “Did she say what he looked like?”

  “Acne on his face, full lips, tall and thin with a ball cap and black and yellow backpack.”

  “Hmm, the backpack doesn’t match earlier descriptions.”

  “Maybe he bought a new one. They found the wallet, and the victim said she had eighty bucks in it. Credit cards were still there.”

  “As usual,” Casey said, and rubbed her aching shoulder. She needed to catch that kid soon.

  “You okay?” Lou asked.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  On the way here, she’d shown him her wounds and told him everything that had happened. Typically, Lou hadn’t said much. He’d never been one for spouting opinions. Still, the surprise and worry on his face had been easy to read. When she described what she saw at the morgue, Lou had actually cringed.

  “By the way, Rhonda has a new tenant,” Casey remarked. “He’s an electrician.”

  Lou slid closer to her on the bench, “Thought hers was a girls-only house.”

  “She needs the bucks and probably hopes he’ll do a little free rewiring.”

  “Think he’ll fit in?”

  “He and Rhonda seem to have hit it off; innuendo has been flashing all day.” Casey looked around for their teammates, who were still at the food counter.

  “Rhonda’s seeing romance, huh?”

  “Rhonda’s seeing a heart-shaped, vibrating bed with mirrors on the ceiling.” When he didn’t crack a smile, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Lou watched people throw practice balls. “I know you can take care of yourself, but you’re getting into some potentially dangerous, heavy-duty family stuff, Casey.”

  “I can handle it.”

  He watched her. “You sounded sad when you filled me in.”

  The bells and whistles of pinball machines rang on the other side of a partition.

  “You mean depressed again?”

  He paused. “It was hard to see you go through it after Marcus’s funeral.”

  Hard to experience, too; mercifully, a good therapist and the right medication had shortened the ordeal. She touched his arm. “I’m not depressed, just angry and shocked. I mean, Dad’s secrets go back a lot of years, and I need to know why.”

  “Why don’t you wait until the cops solve the murder, then take your time researching the past. They may find out things you couldn’t.”

  Casey stared at the rows of pins. “Would you like to see Dad’s fancy West Van home tomorrow?”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Not with two people in the middle of the afternoon. Even in the dark, my assailant wore a hood pulled over his forehead. My guess is he won’t go near the place in daylight, but if it’ll make you feel better, we could bring friends.”

  He shrugged.

  “No one’s going to stop me from going through those rooms, Lou. I need to know.”

  “Could be that the truth isn’t worth knowing.”

  Meaning secrets should stay buried, like Rhonda said? Absolutely not. “Remember the night I was driving the M4 bus and that drunk pulled a knife on me?”

  “I’ll never forget it.”

  Lou was the first to see her stumble out of the bus back at Mainland. He’d put his arms around her until she stopped shaking. Greg had arrived later and told her she should get a secretarial job.

  “I went back to work the next night because if I didn’t, I was afraid I’d never drive again.” Casey paused. “I have to face the past right now or the fear will get worse. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering where my courage went.”

  “Yeah.” Lou watched their approaching teammates. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Ten

  CASEY WINKED AT Lou as she unlocked Dad’s front door with the key from the blue notebook. She pushed the door open and raised the pipe wrench, should her hunch about the thug’s absence be wrong. The wrench wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. She’d look for the tire iron she’d lost Tuesday night.

  Standing on the threshold, Casey listened for sounds and peered around the door.

  “Crap, look at this,” she said, pulling Lou inside.

  A dozen wooden crates, each packed with items wrapped in newspaper, sat in the foyer.

  “These weren’t here two days ago.” Casey looked at the staircase and again listened to the quiet.

  “Want to leave?” Lou whispered.

  “No, but let’s see if a red Jaguar’s in the garage.”

  A minute later, they were staring at an empty garage.

  “I’ll show you the den,” she said.

  In the den, the bloodstained chair and carpet were still here, but everything else was gone except the phone. Was her attacker a professional thief who’d found an unoccupied home, or somebody listed in one of Dad’s address books?

  In the living room, she and Lou strolled between more sealed crates before venturing into the empty dining room. Back in the foyer, Casey smacked the wrench against a crate.

  “All this packing in a day and a half?” Again, she looked at the staircase. “Someone’s worked fast, or he had help.”

  “Any ideas who?” Lou asked.

  “Theo Ziegler comes to mind. I called Lalonde, but he still hasn’t been able to find him. Ziegler hasn’t been following me that I could see, so I’m thinking he’s been busy here.”

  “A thief and a killer?”

  “Possibly. Lalonde would
n’t tell me what, if anything, they’ve dug up on him, so I did a little research on the net and found a website for a TZ Incorporated, based in Geneva. It’s just a little one-page site, but it states that Ziegler’s owner of a company that specializes in unique imports and exports. His is the only name on the site, along with a contact number.”

  “Which I assume you called?”

  Casey smiled. “I talked to a woman who said he’s out of town indefinitely. She wouldn’t give me any info about the company and asked me to call back in a couple of weeks. Ziegler’s either warned her to shut up or the police have already scared her off.” She began rummaging through a crate. “When I left my name and number and asked that he call me, her voice went all squeaky, so I’m wondering if she knows the name Holland. It’ll be interesting to see if Ziegler returns my call.”

  “Let’s go upstairs.” Lou looked at the staircase. “Want me to lead?”

  “Since I dragged you here, that wouldn’t be fair.”

  Casey took her time with each step, alert to the silence. At the top of the stairs, she looked over her shoulder and then scanned the area for intruders. She hadn’t noticed the five doors in the dark the other night, or the wood paneling on the far wall. In daylight, the atrium was bright and cheerful. Lou wandered past a row of vibrantly colored plants.

  “I knew your dad loved gardening,” he said, “but why bring the whole yard inside?”

  “It’s not the whole yard; the grass is still out there.”

  Lou touched several flower petals. “Silk.” He gazed at a half-dozen trees, most of them more than six feet high. “The trees are real. Red maple, purple leaf plum.” He studied the tree at the far end of the room. “Japanese maple.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Remember the tree doctor I went out with?”

  Casey remembered all of Lou’s girlfriends. “She really liked you,” although she’d been totally wrong for him.

  “She dragged me through tons of parks and forests, very educational.”

  Casey spotted the tire iron in a corner, picked it up, and gave the weapon to Lou, “For your protection.”

  “Thanks,” he said, as he looked around, “but I don’t think I’ll need it.”

  She searched three rooms where more crates were sealed shut, closets emptied, and mattresses upended.

  “Hey,” Lou called from the room behind the stairs, “I found a pool table.”

  Casey stepped inside and watched him stroke the table’s surface. “Must have been a new hobby.” She gazed at the diagonal violet, mauve, and pink stripes on one wall. Not Dad’s taste at all. “I’m not letting anyone take anything. I’ll hire a security service and talk to the cops before we head back.”

  “Do you want to empty the crates?”

  “No, I should be back on the M8 by lunch hour.”

  “I thought he doesn’t normally strike at noon.”

  “I know, but a time pattern’s emerging and it fits a high school student’s schedule. I’m thinking our guy’s a student and not a street kid like Stan thinks. So, I want to check out the schools on or near the M8’s route.” She headed out the door. “Let’s take a peek at this last room.”

  In the northwest corner, above the living room, an enormous master bedroom—not yet packed—was flooded by natural light from the large skylight. On the king-sized bed lay half a dozen paintings and one pen-and-ink drawing, each partially covered with brown wrapping paper and a bill of sale.

  “Simone told me that Dad’s dealt in art, among other things.” She studied the bills from Oregon and California. All were made out to TZ Inc. “They can’t be stolen or the police would have confiscated them.”

  While Lou studied the artwork, she wandered to the French doors and out onto a balcony. From this height, she could see the shoreline and a strip of beach. She turned and stepped back inside.

  The room would be packed up soon. One empty crate had been placed in front of the closet filled with casual wear and suits. When had Dad started wearing Armani? There was no sign of women’s clothing, no trace of makeup or other female toiletries in the en suite bathroom.

  Lou sat on the edge of the bed while Casey spotted two pewter-framed photographs on the night tables. She scowled at a familiar snapshot of Mother taken years ago; light blond hair curling onto her shoulders, sapphire necklace, royal-blue strapless gown. Mother was laughing, her head tilted, conveying coyness.

  Hadn’t Dad thrown the picture out the window after their final fight? From the dining room below her parents’ bedroom, Casey had heard the whole thing. She’d learned about Mother’s promiscuity only a few days before the final showdown and had come home from school to find them already shouting at each other. She’d watched Mother’s possessions fall onto the patio, heard the picture’s glass shatter. She’d seen Dad drag Mother downstairs and shove her outside. Casey never saw the photograph again. Why had he kept it? Dad always believed that once hurt, there was no going back for more.

  “Is that your mom?”

  Lou’s voice jolted her to the present. “Biologically speaking; people used to say she was a cross between Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly.” Casey watched him pick up the picture. “Who do you think she looks like?”

  “She looks like you.”

  “No way.”

  “Same smile, same violet eyes, and I know you color your hair brown.”

  “Doesn’t matter; we have totally different body types.”

  “Maybe your mother doesn’t share your love of cheeseburgers.”

  “Funny, Lou.”

  “Did you hear back from her yet?”

  “Yeah, she emailed and said Dad’s importing business was a long story and that I should phone her. She didn’t even bother to answer my question about why she wanted to claim Dad’s body.”

  “How about the other names? Any luck with them?”

  “I got a few emails from people who claim not to have heard from him in over three years. I’ll try more numbers and emails later today.”

  Casey picked up the second photo, this one of a pretty woman with short dark blond hair and dark eyes. She appeared to be in her mid twenties. Casey removed the picture from the frame and flipped it over. No name or date.

  She opened a drawer in the night table. Among the antacid tablets and nail clippers was another photo, face down. Casey picked it up and found herself looking at her own wedding portrait. Dad must have heard about the divorce. She dumped the picture back into the drawer.

  “What was that?” Lou asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She focused on the letter-sized pen-and-ink drawing Lou was holding. The artist had created an incredibly detailed picture of a cove occupied by sailboats and motor boats. On the bottom right corner, a delicate hand had written “F.H.T. Mason, October 1982.”

  “Your mom collects pen-and-inks,” Casey said. “Think she’d like it?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Then take it.”

  He looked at her. “No, it’s too valuable.”

  “Lou, none of this has any value for me. All of this stuff belonged to a part of Dad’s life that I was excluded from, so please give it to Barb on her next birthday or for Christmas or whatever.”

  Lou shook his head.

  “Look, someone’s stealing everything anyway, and while this stuff doesn’t hold any value for me, it doesn’t seem right that someone else is taking it either.”

  “Okay, well, then thanks, I appreciate it,” though he still looked uncertain. “Are you sure you don’t want anything? There’s a cool glass statue on the bureau.”

  Casey gazed at the gorgeous sculpture of a leaping dolphin. Exquisite as it was, she sure as hell didn’t like what the piece represented, nor was she interested in profiting from Dad’s other life.

  “Got any plans after work?” Lou asked.

  “Actually, I’ve arranged to see Dad’s friend and colleague, Vincent Wilkes. It should be interesting.”

  Eleven

&nbs
p; CASEY STARED AT the bungalow that had once been Dad’s office. The patch of soft green lawn she used to play on was now a rock garden. The picket fence was still here, though no longer green but cobalt blue to match the door. The cedar-shingle siding on the upper two-thirds of the cottage was a darker gray than she remembered; the river rock on the lower third also looked darker. Curtains had been exchanged for shutters.

  Casey had thought about asking to meet Vincent at a neutral spot, and then decided she wanted to see this place again. Vincent had worked with Dad for as long as she could remember, yet Casey hadn’t known him well. The guy had kept to himself and preferred to work at night.

  Casey swung open the gate and strolled to the door. The Please Walk In sign had been exchanged for an alarm system. Beneath the alarm was an intercom. Seconds passed before a pensive voice answered the buzzer. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Vincent, it’s Casey.”

  “Come in.”

  As she stepped inside, hot dry air filled her lungs. Why did Vincent have the heat up on such a warm spring day? She slipped off her jacket and glanced at what she remembered as Vincent’s office door to her left. Dad’s larger work area was across the hall. In the early days, Mother would bring her here when Rhonda couldn’t babysit. In a corner of Dad’s room, she’d had her own red table and chair, crayons and toys.

  The door to Dad’s old room opened and Vincent stepped out. “Good to see you again, Casey.”

  “You too.” She tried not to look shocked at how much he had aged in three years. His hair was white and his eyes were enveloped in creases, and his hand felt frail and scratchy when she shook it, like crinkled paper that had been flattened out. “Thanks for seeing me this late on a Friday afternoon.”

  “No problem. I’m always here.”

  Casey followed Vincent into the room where the somber sound of a Gregorian chant played. They sat in a couple of easy chairs at the far end of the room.

  “So, you moved into the big room,” she said. “Good plan.”

  “I use both.”

  She sat next to a large, glass tank containing sand, rocks, and thick, leafless branches. A reptile crawled out from behind a branch and she jumped up. “What the hell is that?”