Knock Knock

by Debra Purdy Kong

  Casey hurried back to her car. After hastily wiping her damp hands and face on a paper towel, she grabbed her notebook and began writing. Approaching headlights distracted her. Casey switched on the wipers for a better look and saw a patrol car coming toward her. With any luck, her buddy Denver Davies would be driving.

  The cruiser eased closer. Casey rolled down her window and held her plastic ID card a few inches from the officer’s window. A blinding light shone in her face. Squinting, she looked away but kept her ID raised.

  “I’m with MPT security,” Casey called out. “We’ve been asked to help monitor this area at night and report any suspicious activity.”

  She waited. The light moved. The officer—a woman she didn’t know—stepped out of the vehicle and asked Casey for her driver’s license and registration. Casey sighed. The damn card should have been good enough. After she handed the documents over, she waited for what felt like forever. Finally, the officer handed everything back.

  “We had a report about a disturbance,” the stern face said through the open window. “See anything?”

  If she told the truth, word would get back to Stan. He’d feel compelled to apologize for his team’s behavior. If Gwyn found out, there’d be hell to pay. “What kind of disturbance?”

  “Two people arguing on the sidewalk.”

  But that was nearly an hour ago. Why had she just gotten here now?

  “A man and a woman,” the officer added, peering at her as if she already knew what had gone down.

  Casey sighed. “That was me and a coworker who wasn’t supposed to show up here. I sent him away.” She didn’t like the officer’s stare, so she added, “I also saw two guys talking at the end of the block a few minutes ago, but I don’t think they were arguing.”

  The cop glanced toward the end of the block. “Can you describe them?”

  “I couldn’t see their faces, but both were average height and in blue jeans and dark jackets. They separated after about five minutes. One left in a vehicle. The other went into the house on the corner.”

  “Did you see the vehicle’s make or plate number?”

  “It was too far away.”

  The officer resumed her relentless, unimpressed stare. “Which house did the man enter?”

  “The last one on the block, across the street. It looks like he lives there. Didn’t have any trouble opening the door.”

  The officer turned her attention to the house. “Okay. Thanks.”

  She returned to the patrol car and left the area. Casey drove off in the opposite direction. Once she was back on Elsie’s street, she opened her laptop and found Philippe’s dating profile still on her screen. Casey closed the tabs and got back to work on her email.

  NINE

  Stan hung up the phone and muttered, “Why do Mondays always suck?”

  Assuming it was a rhetorical question, Casey didn’t answer. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on his old mahogany desk, waiting for the discussion to begin. On Saturday afternoon, Stan had called to ask for clarification on a comment in the email she’d sent him. He’d told her to include a list of everything Philippe did that night. She’d submitted the report Saturday evening. Since then, his only response was to arrange this meeting, which hadn’t surprised her. One of the reasons the security team respected Stan so much was that he always listened to both sides before saying anything.

  “I talked to Philippe yesterday afternoon,” Stan said, clasping his hands behind his head. “He said he hadn’t meant to upset you or throw you off. Seems he’s never done graveyard surveillance and wanted to see how you approached it.”

  “Do you buy that?”

  “It’s true that he doesn’t have your experience.”

  “How long did Philippe work in security before he came here?”

  “A couple of years with small companies.”

  “This job is as much about common sense as experience, Stan. He should have known better than to waste my time, especially in such a risky, unprofessional way.”

  “I’m not defending the guy, but I see two different viewpoints here. Is it possible that he really did want to see how you handle stressful situations?”

  Casey wanted to shout no! but she didn’t want to sound petty either. She didn’t like being backed into a corner. She also knew that her maturity and position on the team meant that she’d be expected to take the high road.

  “It’s unlikely,” she replied slowly, “but maybe.”

  “I’ve had you check up on team members in the past.”

  “By an agreed arrangement,” Casey answered, “which I don’t think you had with Philippe, did you?”

  Stan adjusted the loud purple-and-green tie that clashed horribly with his pale yellow shirt. “No.”

  Why was he looking uncomfortable? Casey sensed that there was more Stan wanted to say, but for some reason he was holding back.

  “If Philippe wanted to know how I handle things, he should have asked me.”

  “He’ll be disciplined, trust me. But right now he’s still on the team. I need all the manpower we have, so I’m counting on you to take the high road here. For your own sake, you need a thicker skin with that guy.”

  Anger fluttered in her stomach. If Philippe wasn’t reprimanded quickly, he would think he’d gotten away with bad behavior.

  “That’s all for now.” Stan turned to his computer screen.

  As Casey stood, the door opened and the devil himself poked his head inside. How was it that Philippe always managed to interrupt their meetings?

  “Hi, Stan. And Casey.” Philippe barely glanced at her.

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping after working all night?” Stan asked.

  “I’m still wired, so I grabbed some breakfast, then thought I’d come in to write my report.” He turned to Casey. “I want to apologize for Friday night. I’m big enough to admit when I’ve made a mistake.”

  And he wanted to make sure the boss heard him. “Philippe, we’re just lucky that none of the homes were invaded while you had me chasing you around.”

  “We all make mistakes.” His smile was too confident. “You’ve blown your cover, for instance, given that most of the seniors know your name and the reason you ride the M20.”

  Casey dug her nails into her palms. “Do you think that trying to make me look bad in front of Stan will work? Seriously?”

  Philippe raised his hands as if to fend off a verbal attack. “I’m just saying that your chattiness could have compromised the mission.”

  “What about your total apathy to their well-being?”

  “Distancing myself is being helpful,” he insisted. “Minding my own business doesn’t blow my cover.”

  “Stop!” Stan’s voice boomed through the room. He glared at Philippe. “Casey’s briefed me about her relationship with certain passengers, so I don’t need your input. As I said yesterday, I trust her judgment. And I sure in hell don’t need anyone questioning her integrity or competence, understand?”

  Vindicated. Finally. She caught the nasty glint in Philippe’s eyes, his fading smile. “But if the passengers know her name and her job, then how effective is she at undercover work?”

  God, even Philippe had to notice the angry flush on Stan’s face. Why was he pushing this?

  “Do you honestly believe that Elsie Englehart was targeted because Casey carried her groceries home fourteen hours earlier?” Stan asked.

  Philippe shrugged.

  “Even if the suspects know who she is,” Stan went on, “do you not think that her presence might have saved other seniors from being followed?”

  Philippe swept his hand through his hair. “How can you really know whether she’s been helpful or not?”

  Casey couldn’t believe his obstinacy. Surely Philippe had been here long enough to know when he’d crossed the line.

  She caught her boss’s stony expression as he said, “Excuse us, Casey. I’d like a private word with your colleague.”

  “Sure.” Only i
t would be more than one word, more like a scathing lecture about respect and insubordination. Winking at Philippe’s souring expression, she stepped outside.

  . . .

  “How are you doing, Casey honey?” Hilda turned as best she could in the bus seat and whispered, “Caught the bad people yet?”

  Her snow-white hair was in disarray as if she’d forgotten to comb it this morning. Or maybe she’d been trying on her bathing cap, which she occasionally did on the bus, much to Daisy’s chagrin.

  “Still working on it,” Casey said, glancing at the passengers.

  It was late morning and the bus was nearly full. She had hoped to sit farther away from the pair, but this was the only available seat.

  “Keep trying, sugar. I’m sure you’ll reel in a big fat criminal sooner or later.”

  “She’s not fishing,” Daisy grumbled. “And do I have to remind you again that we’re not supposed to know why she’s riding this bus?”

  “Oh.” Hilda smiled sheepishly at Casey. “Pretend we’re not even here, honey.”

  “Thanks.”

  Casey stood and headed toward the back, preferring to stand near the exit and grab what little fresh air she could. It was so hot in here that she’d rather not stay on the M20 at all. Maybe she could discreetly follow Hilda and Daisy into the rec center. Lots of seniors gathered there. She might even learn something useful.

  Hilda and Daisy prepared to leave. Casey removed the short-sleeved blouse covering her tank top and pulled her shoulder-length curls into a ponytail. Then she put on her hat and sunglasses. Not much of a disguise, but if she kept her distance it should be enough.

  By the time she entered the rec center’s spacious lobby, Hilda and Daisy were at the front desk chatting with other seniors. Wandering to the vending machines, Casey reveled in the breathable, air-conditioned lobby. She purchased a bottle of water, keeping her back to the ladies, and listened to them gab about upcoming cruises and husbands’ golf trips. It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone to obtain useful information from this bunch.

  The ladies were still yakking as they wandered into the changerooms. Once the chatter moved behind closed doors, Casey strolled nearer reception where more seniors were paying for the aquafit class. Two women manned the counter while a third spoke on the phone with her back to her colleagues. Neither receptionist chatted with the customers.

  Casey drank some water. She was about to leave when Harold Knox shuffled into the rec center, wiping his perspiring brow with a handkerchief. Today he wore a baggy, navy shirt with the Bermuda shorts. The fanny pack again hung loosely around his waist.

  She strolled up to him. “Hi, Harold. Do you remember me? We met a few days ago.”

  “Of course. Nice to see you again, young lady.”

  Casey smiled. “Are you okay? You look a little overheated.”

  Harold removed his gold-framed glasses and wiped his face. “I walked longer than usual today. Must have overdone it. Mildred’s always warning me not to walk too far in the heat.”

  “Smart lady.” For a dead person. Harold was shaking slightly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’ll be fine. My blood pressure’s always a little on the low side. It makes me lightheaded from time to time.”

  “Let’s sit down.” Casey escorted Harold to the nearest bench and handed him her water. “Have a drink. It’s still cold.”

  “That’s kind of you, but I couldn’t take yours.”

  “There’s plenty of bottles in the machine. I can get another.”

  “Well then, thank you very much.” Harold took a long drink, then sank back against the wall and sighed. “That hits the spot.”

  “Good. I’ll be right back.” After buying the water, Casey returned to Harold, whose face seemed redder than ever.

  He scrunched his eyes shut and said, “I’m developing a bit of a headache.”

  Not good. Heatstroke maybe? “Harold, how long have you been walking?”

  “I don’t know.” He gazed at the entrance. “A while.”

  “Maybe we should get you back home.”

  Harold’s filmy blue eyes lit up. “Can you come for tea this time? I make a very good cup.”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.” The least she could do was ensure that he got home safely.

  “I must pay you for the water,” he said.

  “No, it’s all right. Really.”

  “I would never let a lady pay for my food and drink.” Harold fumbled with the zipper on his fanny pack. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Two dollars.” Lord, she didn’t want to take his money, but she didn’t want to insult him either.

  Harold removed a thick wad of bills. Casey’s jaw dropped. “Do you always carry that much cash?”

  “I was going to pick up a few grocery items on the way home.”

  “That looks like more than enough money for a few items.”

  “You never know when you’ll need something for a rainy day.”

  Rainy day? Harold appeared to be expecting a typhoon. Casey glanced at the two receptionists who were serving the last of the customers. Harold scooped up a handful of coins in his pack, but as he tried to find the right change he dropped the bills.

  “Oh dear,” he said, leaning over to pick up his money. Coins spilled out of the pack and began rolling everywhere.

  Casey scrambled to catch the wayward coins. She glanced at a group of teenaged boys watching her from the far side of the lobby. Casey returned a cold stare. She grabbed the wad of bills and handed the money to Harold. After every coin was picked up and the cash tucked away, Casey assisted Harold back onto the bench.

  “Whew! A near disaster,” he said. “I appreciate your help.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you ready to head home or would you like to sit a little longer?”

  He placed the toonie in her hand. “Now I’m ready.” He stood slowly.

  A group of kids and adults clambered into the rec center. Harold waited for the group to clear the exit. Casey debated about whether to take him by the arm, but decided that Harold might not want to be treated like an invalid.

  On the way outside, Casey thought she heard an Australian accent at the front desk. She stopped and turned around, but the cluster of adults blocked her view.

  Harold tripped and started to fall. He clutched Casey’s arm. She caught him just before he hit the ground. The man was clearly too frail to leave on his own. She’d have to wait to check out the accent after she got him home.

  At the bus stop, Casey said, “Harold, I was thinking about what you said the other day, about your elopement with Mildred.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “You said that if you’d known how things would turn out, you would have tried harder to win your future father-in-law’s approval to marry.” Casey paused. “Does that mean you regret eloping?”

  “I certainly don’t regret marrying Mildred. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. But I came to realize that the only three events that matter in life are births, deaths, and weddings. When those moments are shared with friends and family, you’ll have their support through tough times.” Harold paused. “I didn’t know that back then. Thought I had the world all figured out. Mildred and I would raise a big family, grow our own food, and teach our children the value of hard work and love. But you know what they say about real life interfering with the best-laid plans.”

  “Definitely.” Thoughts of her own failed first marriage and her parents’ unexpected deaths surfaced.

  “Mildred’s family was spared the expense of a wedding they couldn’t afford. But we didn’t realize how much our wedding meant to her mother and sisters. You see, Mildred’s father was the only one who disapproved. The women embraced it, in spite of their frequent complaints about the extra work and expense. Mildred came to believe that she’d placed too much of a burden on her family.”

  “It sounded like a practical solution for everyone,” Casey remarked.

  Harold wi
ped his perspiring brow. “Much later, we learned that all of the complaining wasn’t sincere, that they’d really looked forward to our big day, and we took that from them.” Again he paused. “Later, Mildred came to believe that her first miscarriage was God’s punishment for misreading the situation. I almost had her convinced that God is truly merciful and wouldn’t punish us this way, but there were two more miscarriages. After that, Mildred decided that God was cruel.” Another pause. “At least she now knows the truth.”

  Casey hadn’t discussed eloping with Lou, and after hearing Harold’s story, she never would. Lou’s mom would be terribly hurt and the rest of the family offended. With her parents gone, Lou’s family meant a lot to Casey. The Sheckter clan had welcomed her from the get-go. How could she even consider bailing on Barb’s plans now?

  The bus arrived and Casey followed Harold on board. He seemed a little winded, as if even climbing onto the platform took great effort. The stuffy bus didn’t help. She escorted him to a seat near the front. Casey remained standing, assuring Harold that this was proper protocol for security personnel. Scanning the passengers, she spotted part-time officer Anoop Verma near the back. He looked at her without expression, exactly as he was supposed to. Casey gave him the barest hint of a smile.

  Harold leaned toward the open window, as if in need of air. The poor man’s face was still red. His eyelids drooped and he looked like he could barely stay awake.

  “Is your headache getting worse, Harold?”

  “No.” He gave her a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

  Casey’s thoughts again drifted to the wedding. Work pressures aside, she needed to step up her commitment to help Barb. Most of all, she needed to let Barb know how much her help was appreciated.

  “This is my stop,” Harold said.

  He accepted Casey’s assistance off the platform and shuffled his way down the sidewalk.

  As they neared a grocery store, she said, “Do you want to do your shopping now? I could give you a hand with the bags.”

  Harold shook his head, his gaze focused on the ground as if it took all his concentration to put one foot in front of the other. “I’d rather have tea.”