“Miss Holland? This is Simone Archambault. I need to see you.”
“I’m glad you called. I’ve been trying to reach you but your number’s not in service. Are you all right?” The line was silent. “Simone?”
“You must hear the truth about Marcus’s death. I should have told you before but I was afraid.”
“What truth?”
“Meet me at the Queen Elizabeth Theater at ten tonight.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to tell me now?”
“No. I have things to give you, important things. I wrote down the truth in case we couldn’t meet and mailed a copy to your office.”
“Simone, where are you staying? Maybe I could come there.”
“No, the bus leaves for Vancouver soon. I will meet you outside the theater, by the fountain in the courtyard.”
“The bus terminal isn’t beside the theater anymore. It moved ages ago.”
“I know, but I like the theater. There’s a performance tonight so lots of people will be around. See you then.”
Simone had sounded nervous. Did she know that Osterman had impersonated Dad, or was she simply a paranoid old lady?
By the time Casey rejoined Rhonda, a third of the bottle of red wine on the table was already gone. For someone who didn’t drink much, Rhonda had downed the stuff pretty fast. Rhonda held her half-empty glass while she poured sauce on a plate of spaghetti. She was about to hand Casey the plate when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Casey said.
Detective Lalonde stood on the porch. “May I come in?”
“I’ll come out.” She didn’t want Rhonda to overhear. “I was going to call you.”
Although the porch could accommodate a few people, Casey felt claustrophobic next to Lalonde. Ivy enclosed both sides of the porch, making the space feel like a small closet.
“Have you locked up Darcy?”
“No, his lawyer arrived. Mr. Sheckter didn’t see enough of his assailant to make a positive ID.”
“But Lou heard Darcy’s voice and it’s really distinctive. And what about the guard?”
“He can’t remember anything useful.”
“You’re giving me a headache.” She rubbed her forehead. “Can’t you get a warrant to search Darcy’s things for traces of blood and hair or something?”
“We’re doing what we can.”
“So, now what? Darcy has keys to this house.”
“I’ll have someone watch the place. Mrs. Stubbs should change the locks, and maybe you three can stay elsewhere for a few days, unless Churcott knows your friends.”
“I don’t think Rhonda’ll do anything, seeing as how they’re now romantically involved. She doesn’t want to hear about Darcy’s dark side. Did you know he works for Theo Ziegler?”
“He told us he’s between jobs.”
“Figures,” she shook her head. “I saw Mother this afternoon. She said the murdered man wasn’t my father, but a man named Gustaf Osterman, who apparently also worked for Ziegler.”
Lalonde pulled out his notebook and glasses. “Anything else?”
As Casey told him about Osterman’s quest to locate Dad’s clients and the three million dollars, Lalonde scribbled notes.
“There were two good prints on the letters you gave me,” he said. “We soon learned that the victim wasn’t your father, but it took time to identify Gustaf Osterman. He had no criminal record.”
Casey nodded. “According to Osterman’s fiancée in Amsterdam, he was planning to leave Ziegler and start his own business. Mother said Dad had planned to do the same thing. Funny how everything about this murder is somehow connected to Ziegler, isn’t it? The victim, the suspects, the money.”
“It’s not your worry, Miss Holland.”
“It is when one of the suspects is living in our house. Will you please go and talk to Rhonda?”
Lalonde put his notepad away. “I came to pick up your father’s old address book, and I’ll need a list of everyone you saw in Europe, including addresses and phone numbers. I’ll talk to Mrs. Stubbs while you fetch the book.”
“Okay, but don’t take it personally if she throws you out.”
In her apartment, Casey compiled the list and then straightened more of her living room to give Lalonde time with Rhonda. When she finally brought the notebook and list downstairs, Lalonde was leaving the kitchen.
“Did you get through to her?” she whispered.
“I think so. She said she’d call a locksmith right away.”
Casey handed him the items. “Thanks.”
When he’d left, Casey hurried back to her apartment and telephoned Lou.
“You sound a little frazzled,” he said.
As she gave him the highlights of her chats with Vincent Wilkes, Mother, and Lalonde, the anger poured out. “I can’t help wondering what my parents were importing, besides art and tarot cards.”
“Information’s a hot commodity these days. All you need is a computer and some education, and you’ve got yourself a cottage industry. It’s great for the housewife with a yen for hacking and an aptitude for industrial espionage.”
“Oh good,” she chuckled, “something to consider when I start a family.”
Lou paused. “Are you planning to have kids some day?”
The softness in his tone surprised her. “Haven’t thought about it much, but probably.”
“Okay then, that’s good.”
Whoa. Was he really interested in her? But why hadn’t he said so?
“You’re welcome to hang out here again tonight,” Lou added.
“Thanks, but I should stay near Rhonda. And Simone Archambault wants to give me something and talk about Dad. I’m supposed to meet her at the Queen Elizabeth Theater at ten.”
“You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Simone’s hardly a threat, and we’ll be surrounded by people.”
“You sure?”
“She said there’s a performance tonight.”
“Still, I don’t know about this.”
“It’s okay, Lou, I’ll be fine.”
“All right, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “Stay safe, and call if you need me.”
“I will—promise.”
In the kitchen, she found Rhonda, eyes red and vacant, sitting at the table and drinking more wine. She hadn’t touched her food. Her nose looked as if it had been soaked in beet juice. Rhonda never could handle alcohol well, so she usually avoided it.
Casey tried to eat, but she was too restless. “Rhonda, I have to go out for a little while. Do you want me to call someone over?”
“Going to Lou’s again?”
“No.”
“You should give that wonderful man a chance, and don’t take him for granted.” She blinked at Casey. “He’s crazy about you.”
Lou was also her best friend. Maybe he had doubts about ruining a good thing, too. “Are you okay, Rhonda?”
“I’ll survive.”
She’d had her share of loneliness and disappointment, and Casey sure in hell hadn’t helped. She wished she knew how to make her feel better.
“I should finish putting my apartment back together. If you want to talk, come on up.”
Rhonda turned away. “Just go.”
Feeling crappy, Casey did as she was told.
Twenty
IT WAS 9:45 PM and spaces near the Queen Elizabeth Theater were impossible to find. Casey finally found a spot in a parkade near the corner of Robson and Seymour, more than four blocks away. She hightailed it back to the theater just before ten.
She strolled around the courtyard’s fountain on the theater’s south side and waited for Simone. A half hour later, people started leaving the building. By eleven, most people were gone and the courtyard was empty again. There was still no sign of Simone. Worse, the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped.
To stay warm, Casey took a brisk walk around the courtyard’s perimeter. She scrutinized Georgia and Hamilton streets, and the stairwells
leading to the parkade below ground. Why hadn’t Simone showed up? What had gone wrong?
A misty rain formed pinpricks of moisture over Casey’s hair and face, dampening her clothes. She walked back and forth across the courtyard, stopping at the top of the staircase on the southeast corner that separated the theater from a restaurant. As she walked, she began to sense that someone was watching her. She stared at the shrubbery against the restaurant’s wall, then turned and headed back to her car.
Two blocks later, she knew she was being followed. The man who’d been trailing her since she’d left the theater kept changing his pace to match hers. When she turned around he lowered his head so all she could see was his hat. Was it Darcy? Adrenalin warmed her body and her pulse soared.
Few pedestrians were still out this rainy Sunday night, but there was a fair amount of traffic. Casey removed her keys from her purse. She gripped the longest key between her fingers, bunching the rest in her fist. Turning left onto Seymour, she began to jog.
The wind grew stronger and the rain fell harder. A bearded man, squatting in a doorway, asked for change, but she was moving too fast to respond. Headlights shimmered off the wet asphalt. Her Tercel was on level two. Casey hurried up the concrete steps, looking over her shoulder as she climbed. No one was there. Only six vehicles were left on this level. Casey raced past each one until she reached her car. Out of breath, she glanced at the back seat to make sure no one was hiding, then unlocked the driver’s door and clambered inside.
Peeling out of the parkade, she watched for her stalker, but he’d vanished. She cruised past the theater in hopes of spotting Simone. She parked near the fountain and waited ten more minutes before heading to the bus station.
Forty minutes later, Casey was on her way home, frustrated and worried. She’d walked through the station and had described Simone to anyone who’d listen, but no one had noticed a petite seventy-five-year-old lady.
When she reached Rhonda’s house, she parked in her usual spot. Interesting that Darcy’s car wasn’t here. No lights were on at the back of the house. Casey tiptoed through the kitchen and upstairs. On the second floor, she heard loud snoring from Rhonda’s bedroom.
Casey settled into a hot bath to try and relax, but it didn’t help. She had a bad feeling about tonight. Something had happened, something involving the man who’d tailed her. Was it Darcy? Theo?
In bed, she tried to relax with deep, calming breaths. The sound of pebbles rattling against her window made her sit up. When more pebbles hit the glass she threw back her comforter and tried to see outside. Occasionally, rowdy kids roamed the lane, but no one was there now. She lifted the wooden windowframe, poked her head out, and looked into the backyard. A man dashed around the corner toward the front of the house. Grabbing her robe, Casey headed downstairs, moving as quietly as possible past Rhonda’s bedroom.
She rushed to the front door and then stopped. A shadow floated past the rectangle of thick amber glass next to the door. The shadow reappeared then slowly shifted from view again. Dread took her breath away. It couldn’t be, could it? Turning the knob slowly, Casey opened the door just wide enough to see the porch.
She clamped a hand over her mouth and whimpered. A body swung from the rope draped over a beam. She fumbled for the porch’s light switch. The dim yellow bulb illuminated Simone Archambault’s frozen face. Casey stepped out into the porch and frantically looked for something to cut her down with, even though the logical part of her knew it was too late.
She scanned the yard and saw that the front gate was ajar. Casey hurried down the steps, her shoulder smacking Simone’s body and sending it swinging. She opened the gate, darted onto the sidewalk, and stopped. Street lights clearly illuminated Theo Ziegler running toward Commercial Drive.
Twenty-one
CASEY HAD NEW respect for undertakers. There was a huge difference between violent death and a clean, serene-looking corpse stretched out on a bed of satin.
After calling Detective Lalonde, Casey had kept watch over Simone, partly to make sure Rhonda didn’t come down or a passerby become too curious. Lalonde had ordered her not to touch Simone or anything on the porch. Still, Casey had wanted to cut the rope and restore a bit of dignity to the poor woman. She looked up at the beam. Rhonda had talked about putting a ceiling under those three big beams when she got the money.
Casey turned off the light and shut the door. Simone’s body had begun to smell. In one memorable criminology class, she had learned what happened to a body at the time of death, how bladders and other body parts relaxed. Opening the door again, she switched on the light to see how much cleaning she’d need to do before Rhonda woke up. Not too bad yet.
She switched off the light while she recalled snippets from that course. If the rope didn’t break a victim’s neck, she would strangle to death. The face would turn blue and the eyes bulge. Simone didn’t look like that.
Casey glanced at the street. If Theo was guilty, why pelt her window and hang around long enough to risk being seen?
A Vancouver police cruiser pulled up, followed by an unmarked vehicle and Lalonde’s Sebring. Lalonde stepped out of his car and spoke at the gate to some police officers. Krueger also emerged from a vehicle. As he and Lalonde approached the house, Casey switched on the light. Lalonde didn’t acknowledge her. His eyes were on Simone.
“Don’t step onto the porch, Miss Holland.”
“Didn’t plan to.” She kept her voice low. “I think she was brought here to warn me.”
“About what?”
“To hand over three million dollars, or else.” Casey shivered.
As more officers arrived, Lalonde said, “Let’s go inside.”
As they stepped into the hallway, Lalonde murmured something to Krueger, who headed back outside. In the living room, Lalonde and Casey stood at the picture window.
“So, Miss Holland,” Lalonde said, “tell me again what went on tonight. You weren’t making yourself clear on the phone.”
Casey told him about her first meeting with Simone in Victoria and Simone’s insistence on secrecy. When she mentioned Simone’s request to meet her at the theater, Lalonde’s expression became grim. She described the noise at her window and Theo running away. By the time she’d finished talking, Lalonde looked ready to implode.
“You should have told me about the meeting.” Anger laced every word. “You know I’ve been looking for the lady.”
“I knew you tried in France, but you never said anything about letting you know if she contacted me. I thought she only wanted to tell me stuff about Dad’s last hours and give me a few of his mementoes.” Lalonde’s don’t-play-games-with-me look annoyed her. “Look, she was an eccentric who used to tell fortunes with tarot cards. I really believed she knew nothing about the murder. Simone was adamant that Dad died from botulism, and she seemed totally uninterested in hearing anything about the body in the morgue.”
“Yes, well, your belief may have cost the lady her life,” Lalonde said.
Casey’s face grew warm. God, was he right? Had she misread Simone?
Bright lights suddenly illuminated the front yard.
“Did you find any of those mementoes near the body?” Lalonde asked.
“No.”
“Casey?” Rhonda shuffled into the room.
Oh, hell. “It’s okay, Rhonda, go back to bed.” Casey hurried up to her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Wearing a faded yellow robe that exposed too much cleavage, Rhonda squinted at Lalonde. The front door opened just enough to admit Krueger who marched past Rhonda, into the living room, and whispered something to Lalonde.
“What’s going on?” Rhonda asked on her way to the front door.
Casey rushed past her and stood in front of the entrance. “Some punk’s been joking around. Go back to bed.”
“Has something happened to my house?”
“It’s fine, don’t worry.”
Rhonda stared at the amber glass. “Why’s it so bright outside? What
’s going on?”
“It’s a long story.” Casey ushered her to the staircase. “I’ll tell you everything in a few minutes, promise.”
Rhonda rubbed her temples. “My head’s killing me. Too much wine.”
“Mrs. Stubbs, have you seen Mr. Churcott tonight?” Lalonde asked, approaching her.
Rhonda blinked at him. “No, why?”
“My colleague just informed me that his car’s not here,” Lalonde said.
“As far as I know, he hasn’t been around. But his suite’s at the back of the house and my bedroom’s in front, so I might have missed him.”
She had started up the steps when Lalonde said, “Where were you on the night of the murder?”
Rhonda’s puffy eyes looked at Casey. “We knew this was coming, didn’t we?” She turned to Lalonde. “I was watching my daughter’s swim practice from seven-thirty to nine-thirty and chatting with the other moms.”
“Which club does she belong to?”
“Fathom.”
“Does she normally practise Sunday nights?”
“Yeah.”
Casey spotted Krueger who was apparently jotting down every word Rhonda spoke.
“All done, Detective?” Rhonda gripped the railing.
“For now.”
“Good. So what are you West Van cops doing on Vancouver police turf, anyway?” Both officers looked at her, but said nothing. Casey wasn’t ready to explain why she’d called both local police and Lalonde.
“Please, Rhonda. We’ll talk soon,” she said.
“No, I—”
“Rhonda,” Casey’s voice rose. She was losing her patience, but didn’t care. “I said I’ll come see you in a few minutes. I just need you to go right now, okay?”
Rhonda scowled at her. “Fine, whatever, but don’t take too long.”
While Rhonda stomped upstairs, Lalonde strolled toward the appliquéd “Glamor Ladies” picture. From the window, Krueger watched the action outside.
“Was it necessary to question her now?” Casey joined Lalonde. “And after everything you’ve learned about Darcy and Theo, why is her alibi even an issue?”
The Opposite of Dark Page 16