The Opposite of Dark chm-1

by Debra Purdy Kong

  “I still want my drawing,” he said, as he tried to wipe the mud from his face.

  “I’ll get it after you open the gift shop. I want to buy a souvenir.”

  “Bloody tourist.” He stomped off, cursing and muttering to himself.

  Not wanting to be left alone with a possible killer, Casey followed close behind. She walked fast, her muscles tense and her body ready to bolt. Ziegler stayed close behind, but said nothing. As they crossed the lawn, Casey noticed that the gardener was still working and other people were wandering around in the afternoon sunshine. At least there was safety in numbers.

  At the gift shop, Daphne unlocked the door and went inside, but Casey stayed near the cluster of people window shopping. She studied Ziegler, who, apparently oblivious to the mud on his clothes, looked at her chest, then up at her face. The black jumpsuit with gold zippers across his chest, thighs, and arms was a bit flashy and kind of weird for a businessman.

  “You took a big risk confronting Reid,” he said.

  “I didn’t see the knife until he flashed it at me, and I’ve had run-ins with bigger guys. Bigger knives, too.” Casey crossed her arms. “Why have you been following me?”

  “I needed to know if you were being watched by some nasty clients of Marcus’s, which you were. I’m here now, as I was in Vancouver, to protect you.”

  Not the answer she’d expected. “If the clients are that bad, why didn’t you tell the police? They’ve been trying to talk to you about Dad’s murder from day one.”

  “They would have probed into my affairs, so I thought it’d be better to approach you over here, away from prying eyes.”

  Casey stepped back, “Pretty convenient, Mr. .Ziegler.”

  “Call me Theo. And for the record, I didn’t kill Marcus.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “I expected you to ask, so I brought these.” Ziegler reached in a pocket and pulled out an airplane boarding pass and ticket, which he handed to her. “I was flying to Vancouver that night. We didn’t touch down until ten-fifteen.”

  The pass and ticket looked legitimate. Still, she’d have Lalonde check it out. “Why did you take off so fast from my house that Monday night? You must have seen me approach your car.”

  “Yes, but I spotted the clients up ahead and went after them.”

  Another convenience. “Who are they?”

  “A couple of Mexican businessmen only known as Carlos and Joseph, and no, I don’t have proof of their existence, although I’ve been trying to find it.”

  Casey noticed that the window shoppers were wandering into the gift shop. “Is Reid’s story about the stolen money true?”

  “No. The truth is that a little over three years ago, one of Marcus’s more complicated deals with these Mexicans fell through and they wanted their fee back, but Marcus said he’d fulfilled his part of the bargain. The clients threatened to kill him, so he went underground.”

  “How much was the fee?”

  “Three million in cash.”

  God, what type of importing had Dad been into? “What was the bargain?”

  “I don’t know; the clients demanded secrecy.”

  “But if it was complicated and worth that much money, wouldn’t he have told you?”

  Theo scanned the grounds, glancing at the gardener. “We had separate client lists and most of them insisted on privacy, so we only shared information when necessary. Marcus thought it’d be better if I didn’t know about the arrangement, which proved to be a good plan because Carlos and Joseph came after me at one point. It took a hell of a lot of convincing to get them off my back.”

  Casey wondered, again, what else TZ Inc. imported and exported besides art, furniture, and unique tarot cards.

  “Marcus would have had a detailed record of the transaction somewhere,” Theo said, “and he kept contact information on everyone, but my staff and I couldn’t find anything at the Geneva office he shared with us.” Theo watched her. “You wouldn’t have come across these names, by any chance? They could be on a memory stick or a computer printout or a Rolodex, or in an agenda book. He always carried one.”

  “No, I haven’t.” If Dad had wanted Theo to have the book, he would have left it with him and not Simone Archambault.

  “Casey, my sources tell me that Joseph and Carlos discovered Marcus was still alive a few weeks ago. Since you’re his heir, I’m afraid they’ll come after you for the money.”

  “What makes them think it’s still around, especially when Dad owned an expensive home and car?”

  “For reasons I never understood, Marcus kept the cash from this business arrangement hidden away.”

  That sounded a bit strange. “Where did the money for the house and car come from?”

  “We had some profitable years.” Theo’s large brown eyes softened. “Marcus once told me that he wasn’t around for you as much as he thought he should have been. I think he built that house as a gift for you. I believe he planned to move to Amsterdam permanently.”

  Casey shook her head. Damn it, the house should have been for Rhonda.

  Theo said, “Can you think of any place Marcus might have hidden a couple of suitcases or duffel bags full of cash? Some place only you’d know?”

  “Not offhand.” Even if she could, she wouldn’t tell him. Maybe Theo wasn’t a killer, but she sure as hell didn’t trust him. “Wouldn’t the money be in a bank?”

  “From what I heard about the Mexicans’ connections, they would have tracked it down by now. These guys are ruthless, Casey. That’s why Marcus couldn’t contact you. He was afraid Joseph and Carlos would use you to get to him, but I can protect you.”

  “Why would you care? Wasn’t your partnership with Dad ending?”

  “Reid got that wrong too.”

  Casey wandered toward the gift shop entrance. “Did this Gislinde woman and Dad have problems like Reid implied?”

  “I have no idea, I rarely saw either of them.”

  “Maybe Dad left the money with her.”

  “She told me that they’d paid her a visit, which is why she now has a bodyguard.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Young, naïve, and quite self-absorbed with her own little fantasy world.”

  “Does she know about the murder?”

  “Don’t know; I haven’t told her.”

  “I will.”

  Theo looked at her. “You’re not leaving for Amsterdam right away, are you?”

  “No, I’ve had enough traveling for one day.”

  “Can I buy you dinner tonight? I know a sensational Italian restaurant not far from here.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so.” She thought of Mother’s warning to stay away from him. Besides, she’d planned some sightseeing in the seaside town of Whitby. “And thanks for your help with Reid, but, if you’ll excuse me, I have some souvenirs to buy.” And phone calls to make. With that, she disappeared inside the shop.

  • • •

  As the bus ambled along the road to Whitby beneath a sky dotted with clouds, Casey watched shadows spill over the moor. The shapes looked like people hovering in the distance, but after a second look they disappeared, only to reappear farther along the road like ghostly hitchhikers slipping in and out of the earth.

  Because of the time difference, she hadn’t been able to get hold of Detective Lalonde, so she left a message with the West Vancouver Police Department about Ziegler’s presence here and his alleged alibi. Since she hadn’t brought her cell phone on this trip, she left the hotel’s number.

  A second phone call to Mother in Geneva had eased her mind a little. It seemed that Mother had done her own research and confirmed that Theo had been on that flight and therefore couldn’t have killed Dad, which was why she hadn’t freaked out when Casey told her he was here in England. Even if he wasn’t a killer, there were still trust issues. “Don’t spend too much time with him,” she’d warned. “The man’s a chronic liar and a manipulator.” Mother would know, having mast
ered those skills herself.

  When the bus stopped at the harbor, Casey stepped down. She’d walked two blocks before Ziegler approached her, this time in a sport jacket and white shirt. Oh, hell.

  “Please have dinner with me. I promise I’m not up to anything sordid,” he said. “I hate eating alone and I know a great Italian restaurant only a block from here. It’s a busy, very public place, and I’ll even pay a taxi to take you back to the hotel, so you won’t have to be alone with me, okay?”

  Well, she was hungry, and she doubted the guy would take no for an answer, anyway. “All right, but you don’t have to pay, and how do you know there’s a good Italian restaurant down the road?”

  “I spent several summers in Yorkshire. My father’s parents are from these parts.”

  As they walked, she said, “Where’s your mother’s family from?”

  “Everywhere. My heritage encompasses three continents and half a dozen cultures.”

  He did all right by them. “Are you married, Theo?” Not that she cared, but acting casual and friendly might get him to open up about a few things.

  “Part of me still likes to think so. I’m a widower. So, what are your plans after Amsterdam?”

  “A trip to Paris. I want to see some people there, including a man named Gustaf Osterman who might have been a client of Dad’s. Do you know the name, by any chance?”

  The lashes on those long dark eyes flickered a moment. “He’s a former employee, but we didn’t part on the best of terms and I haven’t seen him in years.” Theo pointed the ruins of a building high on a cliff overlooking the North Sea. “There’s Whitby Abbey. I’ll take you to see it tomorrow, if you like.”

  “Sorry, but I’m leaving town early.” No reason to tell him she’d be heading for London first to meet with a couple of Dad’s clients she’d tracked down. “I’ve been wondering why Dad stayed in touch with his fiancée after he went underground? If these Mexicans were after him, wouldn’t she have been in danger too?”

  “Exactly. I told Marcus that if he wanted to make his death real, he’d need to break contact with his European friends, which he did, except for her. Gislinde’s an interior designer who moves around with her work, so she hasn’t had a fixed address in some time. Marcus thought they’d have trouble tracking her down, and I suppose he had people watching out for her as well. Anyhow, Marcus and I agreed that it’d be better if I knew as little as possible about his life, so we didn’t communicate. His death had to seem genuine, particularly to his family and close friends.”

  Casey studied rows of buildings crammed against the lower slope of the hill on the east side of the city. “I take it you don’t know the name of the man I buried?”

  “No.”

  Theo opened a heavy oak door for Casey and ushered her into a candlelit room where a painting of a Venice canal and a golden sky covered one wall. The waiter hovered around them, his face beaming as he and Theo spoke Italian. An elderly couple emerged from the kitchen and embraced Theo. Grinning and nodding at Casey, they led her and Theo to a table with a view of the harbor. The waiter handed Casey a menu, and then draped a linen napkin over her lap.

  After the couple and waiter left, Theo said, “Try the Filetto di Manzo Capricciosa. Beef medallions in brandy sauce, topped with crab meat and Edam cheese gratinée.” After Theo studied the wine list, the waiter reappeared, took their orders, and left. Theo leaned forward and said, “I’d like to take you to Amsterdam.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not necessary.”

  She doubted the guy was offering out of kindness. Vincent had overheard Dad argue with him about money, and Reid had confirmed the financial problems. Maybe Theo wanted the missing three million and a chance to get rid of the Mexican clients, if they really existed. She certainly hadn’t noticed any Mexican men following her since the murder.

  “Casey, the next stranger you approach about Marcus’s murder could be carrying something more dangerous than a penknife. Why did you come to Europe in the first place? What do you hope to accomplish?”

  “To learn more about a life that I knew nothing about.” She paused. “To try and understand why he did what he did.” Like become engaged to another woman without bothering to end things with Rhonda. And to find out if he’d been involved in something criminal.

  “I could introduce you to one or two contacts who might have kept in closer contact with Marcus than I did, though I have to say that Gustaf Osterman wouldn’t be one of them. He’s an anti-social man with somewhat of a mean streak, which was why I let him go.” Theo nodded to the waiter who placed their appetizers in front of them. “Besides, I also speak French, Spanish, and German.”

  Casey slipped a mushroom cap in her mouth and clamped down. The hot food burned the roof of her mouth. Sucking in air, she reached for her water glass.

  Theo grinned and sipped his wine.

  “Did Dad ever mention the name Rhonda Stubbs to you?”

  “Should he have?”

  “She’s my landlady, and she was also engaged to him.”

  The food about to reach Theo’s lips wavered. “Is that why you want to meet Gislinde, to tell her that?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe I just need to know she’s real.” Casey shook her head. “Rhonda was betrayed by her first husband and best friend in a sleazy affair.” No point in mentioning that the best friend was his part-time courier, Mother. “Then she lost her dad to cancer, her sister to a drug overdose, and finally Dad.”

  “Terrible.” Theo slid the fork in his mouth. When he finished chewing, he said, “Tell me about your life.”

  She kept it brief. Every time Casey asked similar questions, he steered the questions back to her. By the time they were working on their entrées, she said, “Why won’t you talk about Dad? There are some things I’d like to know about this importing venture of his.”

  “I’d rather get to know you and enjoy this meal.”

  After they’d finished, Theo ordered dessert for both of them: a meringue swan in a pond of chocolate with raspberry swirls.

  “Sounds wonderful, but I’ll have to pass,” Casey said. “I’m allergic to chocolate.”

  “A few blemishes are worth the sweet, delicate taste of Mario’s best dessert.”

  “It’s not about my face.”

  She didn’t want to explain the irritability that overtook her whenever she ate chocolate, though she loved the dark stuff.

  “Just try the meringue and raspberry,” he said. “It’s fantastic.”

  Casey sat back. “You’re almost as pushy as my ex-husband was. So, what else are you, Theo?”

  “I’ll help you find out over the next few days.”

  The waiter soon presented her with a meringue swan surrounded by loops of raspberry sauce in chocolate so dark it was almost black.

  Casey lifted her fork. “You’ve been warned.” She covered her fork in chocolate and slipped it in her mouth. Oh geez, smooth rich heaven. Casey swept up more chocolate.

  “What kind of man is your ex-husband?” Theo asked.

  “A superficial flake. I was twenty-eight when he dumped me for an eighteen-year-old.” She plunged her fork into the swan’s body, knocking it on its side. “He found himself an old-fashioned gal who thinks ‘feminist’ is a hygiene spray.”

  Theo kept his eyes on the plate and smiled.

  Casey decapitated the swan. Bits of meringue flew onto the table. She’d been ironing Greg’s shirts when he told her about his new love. The iron was still hot when she ran after him. Water had scalded her hand as she’d tried to press the guilt from his face. Come to think of it, she’d been eating chocolate that day, too; the last of an Easter bunny Greg had bought her. Some guys never learned.

  “We were married for eight years. He always resented me for keeping my maiden name and didn’t think I should be in security, mainly because I made more money than him.”

  She cut and stabbed the swan’s body until only brown and white lumps were left.

  “You’ve just
mutilated your dessert,” Theo said. “I take it you still have issues?”

  “Dessert issues mainly. Some women have them. One day I found Rhonda sitting at the kitchen table with her hands covered in cherry cheesecake. She’d just mangled the thing after making it; decided it was no good.”

  “Sounds irrational.”

  “Everyone is now and then.” Casey ate a forkful of meringue.

  “Are you seeing anyone now?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I have a close friend.”

  “How close?”

  Casey avoided Theo’s gaze. “Lou’s the most honest man I know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What kind of question is that?” She ploughed her fork through the remains of her decimated swan.

  “I see,” Theo said. “Chocolate makes you cantankerous. Quite the opposite of most women.”

  She crunched the last of her swan. “I’m not most women.” Besides, chocolate reactions usually didn’t happen this fast. The mood swing was because of the personal questions and Greg’s name coming up.

  “Like it or not, I’m escorting you to Amsterdam,” Theo said.

  “Theo, I do not need, or want, a man to protect me, thank you very much.”

  He lifted his wine glass. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

  Casey gulped the last of her wine, both irritated and relieved that he was ending this meal. After Theo paid the bill he found her a taxi and, despite her protest, paid the driver more than enough to cover the cost. As she started to thank Theo, he planted his mouth firmly on hers. God, it felt like she was being branded. Theo’s tongue tried to pry an opening between her lips. Ugly thoughts rampaged as she pulled away and cool safety came rushing back.

  “That was nice,” he murmured. “There’s something incredibly sensuous about your anxiety.”

  “Thank you for dinner and the cab, but don’t kiss me again.”

  Casey slid into the vehicle, fuming. It was bad enough that Theo was keeping things from her, but that gesture was infuriating. Just as irritating, and somewhat humiliating, though, was the horrible realization that she was a lousy dinner partner. Burning her mouth, yammering about her ex, and destroying her dessert was ridiculous behaviour.