The Opposite of Dark chm-1

by Debra Purdy Kong

  Lou had seen her eat a thousand times. No wonder he’d never asked her out on a real date.

  Fourteen

  IN ONE TRAIN ride, Casey’s view of Dutch tulip fields and windmills had been lost to city crowds, city noise, and zillions of particles of windswept, Amsterdam dirt. So far, the only Dutch cheese she’d eaten was the processed slice drooping out of the pricey McDonald’s burger in her hand. A guy calling himself an exiled American approached her and said, “You on your own?”

  “My friend will be here in about fifteen minutes.”

  A total lie, actually. On the way home from dinner in Whitby, Casey had decided that much of what Theo had said was bull. If he’d wanted to avoid Detective Lalonde yet protect her in Vancouver, why hadn’t he called her at home? Also, if the Mexican guys were after the missing three million dollars, why hadn’t they contacted her?

  When Theo showed up at her hotel to buy her breakfast the next morning, she’d had to act fast. No way did she want him escorting her, or even following her to London, so she’d called Daphne Reid. Predictably, Reid was pissed to learn that Theo was the stranger who’d tackled him in the maze, so he’d agreed to help keep Theo in Goathland, provided she bought a few more souvenirs. It was worth the price. After breakfast, Theo discovered that the vehicle he’d rented in Whitby wouldn’t run. Goathland was too small to have a rental agency, so Casey took off while Theo waited to have the car repaired by a local mechanic. Happily, he hadn’t found her yet as she never told him about London. She’d also given him a fake hotel name in Amsterdam.

  For the most part, London had been a waste of time. She’d spent two frustrating days tracking down Dad’s contacts, who claimed to know nothing about the botulism death three years ago or the Vancouver murder. She had learned one interesting thing, though. The gallery opening Reid claimed to have attended on April twenty-fifth actually took place a week earlier.

  Casey checked her watch. Eighty-thirty, time to leave. As she stood up, the American winked at her. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “I will.” At least she’d try.

  It had taken two and a half days to reach Gislinde Van Akker, which had given her time to sightsee and track down more names in the address book, none of them useful. Judging from the hesitancy in Gislinde’s voice on the phone, Casey had sensed that the woman was stalling. She’d only agreed to see Casey at 9:00 PM tonight.

  Casey stepped outside and started to walk away when a shove from behind sent her flying into a group of tourists. As she hit the ground, someone tugged on her shoulder bag. She looked up. The American. Casey gripped the strap and kicked his shin twice. A third kick sent him running into a crowd of people. She got up, but the loser wasn’t worth chasing. After ensuring concerned tourists that she was okay, Casey continued on.

  She walked down streets and over bridges illuminated with tiny white lights. The dirt-flinging wind had calmed down, and the warm temperature had obviously inspired hundreds of people to enjoy an evening stroll or bike ride. She scanned faces for the American, Theo, and two Mexican men, just in case. Music from street organs and chatter in different languages surrounded her. Occasionally, the amplified voice of a tour guide on a glass-roofed canal boat caused her to pause and take in the ambience. Lou would love it here. He liked boats and walking along busy streets at night. Too bad he wasn’t with her. She missed his calm, practical view of the world.

  Minutes later, Casey stopped in front of a row of tall narrow houses facing a canal. She’d scouted the street earlier today and had been impressed by the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century houses that looked as immaculate as they did in her guidebook. Many had been taken over by commerce, so she’d been surprised that Gislinde had given this as her address.

  When Casey found the right house, she hesitated. Was she ready for this? She hadn’t wanted to believe her father could betray Rhonda, not after what he’d been through with Mother. Taking a deep breath, she climbed the steps and rang a buzzer by the door. A female voice answered.

  “I’m Casey Holland.”

  “Yes, come in.”

  Casey opened the door and found herself at the bottom of a narrow staircase leading up to a black door. She climbed slowly, quietly. As she reached the top, the door opened and Casey gazed at the same mid-twenties blonde in the photo on Dad’s nightstand, except she now looked about seven months pregnant. Casey had been taken aback by the British accent on the phone, but that was nothing compared to Gislinde’s physical condition. God, what would she tell Rhonda?

  Gislinde tilted her head slightly, as if curious, or somewhat puzzled. Casey smiled, hoping she looked more genuine than she felt.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said.

  “You’re very welcome. Please come inside.”

  Casey entered the room and spotted an enormous man sitting by the door. His stare was guarded, unwelcoming. He might as well have “Beware of Bodyguard” stamped on his forehead.

  “That’s my friend, John,” Gislinde said.

  Casey greeted him and received a curt nod.

  “Have a seat, Miss Holland.” Gislinde gestured toward the loveseat.

  “Please, call me Casey.”

  “And I’m Gislinde. May I offer you a drink?”

  “Thank you, but no. I don’t want to take up much of your time.”

  While Gislinde stretched her legs along the sofa and adjusted her ankle-length dress, Casey glanced at the room for evidence of Dad’s presence. Deep yellow walls were trimmed with black around windows and door frames. Floral tapestries covered chairs and sofa. Vases and potted plants filled spaces without making the room appear cluttered. Although candlelight illuminated the room, there were several lamps.

  “This is a beautiful home, but I thought most of these houses were commercially owned.”

  “Some, like this one, have been restored as private residences. I’m an interior designer and I’ve just finished this for a client. I’m also house-sitting for him until Marcus and I move into our new home.”

  Her fixed smile looked unnatural. Did she know he was dead? If Gislinde had found out that he’d faked his death in Vancouver, or that he’d already had another fiancée plus three million dollars stashed away, would she have flown halfway across the world for an explanation? Would she have arrived on his doorstep in a sparkly blue hat and dress?

  “Marcus mentioned you now and then,” Gislinde said. “He was right, you don’t look much alike.”

  “True.” Was that supposed to be an icebreaker? “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you known Dad?”

  “Four years.”

  Oh, god. “Dad and I didn’t keep in touch in recent years. He didn’t even tell me he was engaged.”

  “We only set the wedding date three months ago and have hardly told anyone yet. As you know, Marcus is a private person, and we’ve both been terribly busy.”

  So, why wasn’t she asking why Casey was here? “Gislinde, the reason Dad and I didn’t stay in touch is because three years and two months ago, I was told that he died from botulism poisoning in France. His body was shipped home, and I buried him in an open-casket service in front of three hundred people.”

  Gislinde frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I barely understand it myself.” Casey paused. “Just over three weeks ago, on Sunday, April twenty-fifth, Dad was found murdered in his West Vancouver home.”

  Gislinde didn’t even blink as Casey described her encounters with Detective Lalonde and her trip to the morgue. When she finished speaking the room was silent. Gislinde wasn’t looking at her, but at John, whose expression was undecipherable.

  “Please forgive my insensitivity,” Gislinde remarked, “but someone’s been playing a cruel joke on you. Marcus is still alive, you see. He’ll be here on Saturday.”

  Denial. She should have known. Hadn’t she reacted the same way when Lalonde first told her?

  “Really? When was the last time you talked to Dad?”

  “April
twenty-third.”

  Gislinde answered with such confidence that Casey had a feeling she wouldn’t be able to convince her. “I’m sorry for bringing this news, I know how awful it sounds, so maybe you should talk to the detective in charge. I can give you his number.” She didn’t know what to make of Gislinde’s cold stare. “Even if I’m wrong, there are still things I’d like to know about Dad. I mean, did you notice any changes in him a little over three years ago?”

  Gislinde examined a polished nail. “Marcus was as he has always been. Fun, thoughtful, passionate. Sooner or later, your stupid detective will discover the truth.”

  “Have you talked to Dad over the past three weeks?”

  “There’s been no reason to. Marcus rarely calls when he’s in Vancouver. He’s always been adamant about keeping his two worlds separate.”

  To the point where he wouldn’t contact his pregnant fiancée? No way.

  “Besides, he’s been extremely busy completing business transactions and putting his house on the market,” Gislinde went on. “Marcus wanted to rid himself of all Vancouver attachments.”

  “Oh, I think he did that some time ago.” And she hadn’t noticed a For Sale sign on the property, unless Dad had planned to sell the property.

  “He will be here, Casey. Your father arrives in Geneva tomorrow to take care of some business and, honestly, if he had died, don’t you think I would have heard by now?”

  “Would Theo Ziegler have told you?”

  She looked pensive. “You know Theo?”

  “We’ve met, yes.”

  “Marcus is leaving their partnership to form his own company.”

  “Really? And how does Theo feel about Dad leaving?”

  Gislinde adjusted her cushions. “He’ll be sad to see him go, naturally, but Theo’s very grateful for all the effort Marcus put into the company.”

  “Is he, because I heard that there were financial disputes between them in the past. I was also told that Dad has hidden three million dollars that some Mexican clients apparently think belong to them.”

  “Really?” Her tone was smug. “Marcus didn’t steal or keep anything from anyone, but your mother wanted Theo to think that Marcus stole three million dollars from the company. She framed him, you see.”

  Casey was aware that her mouth was hanging open, but she didn’t care.

  “Would you like some water?” Gislinde asked. “You’ve turned quite pale.”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I do believe that honesty cleanses the soul,” Gislinde said. “You do know that she’s worked for Theo Ziegler for years, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but why would she have framed Dad?” And why would Theo have made up the story about the Mexicans? Why the bodyguard?

  A wisp of bang fell over Gislinde’s pencilled brow and stayed there. “Lillian resented the fact that Marcus had been offered a partnership when she’d worked for Theo longer, so she stole from Theo and blamed Marcus for it. Of course, the situation was resolved, since Lillian still works for Theo.”

  Casey rubbed her forehead. To point out that her story didn’t match Theo’s version of events wouldn’t be smart. “I assume my parents weren’t on friendly terms after that?”

  “They’ve never had much to do with each other.”

  What would Gislinde say if she knew about Mother’s photo in Dad’s bedroom, or of her history for destroying couples’ lives?

  “I know that Dad bought and sold art and furniture, among other things, but do you know if any of the goods TZ Inc. dealt with were controversial or even illegal?”

  “Absolutely not, but the merchandise was often expensive and rare. Since clients demanded discretion, Marcus rarely talked about business.”

  Uh-huh, sure. Maybe former TZ staff would tell her more. “Did Dad ever mention an employee named Gustaf Osterman?”

  It was Gislinde’s turn to look surprised. “I remember the name, but I believe he left the company about the time I met Marcus.”

  “I heard that my mother was quite taken with him.”

  Gislinde’s giggle caught Casey off guard.

  “I’m sorry to say this, Casey, but it’s common knowledge that Lillian is taken with most of the men she meets.”

  She doubted Gislinde was all that sorry. “I gather you wouldn’t know if Osterman was taken with her too?”

  “No, but I do know that Lillian and Theo are lovers.”

  Theo and Mother? It figured. “Do you know any other former employees of Theo’s?”

  “No. As I mentioned, Marcus rarely discussed business. You should ask Theo.”

  Casey felt a headache coming on. “Did Dad ever mention a woman named Simone Archambault?”

  “No.” Her tone became a little frosty. “Who is she?”

  “A good friend.”

  “The name means nothing to me.” Gislinde stretched her arms over her head, then slowly brought them out to the side and down onto her lap. “It’s time for my meditation, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  Casey wasn’t quite ready to be dismissed. “Do you have any recent photos of Dad, and maybe one from when you first met?”

  “Everything’s packed away and in storage, but I have a couple of wallet-sized pictures.” She got to her feet. “Oh, and that reminds me, I have something for you. Marcus was supposed to take it back to Vancouver on this last trip, but he forgot.”

  When Gislinde left the room Casey turned to find John glaring at her. If his eyes were lasers, she’d be smoldering from all the burn holes.

  Gislinde returned a minute later and presented Casey with a long tube. “These are the blueprints for Marcus’s West Vancouver house, which he’d planned to give you some time ago, but they wound up with things I’d been storing at my sister’s. I suggested he take them on this trip, though I guess it doesn’t really matter now that the house is being sold . . .”

  “Thank you.” Casey gripped the tube. “Too bad you never saw the place—it was a nice design.”

  “Marcus didn’t want me there.” There was an edge in her voice as she handed Casey two small photos. “He said the house embarrassed him.”

  So it should have. Casey studied a head shot of Dad. The second picture had been farther away so that his features weren’t clear. “When were these taken?”

  “The close-up was about a year after we met, the other was taken six months ago.”

  Casey handed them back. “Thank you for seeing me, Gislinde.”

  “You’re welcome, and don’t look so worried, Casey. Marcus is fine.”

  “Good to know.” Theo hadn’t exaggerated about the woman living in her own little fantasy world. She picked up the blueprints and headed out the door.

  While she walked down the sidewalk she wondered how truthful Gislinde had been. Reid had implied there’d been problems between Dad and Gislinde, so how much had she known about what really had gone on with Theo, the business, and Dad’s Vancouver life? And Mother framing Dad sound pretty farfetched. If Mother and Theo were lovers, though, was Mother lying for Theo, or had he fooled her too? Was the boarding pass and plane ticket Theo had shown Casey fake?

  Casey stewed on this all the way to her hotel. By the time she was crossing the lobby, the trepidation she’d felt about meeting Mother began to magnify. She trudged up creaking steps and then entered her room.

  Something felt different. Standing in the middle of the small, plain room, she turned full circle. Someone had been here. Her hairbrush and cosmetics bag had been moved from her bed to the night table. Casey’s gaze moved around the room. There was no closet and bathroom. The only place one could hide was under the bed. Keeping her distance, she bent down and saw only dust.

  She went through her luggage. Nothing was missing. The door’s lock looked undamaged. Cheap hotels didn’t have maid service, making it easy for intruders to break into rooms. The building’s main entrance was unlocked and the senior manning the front desk was more interested in TV than t
he comings and goings of visitors. Or did he snoop through rooms on commercial breaks?

  That the intruder hadn’t returned her things to the same spot unnerved Casey. Had he wanted her to know he’d been there? Were Mexican clients actually following her? Or maybe Theo didn’t believe her story about the notebook. Had he managed to find her and follow her here? Had he, or someone else, hired the American kid to steal her purse?

  Casey opened the door and stepped into the empty hall.

  The hallway was still empty when she stomped back to her room five minutes later. The senior at the desk had no other available rooms, and insisted that every hotel in the city would be full at this time of year. She’d have to barricade herself in here, because she didn’t want to sit in a train station all night.

  Casey rubbed her temples. She should phone Lou. It’d be great to hear his voice. Rhonda would be waiting for a call too, but a migraine was blossoming, the second one this month. Not good.

  After taking medication, Casey made sure the window latch was secure, then propped a chair under the doorknob. She wasn’t sure if this would work, but she’d seen it on TV a hundred times, and it was better than nothing.

  She removed the notebook from her handbag. Mr. Helpful-At-The-Desk didn’t have a safe, nor would he keep the book for her. She slipped the notebook in the pillow case then sat on the pillow. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  When she got to Paris she’d try and locate Gustaf Osterman to see what he had to say about Theo’s business. Should have asked Theo what Osterman looked like. For all she knew, he’d lied about the guy quitting and Osterman was the one following her all over Amsterdam. Worse, he could have been in this room earlier tonight. Casey watched the door and waited.

  Fifteen

  CASEY STOOD IN a musty hotel lobby and yawned as raindrops pelted the window. It had rained most of the forty hours she’d been in Paris and she wasn’t impressed with the grimy, soot-streaked buildings. Her shoes were still wet from being jostled off crowded sidewalks into overflowing gutters.