When Mother died four months ago, she didn’t leave a will, just a boatload of debt which would take time to sort out, according to the lawyer Casey had retained. Her deceased father’s West Vancouver home—which she’d only learned about last spring—apparently came with its own set of problems, including two joint owners (one recently deceased) with legal and financial problems. She was still furious with Dad’s former business partner for misleading her about this.
“You want to spy on me!” Summer jumped up. “Make me live your way, but I won’t! I’m not old and boring like you.”
“You’ve become much ruder since Casey took over,” Winifred said.
Summer started to say something, but Casey raised her hand. “Summer, no.”
“You need stronger guidance,” Winifred added, scooping liver and onions onto a plate, “especially when it comes to appropriate clothing.”
Casey wanted to pull every gray curl out of the woman’s skull. “I can help her with the clothes, Winifred, but the serious mistakes are happening at school, not here.”
“Behavior at school reflects behavior at home, or doesn’t university teach you that?”
Casey’s patience wilted. “I’m her legal guardian. She’ll live by my rules, not yours.”
Winifred dropped Casey’s handbag and pack onto a chair. She plunked the plate in front of Summer.
Casey tried to ignore the brown chunks and chopped bits of limp, translucent onion. As a kid, she’d been forced to eat this stuff whenever her own grandmother had decided she needed an iron-enriched meal. She’d sit at the table, long after everyone had finished, until those cold, slimy chunks finally wobbled down her throat.
“I’m not eating that shit!” Summer yelled.
“Summer!” both women replied.
Tears dripped from her chin as she turned to Casey. “I’m not living with her!” Summer swept the plate onto the floor and tore out of the room.
Before anyone could react, Cheyenne was gobbling up the liver.
“Stop that disgusting beast!” Winifred ordered.
Casey reached for Cheyenne’s collar. “Come on, Cheyenne. Onions will make you sick. Let’s get you some real food.”
“I might as well wash this filthy floor. Don’t you give that child chores?”
“She’s been busy with school.”
Summer had neglected too many chores since Rhonda left. Letting her get away with it was a mistake, but Summer had been so devastated by Rhonda’s departure that Casey had been afraid to argue over it. Ensuring that she finished her homework was enough of a challenge.
“I gather you’re also too busy to keep this place clean?” Winifred asked.
“I take care of my own apartment and vacuum the rest of the house. I also keep this kitchen tidy. Summer looks after her room and we do the rest when we can.”
“Her bedroom is a pigsty. That child is deteriorating into an irresponsible and unstable delinquent. If we don’t intervene, she’ll become as violent as her mother. Rhonda’s actions have nearly destroyed her!”
Leave it to Winifred blame her own daughter. For as long as Casey could remember, Winifred had criticized Rhonda for every flaw, mistake, and mishap.
Winifred took a drag on her cigarette.
“If you’re staying, you can’t smoke inside,” Casey said. “This house is my responsibility and everyone has to follow the rules. If our two tenants see you smoking, what will keep them from doing the same?” She picked up her purse and cold pack. “And wouldn’t it be less hypocritical if you didn’t smoke in the first place?”
Casey marched out of the room, wondering how in hell she’d calm down a troubled twelve-year-old sinking into more misery and rebellion. Summer probably felt that every adult close to her had either betrayed her or let her down. The awful part was she wouldn’t be wrong. She hadn’t spent nearly enough time with this child lately.
She hadn’t really wanted the rock-throwing assignment, but Stan had insisted. The guys in security—most of them part-timers—weren’t available, and Marie was a single parent who wouldn’t work nights unless absolutely necessary. What choices had she or Summer been given over Rhonda’s absence? What options did they have now?
As much as Casey hated the idea of sharing a house with Winifred, the woman was Summer’s family. If grandmother and granddaughter spent more time together, maybe they’d find a way to bond or at least understand each other better. Besides, help with housework would be welcome.
Casey had nearly reached her apartment when her cell phone rang. She stopped and rummaged through her purse.
“Hello?” No response. “Hello?”
“Stop investigating the murder.”
The raspy, hostile whisper took her breath away. “Who is this?”
“If you don’t, then Summer dies.”
Fear slithered up her spine and tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. “I’m not investigating! I just asked a couple questions for a friend, and I’m done.”
“You’ve been warned.” The line went dead.
Casey plunked onto the carpeted step. She stared at the screen’s “Call One” message. She tried star sixty-nine to find the number and heard “We cannot complete your call as dialed.” She looked up the call log. No numbers displayed. This is what she got for buying the cheap package. Her cell phone wasn’t listed in any directory that she knew of, nor had she added it to her business card. The only people who knew this, or about Summer, were friends and coworkers.
Casey thought she’d be sick.
THIRTEEN
CASEY DROVE WEST ON BROADWAY and, for the fourth time this morning, glanced in her rearview mirror to make sure she wasn’t being tailed. Despite her curiosity and questions about Noel’s guilt, investigating Jasmine’s murder any further would be a horrible risk.
However, Wesley Axelson called her landline last night and said he wanted to talk about the murder, in person. Wesley had never phoned her before. He even apologized for calling. In the eight years she’d known Wes, he’d never asked her for a favor, let alone apologized for anything. Still, she told him she wasn’t investigating for Marie anymore. Before she could tell him why, he said, “But this is real important, and you’re one of the few people at Mainland who can keep her mouth shut. See, the cops showed up at my place with a warrant. When Marie finds out, she’ll think I’m the killer, which I ain’t.”
At that point, Casey’s curiosity had taken over and she’d agreed to see him. She just wished she’d insisted on a better meeting place than a gym filled with pro-wrestling wannabes. Again, she glanced in the rearview mirror. Since yesterday’s anonymous threat, she’d been fighting paranoia. She’d contacted the cell phone provider to see if they could trace the call. After several transfers and what felt like a long wait, she learned that the call came from a pay phone in Coquitlam. Noel lived in Coquitlam. So did Elliot Birch.
Every time Casey thought of the threat to Summer, the bump on the back of her head throbbed like some sort of warning beacon. She hated being forced to look over her shoulder. She hated that an anonymous coward was trying to control her through fear, which was turning into anger, and her anger inevitably propelled her into action.
After Wesley’s call, Casey phoned Marie to tell her about the threat and to insist Marie tell coworkers that neither of them were investigating Jasmine’s murder anymore. Casey would do the same when she got to work.
“I’m sorry about the threat,” Marie had said. “Why is the freak targeting our kids?” And then she said what had also been on Casey’s mind. “I wonder if someone from Mainland really did kill Jasmine. David doesn’t like kids, you know. He and Wesley wouldn’t have anything to do with mine at the company picnic last summer. I’ve also heard Roberto brag that he never plans to have any.”
Casey had heard this, too. She still found it hard to believe that any of them could shoot Jasmine and threaten children’s lives. For the first time in a long while, Casey didn’t look forward to going to work. Mer
cifully, Stan had told her she wouldn’t be needed on the M10 bus until further notice. After yesterday’s ruckus, Scott and Mo were temporarily banned from MPT buses, and Stan felt that Marie could handle things alone.
The words “Barley’s Gym” were printed in large bold letters across the second floor windows of the building to Casey’s right. She eased into a parking spot at the front of the long, two-story structure. Shutting off the engine, she studied the gray stucco exterior. The main floor had no windows on this side of the building. The double black doors reminded her of an entrance to a cave, one occupied by grunting, sweaty men.
Casey rotated her shoulders to loosen stiff muscles. While struggling out of bed this morning, she’d realized her head wasn’t the only body part that had smacked the bus floor. She stepped out of the car and, scanning the area, headed for the entrance.
She’d barely opened the door when the smell of sweat and old gym socks made her gag. Good lord, when was the last time fresh air circulated in here? How many billions of bacteria were thriving on benches, mats, equipment, and doorknobs? She tried not to breathe too deeply. Ten strides away, a match was taking place in one of two rings. Between the rings were punching bags and a weight training area. Straight ahead, a hallway led to an exit at the back of the building.
A dozen guys sporting layers of hulk-like muscles stood around the ring watching the match. A guy with biceps as thick as her thigh hit the ground hard, groaned, and rolled onto his back. Wesley. He jumped up and growled at his opponent like an angry bear. Wesley lifted the guy, turned him upside down, and rammed his head into the mat. Some guys cheered while others yelled obscenities. The referee ended the match. Spittle and sweat flew from the loser as he swore at Wesley and stumbled around the ring.
“There’s a girl in here,” some genius said.
Ten gigantic heads turned to her.
“Gotta beat the groupies back with a stick,” a short, stocky guy added.
“Casey!” Wesley called and climbed out of the ring. Grabbing a towel, he wiped his dripping face as he trudged toward her.
Casey sat on a bench near the door. Wesley sat beside her and rubbed his head with the towel.
“If you want to shower first, go ahead,” she said. “I can wait outside.”
“Nah.” He watched two combatants enter the ring to their left. “I heard Birch’s alibi is real. Is that true?”
A wrestler sporting two dozen corn braids strutted past Casey and winked at her. Ignoring the gesture, she turned to Wesley. “It is, and Marie still believes her brother’s innocent.”
“I was here the morning Jasmine died; got witnesses to prove it.” Wesley’s flushed face peered at Casey. “It was my gun that shot her.”
Casey sat up straight. “Say again?”
“The Glock they found near Merryweather’s house was mine. That’s what the cops were looking for.” He glanced at the match. “I keep the guns in boxes on the top shelf in a closet. There’s so much shit up there that I didn’t know they were missing until the cops came.”
“How many guns are we talking about, Wes?”
“Two Glocks, a twenty-seven and a thirty-five, and a Winchester seventy hunting rifle.”
Sweat dripped from the ends of his hair. Casey shifted away from him. “Are they registered?”
“Just the rifle.”
“I take it your prints weren’t on the murder weapon?”
“They should have been.” He gave his face another wipe. “The pistol was wiped.”
“Were there any signs of forced entry to your place before the murder?”
“I didn’t see nothin’, but that don’t mean much. I always keep the windows open; sometimes forget to close them when I go out.”
Had David Eisler put the police onto him? “What did the cops say to you?”
“Nothing much. I don’t know why they haven’t busted me.”
Casey stared at the concrete floor. Thick mats were placed around the rings and under the exercise equipment, but otherwise the floor was bare.
“Who knows that you keep firearms in your apartment?”
“A few people at work, including Marie. The broad butted in while I was talking to a couple of guys about the Glocks a few weeks back.” Sweat trickled down his chest and arms. “That busybody has to know everyone’s business.”
No kidding. “Who were you talking to at work?”
“Joel and Savio. We go huntin’ now and then.”
Both of them were sixty-something mechanics on the verge of retiring. As far as Casey knew, they were devoted family men. “So you didn’t talk to Roberto de Luca?”
He scowled. “No.”
An ugly thought occurred to her. What if Wesley was guilty? What if he’d resented Jasmine for dating other men and had concocted this story to divert suspicion? A wrestler crashed to the ground. “Wes, do you have issues with Roberto?” She watched his brows form a long, damp line. “I saw the way you looked at him at Marie’s place, so what’s up?”
“I heard the asshole lied about his alibi, and you should know that Jasmine was way more serious about him than he was about her.”
A wrestler somersaulted over the ropes and hit the mat hard. Casey’s goose egg throbbed. “How serious?”
“She loved the douche bag.” Wesley’s overheated face darkened. “Hung out with me to make de Luca jealous ’cause she knew he don’t like me.”
“Were you okay with this?”
“She was straight up about it. I respected that.”
The guy with the braids swaggered past Casey again, but she didn’t make eye contact.
“Every time de Luca asked her out she got her hopes up,” he went on. “The jerk knew it and did it anyway.” Wesley spat on the floor.
Oh, gross. “You should be telling the police this, not me.”
“I did. They don’t give a crap.” Wesley peered at her with an unsettling intensity. “But you do or you wouldn’t be helping Crenshaw.”
“I told you last night, I’m out of it now.”
And was he telling the truth? Wesley claimed he was here the morning Jasmine was shot. Maybe he was. This bunch didn’t look like they’d go out of their way to lie for him. On the other hand, they wouldn’t want bad publicity for their gym either. Clearly, Wesley had cared for Jasmine, maybe even loved her. If she’d rejected him, would he have gone over the edge? Casey shifted a little farther from the guy.
“I keep hearing that you’re good at finding out stuff,” he said. “Don’t you want to know the truth?”
“Yes, but—”
“The cops asked if I hung out with Noel or knew where he lived. I think they’re starting to wonder if he and I were in on it.” Wesley wiped his face. “De Luca could have framed us. He knows where we live; knew Jasmine’s routine too.”
“I don’t see why Roberto would kill her. The guy never had problems breaking up with women, and why would he wipe your prints off the gun?”
“He probably wasn’t wearing gloves.” Wesley glanced at the action in the ring. “What if de Luca dumped her, so she threatened to cry rape or something?”
“Would Jasmine stoop that low?”
Wesley shrugged. “Chicks in love.” He shook his head. “They get screwed up.”
True. Casey thought of what Rhonda had done for love, and for love gone wrong.
“All she’d have to do is accuse him. Eisler hates de Luca so he’d fire his ass,” Wesley stated.
“Did you know that Eisler was interested in Jasmine?”
“Hell, yeah. Jasmine told me the freak had been phoning her. Maybe the cops should ask that candy-ass shithead where he was when she was shot.”
“They probably have.” Wesley seemed eager to point the finger everywhere but at himself.
“You could find out where he and de Luca were that morning.”
“I’m sorry, Wes, but no. When you called last night, I didn’t get the chance to tell you about the phone threat.”
When she finished fill
ing him in, Wesley draped the towel over his shoulders. “What’ll you do about your girl?”
“I’m arranging for protection.” She’d told Summer there’d been a threat to hurt her, not to kill her. Although Summer had tried to act cool, Casey could tell that the news shook her up.
“She’s got no dad?”
“No.” Wesley didn’t need to know the sordid cliché about the drug-addicted mother whose father could have been one of several johns.
“If she needs protection, a couple guys here have done bodyguard work and wouldn’t mind the extra bucks.”
Did he actually care about Summer’s safety, or was this just an act? “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” She watched one wrestler pin another down, prompting more shouts and obscenities.
“Jasmine had a real mom who’s been sick, and a half sister, Gabrielle, who showed up at her place two days before she was shot,” Wesley remarked.
Casey turned and saw sweat fall from the tip of his nose. “Jasmine told you that?”
“Yep, she came over Sunday night with her boy.” He wiped the back of his neck. “The half sister told her to stay away from the family. So, if the sister stayed in town and followed Jasmine around, she would have seen her friends and known where some of us live.”
“How would Gabrielle know about the guns in your closet? Did you show them to Jasmine that night?”
“Why would I? Someone at work could have tipped off the broad.”
Unlikely. Two more guys strutted past Casey. She kept her focus on Wesley. “Did you notice a change in Jasmine’s mood that night?”
“She was griping about family shit and how her apartment sucked.”
“Really? I thought Jasmine had it made there. She could keep as many pets as she wanted and had a babysitter close by.”
“She wanted to be near her mom.”
“Gabrielle wouldn’t have liked that.”
“Jasmine wouldn’t give a crap.”
“True.”
The combatants in the ring threw themselves at each other with a ferocity that made Casey cringe.
Deadly Accusations Page 10