Casey sat on the edge of the sofa while Noel angled his chair so he could see both Como Lake and her. Grateful for the coffee table between them, she looked for signs of weapons on her host. The pockets in his trousers could hold a knife. The side pockets in his wheelchair could hide several knives and a small handgun. He might even have a weapon tucked between his back and the chair.
“What happened last night?” Noel asked.
“Someone took a shot at me while I was on one of our New Westminster buses.” Casey rubbed clammy hands on her jeans. “A minute later, I got a call telling me that this was my last warning and that I’d better stop investigating Jasmine’s death.”
“Holy shit.” Lines creased Noel’s brow. “What do you mean by last warning? How many others were there?”
“Just one, but the caller threatened Summer’s life.” Casey watched Noel’s face grow pale. Could a person fake losing the color from their face? “Only Mainland staff would have access to my schedule and they’re not supposed to give it out.”
“Maybe someone staked out buses leaving the yard.” Noel looked at Sam who’d settled next to his chair.
“I picked up the bus in Burnaby.”
“My lawyer said that Wesley Axelson owned the gun that killed Jasmine.” He raised his hands as if to ward off a response. “I’m not saying he’s the killer, but Wesley was Jasmine’s friend, and the weapon does connect him to this mess.”
Deflecting suspicion wasn’t helping things. “Has your lawyer heard anything about the silver car that was seen speeding away?”
“Not that I know of.” He scratched Sam’s head. “It’s been two and a half weeks since Jasmine died. Leads are going cold.”
The longer Noel looked at her, the more unreadable his expression became. Casey leaned back against the sofa and tried to appear relaxed.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the threat to Summer?” he asked.
“I thought Marie would.” She’d blabbed about everything else.
He watched her. “I think you’ve been avoiding me because of the marriage proposal.”
Casey felt her cheeks grow warm.
“Marie told me you confronted her about it,” he added.
She looked at those gorgeous blue eyes. “Is it true that she didn’t know?”
Noel nodded. “I didn’t want to tell her until I had an answer. As for you, well, it would have made me look guiltier.” He paused. “Do you think I am?”
What should she say?
“Your opinion matters to me,” he added.
Especially if he was a killer. Casey turned her attention to the window. Heavy clouds hung above the lake. Any moment, the rain would start to fall. “How long had you been in love with Jasmine?”
Noel stroked Sam. “I wasn’t, at least not in a starry-eyed crazy way, but I did love her and wanted to take care of her and Jeremy.”
“Was her rejection the real reason you fought that night?”
“Partly.” His expression grew somber. “She said she couldn’t cope with a handicapped husband.”
Man, evidence was mounting against this guy. “I thought I was the only one who’d experienced Jasmine’s insensitivity.”
His brief smile seemed resigned. “Let’s face it, she had bad moments. That’s what happens to abused children who don’t get therapy. She was angry and starved for love and acceptance.”
Casey shook her head. Too bad that all she’d seen was the angry, hostile part of her.
“You never said if you thought I was guilty,” Noel mumbled.
Her shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know.” She studied his crestfallen face. “Maybe I should go.”
“No, wait.” He leaned forward. “Please, we’re getting everything out in the open. I don’t want to stop now.”
Asking about the jacket and cap in his closet was a risk, but he was practically shoving the opportunity at her. Casey walked toward the trophy display across the room. “Did you win these before or after your paralysis?”
“After.”
Casey glanced at the front door. She could reach it in six or seven quick strides. “Here’s the thing.” She crossed her arms. “I just saw a black jacket, royal blue ball cap, and sunglasses in your closet. It’s pretty much what Jasmine’s killer wore.”
He almost looked relieved. “That’s what’s bothering you?”
“Uh-huh. Why didn’t the police take these things away?”
Noel swept his hand over his head. “They weren’t here.” He cringed, as if expecting a sharp response. “Marie was washing the jacket at her place.”
“That sounds bad, Noel.”
“I know, but my van had been stolen and Sam was out of food, so Marie offered to drop some off on her way to work. It was the morning Jasmine was killed.”
“Oh.”
“She saw the jacket and ball cap on the floor by the closet and wanted to know why they smelled like wine. I told her I spilled some. The truth was that Jasmine had thrown a glass at me during the fight. Marie offered to get the stain out of the cap, so she took everything.”
Ursula had said Noel reeked of wine when she and Paval bumped into him that night. “Would anyone from Mainland have seen you in those clothes?”
“Sure, Jasmine, Marie, and I went to the pub with MPT staff a few times.”
“Did you ever meet Mainland’s VP, David Eisler?”
“No, but Marie pointed him out once.” Noel rubbed his chin. “I caught him staring at me in the parking lot last month when I was picking Jasmine up.”
“I heard that he phoned Jasmine the night before she died. Were you there when he called?”
Noel blinked a couple of times. “Now that you mention it, we were arguing when the phone rang. She answered it, so I went to the bathroom. By the time I came back she was off the phone and looking furious. I assumed it was because of me.”
“She never said who she’d been talking to?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. Too caught up in the fight.”
Convenient. “People say Eisler was hot for Jasmine and that he doesn’t have an alibi. Also, the landlord’s wife said she met him at their apartment building a few days before her death. It seems he wanted to see Jasmine.”
“I wouldn’t put much stock in what Ursula says. She and Jasmine didn’t get along. What I would pay attention to, though, is something I should have mentioned before; something you won’t want to hear.”
“Go on.”
Noel hesitated. “While Jasmine and I were fighting, she blurted out that she was in love with Roberto and that he had a key to her apartment.”
Oh, crap. “And you didn’t you tell me before because . . .”
“It’s not cool to accuse people without proof, and it would make me look bad. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine?”
“Not yet, thanks.”
“Mind if I start?”
“Not at all.” She watched Noel roll for the table and pour himself a glass of what looked like rosé. “I was thinking about the photos you mentioned, and I wonder if Roberto took them.”
“He said he didn’t.” Although he could have lied. “Did the issue with the key tick you off?”
Noel swished the wine in his glass. “I was willing to build a life with Jasmine. He wasn’t.”
He made it sound as if he’d been doing her a favor. “Didn’t you find it strange that she took your ring while she was in love with Roberto and dating other guys?”
“I didn’t realize how deeply she felt about him until she gave the ring back,” he answered. “Anyway, Marie says there’s a new suspect; some girlfriend of Birch’s.”
“Maybe, but no one knows who she is yet. Did Jasmine ever talk about moving?”
“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d decided to, since she really wanted to get away from Birch.” He sipped the wine. “What if the girlfriend shot Jasmine to give Birch a solid alibi? Birch saw me in the ball cap and jacket a couple of times.”
“With sung
lasses and her hair pushed up under a ball cap, a woman could be mistaken for a guy from a distance,” Casey said. “Speaking of female suspects, your sister asked me to check out Gabrielle O’Reilly’s alibi, and I have her phone number, but I don’t want to call her, so can I give it to you?”
“Sure.” Noel tapped the rim of his glass. “It’s more than a little freaky that the killer knows enough about me and Wesley’s guns to set us up. The killer has to be someone we’ve both had contact with a few times, which rules out Gabrielle and Birch’s girlfriend, unless the girlfriend works at Mainland.”
“Possibly.” Although she still hadn’t completely ruled out Noel. Should she sit back and wait in fear, or help nail the suspect before the freak shot Summer? Was there a way to establish Noel’s innocence once and for all?
“Maybe it’s time I stopped acting like a doormat and did more to save my ass, like taking a closer look at Gabrielle and MPT staff,” he said. “After all, I don’t have to work with them.”
“True.” But what would he find?
NINETEEN
“SORRY, CASEY, BUT YOU’RE BACK supervising the kids with Marie,” Stan said. “We’re too short-staffed.”
Casey slumped in her chair and watched him straighten his tan tie with the pink triangles. She kept her gaze on that god-awful tie so she wouldn’t have to look at Marie sitting next to her. She was being unusually quiet. Casey had argued that this was Marie’s case, not hers, and that Marie could easily handle what would probably be a subdued bunch of kids after that last fight, but Stan disagreed.
“Look, it’s not my fault that the parents threatened to complain loudly and publicly about Mainland if we didn’t pick up their kids again,” Stan said. “Eisler promised parents two security staff for a couple of days. Anyhow, it took some effort, but I got him to agree that your presence would send a strong reminder to those boys about fighting.”
“Fine.” She just hoped Marie wouldn’t whine about her brother’s situation all through their shift, or beg for more help.
“How’s the goose egg, anyway?” he asked.
“It’s still tender, but there’ve been no more headaches.” She sat forward. “Did anyone address the real problem between these kids, which is that the white kid, Scott, is smitten with a girl from the other group and that the girl might feel the same?”
“I was told that all concerned parties had a meeting, but I wasn’t given details.” Stan’s phone rang. When Marie stood he said, “Wait here a minute. There’s something else you both need to know.”
Marie strolled to the window, keeping her back to Casey. Casey yawned, wishing she could have slept in. After her lunch with Noel, the rest of the weekend had been a marathon of errands, housework, cage cleaning, and essay writing. Never far from her thoughts, though, was Friday night’s ominous warning. Troubling as well was her turmoil over Rhonda and Summer.
Casey had hoped that Friday’s phone message to Rhonda would prompt a quick response, but it hadn’t. She’d called again yesterday and learned that Rhonda was still in the infirmary. When she explained the situation to Summer, the poor kid tried to sound optimistic. Casey knew what Summer was thinking: that Rhonda was avoiding them.
Stan hung up and leaned back in his chair. Casey tried to stifle another yawn.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Yeah, busy weekend, stressful week.”
“If things go well today and tomorrow, you can skip the rest of the week.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s Summer doing?” he asked.
“Okay. I’ve moved her to a safe location.”
Marie turned to face her. “With her grandmother?”
Summer’s whereabouts were none of her business. “No.”
Casey didn’t understand why Winifred had chosen to remain in the house. She knew Summer might not be back for several days, even weeks. Part of Casey was tempted to ask her to leave, but Winifred seemed determined to scour the entire house. Maybe it was helping her work out some stress. Whenever Rhonda had been under stress, she scrubbed the kitchen floor incessantly. Winifred’s thing was vacuuming.
“To stop more rumors from spreading,” Stan said, clasping his hands together, “you girls should know that Eisler’s alibi is solid.”
“What?” Marie approached his desk. “Are you sure?”
Stan gave her a look. “Would I be saying this if I wasn’t?”
“Then what the hell was he doing the morning Jasmine died?” Marie asked.
“First off,” Stan said, pointing at her, “do not take that tone with me.”
She slumped into the chair. “Sorry.”
Casey got up and opened a window for fresh air.
“Secondly, what I’m going to say is confidential, you got that?”
“Yeah,” Casey answered, noticing Marie’s nod.
“Eisler was at a job interview, which the cops verified.”
“Damn,” Marie murmured.
“Excuse me?” Stan said, frowning.
“Well, surely you can see it from my perspective.”
Casey crossed her arms. That was the problem. Marie only saw things from her perspective. Even before the crisis with Noel, everything revolved around her needs and worries.
Stan checked his watch. “The M10 is pulling out in fifteen minutes. Be on it.”
Anxious to get away from Marie, Casey hurried out the door and jogged downstairs. She marched past the lunchroom, and then entered the women’s locker room. The room was empty. As she approached her locker, she spotted RAT BITCH scrawled across the door in burgundy lipstick.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Marie yelled from the other end of the room.
Casey walked over and saw the same words on Marie’s locker.
“Who would do that?” Marie kicked the locker below hers.
Good question. Although Casey had let everyone know she wasn’t looking into Jasmine’s death anymore, some coworkers still kept their distance. Rumors of a killer among them had hardly inspired a warm fuzzy feeling. Clearly, certain people blamed her and Marie for starting them.
“Have you seen that shade of lipstick on anyone?” Casey asked.
“No.” Marie glared at the words. “I wonder when this was done.”
“We can ask the cleaning crew if they saw anything.”
Cleaners worked between 5:00 and 7:00 AM and this room was never locked, so anyone could have come in. The main entrances were unlocked at seven and locked after six at night. Casey removed a tissue from her purse and rubbed it on the lipstick.
“You won’t get it off that way,” Marie remarked.
“I just want a color sample.”
“The tube could be wrecked, and who’d be stupid enough to wear that shade now?”
“You never know. Lipstick’s expensive. Check out the garbage can.”
Marie marched up to the can by the door and looked inside. “Nothing.” She returned to her locker. “The shade’s vaguely familiar. I just can’t remember who I’ve seen it on. It shouldn’t take us too long to figure it out.”
“Us?”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to sit back and do nothing?”
“I’m not wasting time over a cheap shot,” Casey said. “If I happen to see a similar shade on someone, I’ll make a note of it, but that’s all. I’ve had more than enough trouble for one week.”
Marie’s expression softened. “I heard about the shooting Friday night. Aren’t you going to do anything about that?”
Casey returned to her locker and shoved her purse inside. “Not if it means risking Summer’s life.”
“The killer doesn’t believe you’re off the case, so why not keep searching for him?”
Casey had been debating that question all weekend.
“Catching the freak before he gets us is the best way to protect our kids,” Marie continued. “Come on, Casey, it’s not like you to sit around waiting for a bunch of cops to save the day. You’re smart enough to be discreet.”
<
br /> Casey marched out of the room. She got as far as the lunchroom entrance before Marie caught up. “Noel’s really depressed. He figures he’s about to be arrested. If there’s a trial, he’ll have to sell his house to pay legal costs.” She grabbed Casey’s arm. “We’re out of money and we’ve tried banks loans, but . . .” Her mouth trembled.
A group of maintenance guys and clerical workers left the lunchroom. When they saw her and Marie, conversation stopped and they slowed their pace. None of the women were wearing burgundy lipstick.
“You’re the only one who can help us,” Marie said, oblivious to her coworkers.
Two female drivers, neither wearing lipstick, headed their way. The big tall woman, Ingrid, gave Marie a hard stare. Ingrid had been employed at Mainland six months and Casey had never worked with her. From what she’d heard, though, Ingrid wasn’t much of a team player.
“What I want to know,” Casey said to Marie, “is why you’ve been so eager to have me check people out when you’ve been withholding key information?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You had Noel’s dark jacket and royal blue ball cap when the murder happened.” Casey knew she shouldn’t mention this in front of others, but she’d had enough bullying.
Marie’s face reddened. “I was so upset by Jasmine’s death that I forgot I had his stuff until after the funeral. Anyway, that just proves Noel’s innocent. His jacket was swishing around my washing machine when Jasmine was shot.”
“So, you made Casey scrounge for suspects here.” Ingrid crossed her arms. “And you shouldn’t have agreed to help, Casey.”
Great. More people telling her what she should and shouldn’t do. “I’ll make my own decisions, thanks.”
“What’s wrong with trying to find the truth?” Marie asked. “Certain people around here have lied about their alibis.”
“That doesn’t make them killers,” Ingrid shot back.
“It doesn’t clear them either. Has anyone bothered to ask Roberto where he really was the morning Jasmine died? Because he sure in hell wasn’t at the dentist.”
Casey inhaled sharply. Was Marie trying to piss off more staff, and how had she found out?
“Why doesn’t someone ask Wesley how his gun happened to be the murder weapon?” Marie went on.
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