“Hey, Summer,” Jasmine called out. “I hear you hate math. Me too.”
Summer strolled to Jasmine’s desk and started complaining about her teacher.
“Stan wants to see me,” Lou whispered to Casey.
“I figured he would.”
“Lou, come here a sec.” Jasmine waved him over.
Seeing his hesitation, Casey said, “Go ahead, I need to finish my report.”
Once he moved to Jasmine’s desk, the woman started whispering. Casey bit the inside of her mouth to keep from saying something petty about the obvious attempt to exclude her. The sooner she finished this report, the better. She resumed typing, careful to stick to the facts and not add her opinion about Jasmine’s behavior on the M10. The facts were damning enough.
Stan stepped out of his office, scowling. “Jasmine, I want you in my office right now. Have you finished your report?”
“Almost.”
Yeah, sure, Casey thought.
“What about you, Casey?” he asked.
“It’s printing.”
“Give me five minutes, then bring it in.” Stan looked at Lou. “I’ll talk to you after Casey has her say.” He started to follow Jasmine into his office, and then stopped. “What the hell happened out there?” He raised his hand. “Wait, don’t answer; just bring your report and a damn good explanation.”
Stan spotted Summer. “Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?”
“Okay.”
“That’s a hell of a lot better than me.” He stepped inside and slammed the door.
Summer started to smile. “Are you guys in trouble?”
“Maybe,” Casey replied. “Why don’t you start your homework while I meet with Stan.”
“Okay, but I hate the way Mrs. Nally treats me like a baby. Can’t Lou stay with me?”
Casey had asked Lou to stay with Summer twice before while she worked the rock-throwing assignment. Taking advantage of him wouldn’t be right.
As if reading her thoughts, Lou said, “I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.” She winked at him. “Come for dinner.”
“Can we order a pizza?” Summer asked.
“We’ve had pizza three times in eight days. I’ll cook something nutritious.”
“Watch out.” Lou smirked at Summer. “She could be on a health kick again.”
Summer groaned. “The last time she did that some gross green glob stuck to my plate.”
“That was a month ago. Let’s get over it and move on, shall we?” They still looked uncertain. “We’ll have spaghetti. A little tomato sauce, some peppers, mushrooms, onions, and fresh herbs.”
“Pizza would be easier,” Summer said.
“It’s not been an easy day. I thought I’d keep the theme going.”
“Days don’t have themes. School dances do, which reminds me.” Summer shuffled her feet. “I, like, need to talk to you about Friday night.”
Oh geez, this kid was growing up way too fast.
THREE
CASEY SHIVERED ON THE CHILLY M6 bus. Although the thunderstorm had rumbled out of Vancouver and headed east into the Fraser Valley, the air was nippy and occasional wind gusts were trying to sweep pedestrians off the sidewalk.
She’d asked Wesley to switch on the heater, but he’d said, “I ain’t turning my bus into a frigging sauna.”
Small wonder that staff called him Rude Wesley. Since the guy was built like a refrigerator and covered in hair, he obviously didn’t feel the cold that normal people did.
While Wesley stopped for passengers, Casey thought about Stan’s reprimand this afternoon. He’d told her and Jasmine about the irate phone call from the father of the girl Jasmine had slapped.
After reading Casey’s report, he’d started in on Jasmine. “You should have stepped in the second the shouting started, and there should have been better communication between team members.”
Casey cringed all over again. Stan was right. Her anger with Jasmine had sabotaged any desire to form a plan.
“If you ever slap a passenger again, you’re fired,” Stan had gone on. “You’ll be let go anyway if the parents press charges. Regardless, you’re now on a week’s suspension without pay.”
Casey was still baffled by Jasmine’s lack of response. The woman was either a master at hiding her feelings when she wanted, or she really didn’t care. Casey’s punishment was to keep riding with the warring students until Jasmine’s suspension ended. Stan’s message was clear. Stay on the assignment and get the job done. It’d be a challenge juggling two work assignments and her criminology course over the next few days, unless she caught the rockhound tonight.
Across the aisle and two seats ahead of her, three young women yakked without pausing for breath. In the greenish hue of the bus’s fluorescent lights, their hair color looked like varying degrees of orange. Near the front, a forty-something woman in scrubs and a long sweater had her eyes closed. Behind Casey, a male passenger hacked and coughed. For ten o’clock on a Tuesday night, this was as crowded as the M6 would get, which was just as well. If the rockhound struck, the fewer passengers the better.
The rockhound had chosen to break windows between nine and eleven, perhaps because there were fewer pedestrians at this time of night to identify him, or get in his way. He’d chosen to strike along the stretch of Columbia Street with the most traffic lights, where the M6 would have to make frequent stops.
Although the glass manufacturer had assured MPT management that fist-sized rocks wouldn’t shatter a window, Wesley was required to warn people about the potential for danger, should they prefer to ride the TransLink buses also servicing this route. Since those buses didn’t show up as often, MPT’s ridership numbers hadn’t diminished, but Casey had heard that vice president David Eisler was worried they would. Staying competitive was hard enough. Management was always saying that Mainland had to be a safer, better service provider than TransLink’s larger fleet. Repeated vandalism was bad for business, and if a passenger got hurt, a lawsuit or negative publicity would mean layoffs and more cutbacks.
“I’m doubling your shifts on the M6 until this rock nut is caught,” Stan had told her this afternoon. “Stop this jerk, Casey.”
Since Columbia Street ran through the City of New Westminster, Stan had contacted the New West Police, who’d agreed to step up their patrol of this area. Their station was only two blocks from the rockhound’s turf, though Casey hadn’t noticed any police presence tonight.
She scanned the sidewalk on her right, wishing the M6 cruised past the gorgeous, stately heritage homes built decades ago at the top of the hill. She loved looking at those places, but the M6 only served New West’s busier, commercial routes. In five minutes, they’d reach the hot zone: a stretch of Columbia Street populated by stores, restaurants, and bars.
Columbia ran parallel to the Fraser River. Between the river and Columbia, Front Street was hidden from view except at intersections. At this time of night, the antique and pawn shops would be closed and there’d be little traffic around. Next to the street, rail tracks, bushes, and trains provided plenty of hiding spots for anyone needing a quick escape.
By all accounts, the rockhound was a lone male of average height and weight. Witnesses had described him as wearing a hoodie or a raincoat. He’d also been spotted wearing a ball cap or a black tuque on different nights. Some said he wore a moustache while others said he was clean-shaven. Some thought he was young; others insisted he was old. Until Casey saw this guy pitching a rock, she wasn’t sure how she’d identify him.
Her cell phone rang.
“Casey, this is Winifred. I just called Summer and it sounds like she’s having a party, for heaven’s sake. I heard horrible music blaring in the background. Do you have any idea how late it is?”
Casey slumped in her seat. The last person she wanted to talk to, aside from Jasmine, was Summer’s
